Full circle

He read on the blog that my wedding ring was stolen from the quilt. So, on the way to the lawyer's office yesterday, he gave me his.

Gracias.

Upheaval

It's just everywhere
A lot of it for the best
Some of it jarring

Pizza Hut blogging

Alex's birthday is tomorrow and he invited the girls and I to join him for dinner tonight. Pizza Hut was about what you'd expect on a weekday night. To wit:

• There were twins having a birthday at the next table, so they put the Pizza Hut Birthday Song on the sound system and brought the little pieces of cake with the candles in them, and the cluster of waiters clapping along, and the tambourine and everything. The one waiter guy came in on the wrong beat, so I figured he was new. When it was Alex's turn for the PHBS, a different waiter guy came in on the wrong beat, and when they all started looking over at the cashier (with the computers), I realized it was the recording that was misbehaving. The PHBS quit altogether while they were singing to the girl at the (other) next table, and they had to finish it a capella.
  
  
• The power went out once, for about ten minutes. The emergency lighting was adequate.
  
  
• All children in the place were given a free toy (tomorrow is Children's Day in Costa Rica). Cause when you've got tables full of young children, glasses, and cutlery, the only thing really missing is a piece of knobby plastic that lights up when you swing it around on a string.

Post-Blogging: Closure

Alex and I met 17 years ago on a trip to a beach called Ostional. Over the years, we have been there with my parents, my sister and her husband, and the girls.

We decided that a final trip there would provide a sort of closure, so we went this weekend. It was a good thing to have done.

We laughed and we cried. We spent every single minute together, doing things both naughty and nice. We fought and we made up. And on Sunday afternoon, we lay on the bed in the cheapest cabinas in town, listened to the rain pouring down on the tin roof, and took the rings from each others' fingers.

Superficial

I've only even alluded to my separation from Alex twice on this blog. Three times, including this post right here.

In some ways, I'd like to comment about it more often. Other times, I'm not at all in the mood to write or talk about it, least of all publish it on the Internet.

For the most part, if/when I do say something, I'm inclined to keep it pretty light and factual. This is not, and never has been, a gut-spilling blog. As unattractive as it sounds, this is actually a pretty superficial blog in a lot of ways.

But "light and factual" turned out to be a problem, since some of the people close to the situation have felt that I was glossing over the pain, acting like it was no big deal. Taking it--or anyway presenting it--lightly.

And obviously it is a big deal. It's a big, horrible, painful deal for everyone involved, especially Alex and, soon, the girls. It's not being taken lightly by anyone, certainly not by me.

My own way of handling this is very internal and that, in itself, is hard enough for those closest to me to accept, since everyone wants to help and I'm not very accommodating about that. I'd actually rather be left alone, a lot of the time.

This is not the forum in which I choose to process the separation and, possibly as a result of that, it never occurred to me that those affected by it might want me to talk about their pain on my blog.

And to be honest, I'm not sure I can. Or that I should be expected to. I will clarify though, at least once, since I don't want to give the impression that this is a simple or easy process. This is painful for all of us. It is changing the course of our lives. I had assumed that went without saying.

Alex does not want to separate. He is torn up by this, but is being very supportive, both emotionally and materially. That part does not go without saying - lots of partners would not have handled it that way and the whole thing is orders of magnitude less horrible than it could have been if he had reacted differently. And it will make a huge difference in the way the girls experience it as well. A positive difference.

[Looks around for segue]

See, what I really wanted to post was that video way down there. And a few days ago I wanted to post some photos of the apartment I'm planning to rent.

But I haven't felt able to mention the separation at all, since the way I did it before ended up hurting people I really have no business hurting any more than I already am.

I really want to be able to post about this. Probably not a whole lot, but now and then, when I feel like it. And the things I feel like posting are very likely not going to paint a picture of the whole separation process.

Okay?

This is the kind of thing I'd like to be able to post:

Alex and I were talking about the girls this morning. How this will affect them, and the fact that they wouldn't be part of our lives if the separation had come early in our relationship.

Thinking about choosing to have children, and trying to get pregnant (which took over a year the first time), I gradually realized that Sunshine on My Shoulders, by John Denver, was playing on the radio. This was the song - the only song - that I sang to Robin every night when she was a newborn.

Make this bread.

So not only does Brave Sir Robin have the best pizza crust recipe EVAR, he also (perhaps unwittingly) has a damn fine herb bread recipe.

Alex had a hankering to make herb bread and I suggested using the pizza crust recipe because it took me so long to find a good one (and this is a really, really good one. Oh, okay, I'll shut up about that now) that we might as well start with something we already like.

He bought some fresh rosemary and I talked him through the recipe, adding the rosemary, some Italian seasoning and some garlic powder. I suggested bread sticks, and Alex was thinking more of a loaf. He ended up making four individual loaf-ettes, which baked pretty quickly and were a big hit with the girls. He even carved everyone's initials in the top of each one before baking - I will admit I was skeptical about that part, but it worked out great.

It was crusty and crunchy on the outside, soft and flavorful on the inside. Definitely make this bread.

(Julia is taking a cooking workshop in school, so she got her new apron and hair net and everything out and apprenticed herself to Alex. Actually, she helped with the soup more than the bread.)






Here's what we did:

(This is very slightly modified from Brave Sir Robin's recipe; I cut it in half and added an extra 1/2 cup of flour to accommodate our mile-high elevation. Well, and added the herb stuff.)

Drop a
Tiny pinch of sugar into
1/2 Cup warm water and sprinkle
2 1/4 Teaspoons yeast on top. Let it sit while you measure

3 1/2 Cups flour into a bowl and add
1/2 Teaspoon of salt. Stir a bit and then pour another
1/2 Cup warm water into the flour, followed by
3 Tablespoons olive oil and a
scant Tablespoon of honey.

The yeast should be foaming in its warm water by now, so dump that in too. Mix with a fork till it starts to hang together, then add

2 Tablespoons fresh rosemary, chopped, and some generous dashes of Garlic powder and
Italian seasoning (ours is pre-mixed - I guess it's got oregano, basil and parsley, but whatever's on hand to make it herb-y will be fine).

Knead by hand for 10 minutes, then lightly oil the ball of dough, cover & let rest in a warm place 15 minutes. Knead again for a minute or two, then let rise for 45 minutes. Form into your desired shape(s) and bake for 10 minutes or so at 450 degrees F (230 C). Our baby loaves took about 13 minutes. Bread sticks would go faster, of course.

Let them eat Pi

I don't know how much I'll be posting about The Whole Situation. Possibly quite a bit. Possibly not much at all.

But in any case, not today. Bob's got a bit on that, though, if you're in the mood.

Thanks to Brave Sir Robin, I am not without material today, for it is Pi day. 3/14. And, a while ago, it was even 3/14 1:59:26 (etc.)

In honor of the lovely Pi and, to be honest, because it's Friday, we will be having a pizza pie for dinner tonight.

And now I leave you with a photo from the weekend:

But...but...Coasting Richly??

Coasting Richly was always more than a reference to my status as a long-term resident of Costa Rica.

From the moment it occurred to me as a nom de blog, I recognized the truth of the phrase.

Coasting.

Richly, to be sure. But...coasting.

Well, I'm not doing that anymore, and it's time for a new name.

I'm making very conscious choices now, and I need a title that reflects that. And, hey. If it happens to place me near the top of folks' blogrolls? Well, I'll just have to live with that ;)

* * *
So.

I am in the process of separating from my husband of 14 years. Early in the process. It's been two weeks and one day, in fact. That's pretty early.

I've had a lot of different reactions from the people I've spoken to about it. Some are immediately "on my side" - those who know me better than they know us. Others have gone, understandably, into "save the marriage" mode, in various ways.

I've heard horror stories. I've heard success stories.

And that's fine. The stories are...anecdotal. Each person, each couple, each relationship, is a world unto itself and, while the stories are interesting, they're not terribly applicable to my own situation; just as my experience may be interesting, or even instructive, to someone else. But more as a story than anything else.

* * *
I am doing something I don't think a lot of people do. I am choosing to step away from a marriage that is...not bad.

It's never been bad, in any sense of the word. It's never, and this is the important part; it's never--ever--been really, really good either. I have, for years, recognized it consciously as "not bad." It was only recently--and, in the eyes of my friends and family, precipitously--that I decided that "not bad" was, sadly, not good enough.

What did it take to make me really, really reexamine my life, and my marriage? To actually take (and to keep taking - it's a daily decision...hourly, even) a step I had never done more than skirt in the most superficial levels of my mind, even as I recognized more consciously that that my marriage was not what I would have wished for myself?

It took something big. Very big. To coalesce these quasi-conscious awarenesses into a single, conscious recognition. And to acknowledge it. And act on it.

It took something as marvelous, and as devastating, as falling in love with someone who is not my husband.

You all know Bob.

Yes, that Bob. Phydeaux. That's right, it's an Internet thing. Go ahead. Raise your eyebrows. Shake your head. Say whatever you've a mind to. I can wait, and you certainly won't be the first. It's fine.

Humans will reach out to other humans and connect with them through any medium that is available, because that is human nature. Even if neither of them has the remotest intention of entering into a deep and meaningful relationship; these things, they do happen. We don't get to choose. Little gifts from the Universe. Some of them are decidedly double-edged.

But here's the thing.

It's not about Bob. If--as has been pointed out to me, pointedly, by more than one caring soul--if, as I say, this relationship with Bob is "the real thing," then it will still be there in the future.

Its purpose in the present was to jar me. And jar me it did; to the extent that I really, truly acknowledged the things that I had been aware of for years--from the outset, really.

* * *
So what now?

Well, right now, Alex and I are simply living with the new reality. Giving it some time to sink in. I am standing beside him as he reels. We comfort each other as best we can. We have talked and shared more in the past two weeks than we had in entire years past.

Strikingly, working together to make this separation a gentle process by which the inevitable harm to all involved is reduced as far as humanly possible...may be our finest moment; the most wondrous thing we do as a couple, before parting.

I'm proud of both of us for the way we have handled the situation thus far, and I believe that we will have a strong relationship far into the future.

* * *
Updated to add:

Thank you, Mom and Dad. They arrived less than half an hour after I posted this. They're beautiful. And kind of quirky. Which is just right.

Climbing trees

Or...not so much the beach

Well, it turns out Alex doesn't, after all, have to go do the job at the beach, so we're still here.

Having been gone so much, he's also been absent from the blog and today he asked me to post a picture of him to make up for it. So here it is, along with one that he took of me:

Here's hoping brake fluid isn't caustic

Okay.

I agree that the cars benefit the whole family. I agree that both routine and emergency maintenance should be handled by anyone who is available to do so.

I agree that keeping some tools and supplies in the cars is prudent and positive.

I do not, however, agree that one needs to keep three partially-used cans of brake fluid in a single car, and I furthermore do not agree that "lying in the bottom of the toolbox" constitutes an appropriate location for these no-longer-sealed products.

I additionally do not agree that whoever finds the resulting mess should go ahead and clean it up because the cars benefit the whole family.

There. I needed to say that.

I also hope brake fluid isn't caustic (turns out it's just like motor oil. Who knew?) because I sure got it all over my hands, and I further hope that some mechanically-savvy reader of this blog can let me know whether the following items can withstand prolonged submergence in brake fluid, or whether it's best to pitch them:

• Fuses - You know, those little colored chip-like ones with two flat aluminum prongs.
• Assorted spare light bulbs of the vehicular persuasion
• Pliers - actually, the oil probably did them some good, in a way, but is there any way to clean the soaked-in oil from the metal so they'll be fit for actual use?
• Spark plugs, one apparently new and one possibly used. It doesn't seem like a spark plug is made to withstand this kind of treatment. Can I just throw them out, or should a salvage attempt be made?
• Battery-powered hair trimmer - which, what was it even doing in the toolbox in the first place? I threw out the batteries and stood it up on end so some of the oil can drain out of its innards, but I'm pretty sure this is more a symbolic gesture of futile optimism than anything.
  

Guilt by association

Alex and I were sitting on the couch together yesterday when the power was out. I had Loren (the red-lored Amazon parrot) on my lap--on my right knee, because Alex was on my left and she doesn't like him.

It's not just Alex, actually. She's as cuddly as can be with me, but doesn't like any one or any thing that's not me or (sometimes) Robin. She even turned against Yolanda when she (Loren) adopted me. She's narrow minded like that.

Anyway, I was petting Loren and talking to Alex, and every once in a while Alex would poke his hand toward her and pull it back when she lunged at it. I gave him a chance to pet her by scratching her neck the way she likes and blocking her view at the same time. Then I tried what I've done with other people on occasion - presenting my hand for her (gentle) nibbling pleasure and sneaking one of his fingers in between my own.

Well. That didn't fly at all. Not only did she take umbrage at the offending digit, she got mad--and stayed mad--at my entire left hand. I kept petting her with my right hand, and she kept lapping it up, lifting her feathers so I could reach the skin of her neck, but as soon as I lifted my left hand she started lunging at it like she does at Alex. Normally when she lunges at me, it's a form of communication more than a threat of personal violence, so I didn't pull back and she went ahead and bit the offending hand (although, granted, not as hard as she would bite Alex. Or a stranger.)

Today is a new day, however, and she has forgiven my left hand its transgressions.

Let no one be left out

In an effort to make sure that Alex is not left out of the celebrity look-alike game, that Dad feels more included because he's bound to recognize a few more names, and that Phydeaux has some company in the "looking like dead people" department,* here are a few more.



Grigori Perelman (70%)
Edsger Dijkstra (68%)
Peter Weller (64%)
Kevin Kline (61%)
Billy Bob Thornton (61%)
Aristide Briand (60%)
Ernest Rutherford (60%)
Antonin Dvorak (58%)
Felix Klein (57%)
Vytautas Landsbergis (57%)



Howard Dean (66%)
Sharon Stone (62%)
Jesse L. Martin (62%)
William Shatner (62%)
Hayden Christensen (62%)
Carson Daly (51%)
Suzanne Vega (49%)
Brittany Murphy (49%)
Janeane Garofalo (48%)
Jean Seberg (47%)

That second one is from a portrait that Alex and I had taken about 10 or 12 years ago. The system automatically recognized both faces, so here's another one of me. (It didn't recognize the dog that was in the picture with us though.) This time neither Alexis Bledel nor Topher Grace showed up, but I did get a second Hayden Panettiere, for what it's worth.



Judy Garland (68%)
Hayden Panettiere (68%)
Mark Feehily (66%)
Courtney Thorne-Smith (66%)
Lindsay Lohan (63%)
Tea Leoni (62%)
Mandy Moore (61%)
Sophie Ellis-Bextor (61%)
Jodie Sweetin (60%)
Kate Bosworth (60%)

*Although Robin did get Anne Frank yesterday.

The fruits of my labor. No, not the apples.

Okay, I will admit that I opened the floor for suggestions right before leaving the house, so I bought the costume stuff before actually reading any of the comments.

A little over ten dollars at the thrift store, a little over ten hours of my life, and we have a family ready for Halloween. Two large pirates, one small gypsy, and one artiste.

The only pre-existing items seen in any of these pictures are Julia's jeans, the scarf on Alex's head, and Robin's two shakiras (the jingly things). Everything else is new, new, new, and every item except for the hats and my pants was altered in some way.

I think I'll stick to quilting, thankyouverymuch.

That can not have been easy.

Now Accepting Suggestions

We've been invited to a Halloween party, so I'll be going to the thrift store today to pick up costume items.

Robin wants to be a gypsy and Julia wants to be an artist.

Alex wasn't supposed to be in town, but will apparently be joining us after all (see any number of previous "Car Trouble" posts). He hasn't been terribly helpful in terms of coming up with costume ideas ("Adam and Eve!" "A plug and an outlet!") but he did mention a pirate last week.

So what do you think - could I pull off "wench"?

A Kinks Moment

No, not kinky. Kinks.

There's a song in my head and it is this:

Lyrics for those with slow connections.

Video for the lucky ones:


What Mr. Davies is telling us here is that Alex kept asking me how I was doing today. I noticed, but didn't really think anything of it until he asked if I "had a minute" while we were both sitting quietly on the couch drinking coffee.

Seems he's been corresponding for the past couple of days with a manager at a company that "use[s] sound waves to image the subsurface of the earth for the purpose of locating hydrocarbon reservoirs." In, needless to say, quite a few countries worldwide, none of which are Costa Rica.

The conditions & salary seem worth considering and he is, as always, intrigued by the opportunity for new experiences and professional development. I'm a little concerned about the "hydrocarbon reservoirs" they're so keen on "locating."

For my newer readers, see this pair of posts for, if not context, at least an inkling of why I have that Kinks song in my head.

Officially old

Well, it's official.

José won some money this week and wanted to spend a chunk of it on the girls, so I took them all over to the mall after school yesterday.

Someone (probably Alex) had the sense to impose a "no toys" rule, so he got them shoes, clothes and some music CDs they wanted.

Alex put on one of the CDs for them while we had breakfast this morning, and by the time the corn flakes were gone, he and I were in complete agreement:

The stuff kids call music these days? It's just a bunch of noise.

Harrumph.

Bonus Anecdote for a Rainy Saturday Night

Alex found it amusing to drop coins down the back of my pants while I crawled around on the floor looking for the source of a leak in his office.

Guess whose job it is to fish the 50 colon coin out of the toilet?

Blame it on the moon

Dad says there was a full moon a couple of days ago and I'm inclined to believe him. Part of his job as the official Silent Partner of the Costa Rica Quilt Retreat is to receive checks made out to Rita or, usually, myself, and deposit them in the appropriate local bank account.

Over the past couple of days he has received two checks from two different future clients. One was made out to Janet (instead of Jennifer), and the other was actually made out to Dad instead of to Rita. And they got his name wrong to boot.

I blame the moon.

The effect is only just now reaching down here to the tropics though.

This morning one of Alex's clients needed to send a fax. Not sure why he felt it was necessary to call me "my love" while asking for a fax tone, but there you have it. (Seriously, how inappropriate is that? I'll assume he didn't realize that he was addressing the wife of the professional he's pressuring to get some work done as soon as possible. Which, curiously, doesn't make it any more acceptable. Can you believe people still do that?)

Ahem.

Anyway, the fax machine ate the fax, then ran out of ink film, then flat out broke. Really. A piece broke right off and now the cover won't close even though I've replaced the ink film and cajoled it with dulcet tones.

Anyway, the fax is no longer my problem.

The timing belt on the car, a little more so.

Heard this clanking noise as I was driving home this evening. At first I thought it was a rattletrap of a pickup truck that was passing me, but the sound stayed with me after the truck was gone, so I pulled into a restaurant parking lot and had a look.

Couldn't see anything about the tires or trunk that looked clattery, so I started the car back up and determined that the sound was coming from the engine. It seemed to be coming from the belts that are visible outside the engine, but I couldn't see anything obstructing them or scraping against them.

The lady in the restaurant placed a call to Alex for me, and he got the girls back in the car and came down to stare uncomprehendingly at the engine with me. (It takes two, you see.)

Alex thought the sound was coming from the timing belt, not the harmless little rubber belts outside the engine, which put the whole thing into another realm of "how bad could this be" - at least in my mind. Alex still wanted to try to drive it home, but the question was rendered moot when he tried to start it back up to stare uncomprehendingly at it for another little while, and it wouldn't start.

So we went back to the nice lady in the restaurant and got her kind permission to use the one car to tow the other car to the back parking lot and abandon it there, at least for the night.

So we did.

When we got home, the cat had vomited, wetly, on the ottoman of the glider rocker. Pretty much every other surface upon which she could have let loose can be thrown in the washing machine. The ottoman not so much.

Guess it was a pretty good day for me to pick up Buffalo wings and beer on my way home, no?

Happy Day

Happy September 9, everyone!

Happy birthday to Alex.
Happy anniversary to my parents.
Happy birthday to my friend and business partner, Rita.
Happy Children's Day if you are in Costa Rica.
Happy birthday to my friend's youngest daughter, who is also my oldest daughter's friend.
Happy 18th anniversary of my first full day in Costa Rica.

And what the heck, happy birthday to Tom Wopat, Hugh Grant and Adam Sandler while we're at it.