Second Trimester

I was worried that I'd forgotten how to work this thing - the blog - but luckily, they make it practically idiot-proof.

My second trimester of pregnancy has flown by.  I've always been a "work hard, play hard" type of person.  Well, at least, work-out hard and play sort of hard-as-long-as-I'm-in-bed-by-10:30 type of person.  Lately, it's still been work-out hard.  I'm teaching kickbox, cycle and boot camp at a local gym.  And I'm determined to not let my modest tennis gains slide.  I try to devote a couple of hours each week to the court.  My play hard has turned into nap hard, which is more like a death sleep.  The dogs and I rack out every afternoon and God help the person who unknowingly calls during this time.

October 2011: Fall Classic Duathlon (2 mile run, 10 mile bike ride, 2 mile run)

Dec. 2011: "Naughty or Nice" 8k at Lake Hefner

The hubby and I have attended several "Birth of Your Baby" classes.  We've learned how to change a diaper, feed the baby, bathe the baby, hold the baby.  Everything besides how to actually raise a child.  It's a scary, daunting task.  Our world is about to be rocked and what if I'm no good at adjusting to it?  And how does one truly prepare for something so momentous?  I guess I'm about to find out.

Happy Holidays!  2011 Christmas Card

Christmas is just a few days away and as the year wraps up, I'll be entering the third and final stage of pregnancy.  With a babymoon, baby shower, maternity photoshoot and nursery preparation, we have plenty to keep us busy for the first couple of months of 2012.  









 And then I hope to have a few minutes of clarity and relaxation before introducing Miss Annabelle Aaron to the world.

THE BABY!

It's Been a Slow Month

As I enter the half-way mark of my first pregnancy, the most striking thing (besides the ever-expanding belly) is how great I feel.  I've finished several 10k races, thanks to the support of a great friend and running buddy and a new, improved sports bra.  I may not have been the fastest person on the course, but I sure as heck wasn't last.  I'll take my wins where I can get them.  The hubby and I are entered for a duathlon this weekend.  I'll let you know how it goes...

We've had the opportunity to enjoy every aspect of autumn that I longed for this same time last year:  Saturday college football, OSU Homecoming weekend, planting mums and then pansies, decorating with hay bales and pumpkins, adorable Halloween trick-or-treaters, pumpkin spice cookies, weekend visits from cherished friends, church followed by family lunch.  Just taking it all in and soaking it all up.  My cup over floweth.

I say it's been a slow month and I mean that in every positive way.  As much as I enjoy summertime, I definitely don't want to marginalize this time of year.  It's been a slow month of goodness, albeit normal, usual, everyday American things.  And that's just fine.  Here's a few highlights:

Adorable trick-or-treater: Bailey the bumblebee

Leslie & Brooke enjoying OSU Homecoming weekend.  Notice the matching baby bumps!

These dogs are no dummies.

I Tri'd Again

My second attempt at a sprint triathlon was much smoother than the first.  I never felt like I might drown during the pool swim, I kicked it up a notch during the bike ride and cruised right through the run.  I honestly think I should get a minute handicap for each week of my pregnancy, which would nicely shave 15 minutes from my 1 hour 34 minute finish.   I have found a new sport to love and improve upon.

Triathlons are intimidating simply because your age is written in permanent marker on your calf muscle.  Your race number is written on your arm, but that one only indicates where you are self-seeded for the swim.  For example, if you say you can swim 500 meters in 5 minutes, you would probably be seeded in the top 5.  I'm around 11 minutes, so I'm usually about half way back in the pack. 

Anyways, back to the age written on your leg.  So, there you are, standing around waiting for everything to begin when you start taking stock of your competition.  And you think, "That girl can only be 18.  She's so skinny and look at that great rear."  But, your gaze drops and sure enough, she's 30.  Oh crap.  And then you think you spot someone your age, and you're thinking, "Her arms are so much more toned than mine."  But, thankfully, she's 50.  Wait, you're not thankful for that.  You're going to get your butt kicked by someone 19 years your senior.  Needless to say, there's a lot of anxious sizing up going on. 

When it's all said and done, it's really just a thrill to be a part of something so exhilarating.  And it's helping me to come to terms with this stage of my life.  No more partaking in cocktail happy hours.  Browsing the internet for travel destinations has turned into browsing for cribs and strollers.  I am going to be a mom.  But, I will still be a race participant, just a little slower and wider than before.

Staycation

My British friends always referred to vacations as "holidays".  As in, "We were on holiday in Paris."  I think it's charming, but when we recently decided to stick around OKC during the hubby's time off from work, it was difficult to consider it a vacation, much less a holiday, so I'll use the recession "it" word - staycation.

With the impending purchases of nursery furniture, jog stroller, car seats, etc., etc., etc., we thought it prudent to send our regrets to a Baku friend, who is getting married in South Africa.  Since last November, we swore to be at the wedding, but it's not in the stars for us.  A staycation in OKC is just as cool as Johannesburg, right?  I've never been to South Africa, so I cannot give an absolute answer.  Here's a few highlights from our staycation:

On a typically windy and hot summer morning, we loaded up the road bikes and drove to the new OKC river trails, just on the outskirts of Bricktown.  The trails are continuous (read, no road traffic) for 13 miles.  Flat and fast.  Except, as previously stated, I'm not that fast.  It was flat and sort of fast.  I'd recommend the trails for moms with strollers (take a buddy, it's desolate!) and road cyclists needing an easy ride.  It was a little stinky near the Stockyards, where unfortunately, the river is extremely shallow and the boggy mud mixed with cow aroma is enough to make you want to breathe with your mouth closed. Little shade is provided, it is Oklahoma after all, but there is plenty of parking and a few porta-potties along the route.

On another extremely hot summer day, we ventured out to Acardia, only a few miles outside of Edmond.  Lunch was at Pops, a classic 1950's diner.  Hamburgers were good and milk shakes were even better.  That's all there's to say about that.

And no staycation is complete without a trek to the Great State Fair of Oklahoma.  We're old, so we went early in the day, ate sugar-overloaded cinnamon rolls, gigantic corn dogs and some type of deep-fried cookie dough.  Ummm, no, I did not ride any bolt-missing roller coasters.  Again, we're old, so we simply walked through the buildings overflowing with all sorts of vendors.  We slopped our way through the barns of sheep, goats, cows, horses, and I'm sure I'm forgetting some other farms animals.  We left before the carnies got really out of hand.

And off to home we went.  Where the perfect part of a staycation is an afternoon nap.

A Fork

This past spring, while living in Azerbaijan, we had a defining moment.  You know the kind.  You can clearly see the divergent paths that your life could take.  A fork in the road, if you will.  One path would have taken us to Siberia.  Seriously.  Siberia was to be the hubby's next posting with his previous employer.  I'm always up for adventure, but come on.  It's only above freezing for 2 months out of the year.  And more importantly, I'm not a young pup anymore.  The kid thing was a factor.  I've never known whether I wanted children or not, but I least wanted the chance to try.  I know thousands of women have children every day in Siberia.  I just didn't want to be one of them.  Looking down this path seemed like a black and white movie.  Void of color.  The only positive point seemed to be that I'd be guaranteed several exotic beach trips a year.  They would be a necessity to ensure my sanity.

The opposite path would lead us back to Oklahoma.  A secure job, near family, nestled between everything comfortable and easy.  Big box stores with more than I could ever need.  Houses with plenty of inexpensive square footage.  Sidewalks with man hole covers.  Police officers who you can trust.  The masses adhering to traffic laws.  But where is the adventure in all of that?  I worried that easy could lead to boredom.  Comfortable could lead to complacency.  And the worst vice of all, mediocrity.  I doubt I'll be considered a great person, but I do want to experience great things.

And with the very real prospect of Siberia looming, we chose the proven, safe path.  Six months later, we are once again rooted in American life.  It's a cake walk by most standards.  And what a yummy piece of cake it is.  The best part is that this chosen path - our defining moment- has blessed us with an expanding family.  In March 2012, we will welcome a baby!  You'll have to forgive me if my "travelogue" is sparsely populated with travel stories and more with journeys of motherhood.  It just comes with the territory.

Natural Disasters

It's nearing the end of August.  There's a fearsome hurricane forming in the Atlantic Ocean and a freakish earthquake recently shook the east coast of the USA.  Watching too much news coverage of these events has forced me into reminiscing/recalling/remembering the tumultuous disasters that we (me and the hubby) have been associated with.

The strongest tornado ever recorded happened in the OKC metro area on May 3, 1999.  My sister's house was completely wiped out.  As she frantically held the wrists of my nieces while crouched in the bathtub, my brother-in-law covered his girls with a mattress.  It's horrific to think what could have happened to them.  They lost their neighborhood, home, vehicles, photo albums, keep sakes, clothes and sense of security.  For the first 18 years of my life, I was fully aware that I lived in a severe weather prone area, but I never thought that it could truly affect me.  And it was with only one degree of separation that I was forever changed by this powerful, swirling wind.

The calm before the storm:
Brooke and the pups waiting for the hurricane to arrive

The hubby and I moved to Houston during the winter of 2007.  Category 3 Hurricane Ike bulls-eyed the city that following summer.  We lived far enough away from the coast that we were told by authorities to not evacuate and to just ride out the storm in our house.  Which we did.  Which was very scary. Which ended up being just fine.  Which resulted in 2 weeks without electricity.  The dogs and I were refugees with family in OKC while we waited for the power = a/c to bring relief from the Houston heat.  Meanwhile, the hubby flew to the Middle East for work.  He always misses the good stuff.

After Ike:  clean up of our once beautiful pergola

In Denver, we didn't encounter a per se defined natural disaster.  But, the amount of snow that we received our first (and only) October was overwhelming.  Feet and feet of the dreaded white stuff.  While shoveling the driveway, I wondered, "where am I supposed to put all of this?"  Denver is not for the fair-weathered or thin-blooded.   

Kyle and the pups play in the Denver snow

Kyle and Brooke at the top of Kok Tobe in Almaty,
a mountainous region of the count

Both Almaty, Kazakhstan, and Baku, Azerbaijan, are located in high seismic activity areas.  A fact that we did not share with our families until we were safely back in the USA.  We kept an earthquake preparedness bag next to the front door.  It was stocked with first aid supplies, flashlights, bottled water, etc.  But, of course, as life goes, being prepared really didn't help out Kyle when he was in the Almaty airport, waiting in the customs line, when the world trembled.  He looked around at his fellow passengers and figured that the local Kazaks would know what to do, so he followed them outside and stood around for a bit.  His plane later took off without much to-do.  Later, we found out that the quake that Kyle felt was the first of several magnitude 6.0+ to hit the area over the next few days.

Variety is the spice of life.  Apparently, for us, that includes a multitude of environmental occurrences.

Home Sick

I grew up in Oklahoma City, went to college in Stillwater, Oklahoma, started my professional career in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and didn't move out of the state until I had been married for 4 years.  Many moons later, we're living back in red dirt country again.  So, it may be odd that I am home sick for some place(s) else.

If home is where the heart is, I apparently have many homes.  I made my first "grown up" friend in Houston.  You know the kind - the first person who you are friends with not because you go to the same school or work at the same place or are related to.  We chose to be friends.  We clicked thanks to a passion for kickboxing, but found out that was only the beginning.  It's still one of my most rewarding friendships.  I miss our gym dates, lunch dates, pool dates and couple dates.

Denver was idyllic.  With all of the fresh air, mountain bike trails, un-ending scenery, I mean, our master bedroom had a mountain view for crying out loud.  It was almost perfect.  The dang snow just got in the way.  But out of all the places that we've lived, this neighborhood was absolutely storybook delightful.  All young, fit couples, walking dogs, starting families, living "the life".  Our next-door neighbors were a once-in-a-lifetime find.  With short, picket fences between the houses, there was no one else I'd rather see when standing on the back porch in my pajamas.  Or shoveling the driveway.  Or sharing a fantastic home cooked meal.  Neighbors who became cherished friends.

And of all of the least likely places to make lasting bonds, there was Baku, Azerbaijan.  All of us English-speakers were clumped together simply because of a shared language, but once you started shifting through the "Westerners" there were some true gems.  Strangely, it was because the country was so difficult to live in, that we drew closer together.  There was something reassuring in knowing that other people were struggling too.  Misery loves company, so we took our pity party out for cocktails and then to Germany and Thailand.  Traveling and indulging with these friends created lasting memories and filled my photo albums.

Lesli and Brooke before the Kenny Chesney concert in Houston

On many nights, my dreams are filled with all of these friends and the experiences we shared.  I wake up sad for the past.  We can always be friends, but the circumstances will never quite be the same.  I knew I was extremely fortunate at the time to be making such good friends, but it's only in retrospect that it can wholly be appreciated.

Tulips bloomed in our Denver backyard just before we moved

Brooke and Adriana enjoying Thailand

Diversity

I love diversity.  I think it's good for all of us.  I was thrilled that the 2 valedictorians at my niece's high school graduation were Vietnamese first generation Americans.  Not to do a disservice to my niece, she did graduate 7 out of 400+ kids, because I was certainly proud of her.  But to see those 2 atypical Americans on stage, made me proud of our country.

One of the best things about living internationally was the opportunity to have candid conversations with other nationalities.  Granted, most were either British or Australian, so they really aren't all that different from us Yankees.  But, I think about 50% of our conversations were about the subtle oddities in our cultures.  From the various pronunciations of herbs to which holidays were celebrated to how public education and healthcare worked, the diversity was what made everything interesting.  I was  like the Riddler when I starting hanging out with a close friend who is Russian Kazak.  I couldn't get the questions out fast enough.  And then I had the chance to quiz another amendable friend who is Russian Turkmen.  I was captivated with her her experiences of growing up in the USSR. 

And it's time for me to declare loud and proud my endorsement for the television show "Glee".  Don't be a hater.  It's the best thing to happen to teenage-themed television since they did away with the after school special.  The singing is great, the story lines, on occasion, can be witty, but most importantly, it strives to promote tolerance of diversity.  Makes me a happy camper.

And back to the real world, I admire diversity and its unique perspective because you just never know about people.  It's the abundance of one-of-a-kind experiences that make it worth asking about.

I "Tried"

My first triathlon...I came, I saw, I did not quite conquer but, I did have a great time.

I trained for 8 weeks, but I was still slightly concerned that I might drown during the 500 meter swim.  It was a pool swim with participants being put in every 15 seconds.  I have one race pace - slow and steady - which doesn't bode well for me when I only have seconds before the next swimmer is tapping on my ankles, wanting to pass me.  I was passed by 6 people during the swim and each time, it gave me more anxiety and left me gasping for air.  I actually had to doggie paddle for a few seconds just to get my bearings.  I would be embarrassed by my antics, but with burning lungs, it was the only thing I could think of to keep shear panic at bay. 

Thankfully, my legs were still strong for the bike ride around Lake Hefner.  The ride was mostly uneventful, but in retrospect, I probably could have pushed a little harder.  I was just enjoying the uncharacteristically cloudy morning and the 80 degree temperature that was accompanying it - in the midst of a severe drought and record-breaking temps, it was a welcome reprieve.

Lastly, the run.  Got that in the bag.  Except for that I'm still slow and steady.  Never been a hare and I wasn't about to start now.  Finding my groove came easy.  On my way out the chute, I passed the hubby, who was finishing up.  He was about 25 minutes ahead of me.  He didn't even train for the tri.  That's what happens when you have mental fortitude, which I struggle with.  Nonetheless, I crossed the finish line in 1:41.  A Gatorade and banana to refuel and then a few minutes sitting on the pavement.  Whew!  What a morning, and it was only 9 a.m.!

I'm proud of my accomplishment, even if it wasn't anything spectacular.  I will definitely tri again.

Sentimental

I've tried to explain it to my niece, but she just doesn't get it.  Not yet at least.  It will happen to her too some day.  How do I know?  Because I too was once young and naive.  I remember watching tv as a child and my mom tearing up during a Hallmark commercial.  I would roll my eyes and chuckle.  Little did I know that my time was coming.  Mom would also get choked up during the national anthem or reading a birthday card.  "Geez, mom, why do you always cry?"

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  I can barely see a person in military uniform without getting a knot in my throat.  And at my niece's high school graduation, with my hand over my heart, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, the tears were falling.  I would have been embarrassed, but I looked over at mom, and her mascara was streaked as well.

In Azerbaijan, all young men had to serve in the military, unless they were able to bribe their way out.  We would routinely see Soviet-era infantry trucks transporting the young troops - very young.  I doubt many of them even needed to shave yet, but there they sat, bumping along the road, with machine guns slung over their shoulders.  I remember saying out loud, "I can't believe those boys are given guns."  And Kyle responded with, "Maybe it's the innocence of youth that makes them hungry for a fight."

And I think that might be true for all of us.  When we are young, we can't yet appreciate the fragility of life.  Maybe it's only with added years that we have grown emotionally enough to be sentimental.  So, it's something  you have to experience and live.  Get your kleenex out youngins', because if video games and reality tv doesn't desensitize you, you too will earn the honor of crying at the next Lifetime movie.

Keeping Up with the Joneses

We've all gone mad.

I thought I had officially "arrived" with the purchase of a stainless steel refrigerator.  But apparently, they were created solely to push border-line OCD people over the edge.  The fingerprints never stop.  Not to sound ungrateful and incredibly spoiled, but can't I go back to a black fridge?  It's hanging out in the garage, keeping the beer cold.  I'm sure it would be happy to get a promotion to the house.

And when did it become vogue to stain concrete?  I thought it would be enough to own a great house in a cool neighborhood.  But, I look out my front windows and we're about the only house without a stained driveway.  The anxiety level is rising.

While I'm ranting, the packaging of irrelevant items has gotten out of control.  At first, it was CDs that took a pair of scissors, teeth and a sharp fingernail to open.  It seems that everything has gone that same route.  It took me 5 minutes to free my eye drops from their box and safety seal.  My dry contacts had plum fallen out of my eyes by then.

We've become a society of ridiculous appliances and overly-processed, shrink wrapped groceries.  And, I still heart it more than Azerbaijan.

It's a Bike Thing

It could have been worse.  Much worse.  Thankfully, I only ended up with a strawberry on my chin, scrapes on my knee, ankle and palm and a very sore elbow.  We had been riding our road bikes for almost 2 hours through the Badlands National Park in South Dakota, when my brain drifted off to la-la land and consequently, my bike drifted off the pavement onto small pebbles.  Road bike tires are extremely skinny, and the bumpy surface made the bike slide right out from under me.  I skidded to a stop, chin first.  The hubby was quite a distance ahead of me, so instead of bursting into tears, like I really wanted to do, I had to get back on and keep riding - total of 34 miles.

We've rode bikes (although not always as vigorously as in the Badlands) all over the world.  One of our first indulgent purchases after college were mountain bikes and all of the accompanying gear - special pedals that special shoes clip in to, hydration packs, helmets, gloves, padded shorts and brightly-colored shirts.  After honing our skills on trails at several state parks in Oklahoma - Thunderbird, Draper, Roman Nose, Hefner - we rode true terrain in Canmore, Canada, and then Crested Butte, Colorado.

The mountain bikes were hung in the garage while we lived in Houston, as I was teaching several indoor cycling classes and just didn't have the energy to fight the oppressive outdoor humidity.  But the mountain bikes were granted a reprieve when we moved to Denver.  Those bad boys were never given a weekend off until the snow was too deep to pedal through.  They floated on the Atlantic to Kazakhstan and by train to Azerbaijan, but sadly, never made it on any foreign trails.

Brooke and Kyle in Munich

We did however rent bikes for a relaxing tour of Munich, Germany, before partaking in Oktoberfest.  We also explored the island of Corfu, Greece, on bikes.  And I ventured out solo along the mangrove swamps of Marathon Island in the Florida Keys.  It's a great way to take in all of the sights, smells and feeling emitting from a town and it's surrounding nature.  My family teases me, "Look!  There's a bike rental place.  We better drop Brooke off now!"  I think I'm addicted to the sweating, wind in the face, rhythmic pedaling and obtainable challenges that a bike can offer.

Brooke in Corfu, Greece

Brooke with a "townie bike" in the Florida Keys (love the basket!)

Happy Brooke, before the fall, in the Badlands of South Dakota

Spurred mostly by my sudden entry into a triathlon, we recently splurged on road bikes.  Until we left for South Dakota, we were toughening up our saddles on the country hills east of OKC.  And before my asphalt face-plant, the worst I had encountered was a chain caught between gears and a flat tire 2 blocks from home.  The hubby got wicked poison ivy on two separate occasions, but I think there's a saying (or at least there should be), you can't keep a good cyclist down.

Road Trip!

While living internationally, there were so many things about home that we missed and which have been discussed in-depth in this blog.  But the "road trip" was one that we didn't even know we were longing for.  The freedom to load up your own vehicle with junk food, a few changes of clothing and a full tank of gas, is taken for granted when you can do it any ole time.  It's only when you don't have access to a personal car and the countryside is deemed dangerous, that one might start thinking, "Why didn't I explore the states a bit more?"

Brooke at Mt. Rushmore

So, we are now at liberty to indulge in one of America's greatest past times.  Our Great American Road Trip was a spur-of-the-moment day's long drive to southwestern South Dakota. With our bicycles on the bumper and an ice chest packed full of Gatorade and soda, we drove straight north, up through Kansas and Nebraska, to enjoy the Black Hills.  Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, a plethora of national parks, Sturgis, Deadwood, all wrapped up in a nice little package.

Kyle running along the Mickelson Trail

Escaping a month-long heat wave in Oklahoma, we appreciated the 75 degree highs.  Afternoon rain storms were pleasant and the smell of "mountain air" was reviving.  We enjoyed buffalo meat at the Buglin' Bull Restaurant and rhubarb pie a la mode at a local bakery.  We worked off our calories with runs along the magnificent Mickelson Trail and bicycling in the Badlands.  We didn't even mind the drive home, which for 14 hours, it's hard not to notice that the only radio stations that always come in clearly are either Christian or in Spanish. And in true fashion, the whole way home, I repeatedly asked, "Where are we going next?" 

Fourth of July

Today is the day.  It's been a couple of months in the making.  No more procrastinating.  It simply has to be done.  I will update my "current city status" and "employment status" on Facebook. 

Only occassionally will I make comments like, "Remember where we were this time last year?"  or "Five years ago today..."  But, it's hard not to do that around this time of year.  I have always loved July 4.  It's the epitome of summertime.  Watermelon, fresh cut grass, smell of chlorine, sunburns, bleached-out hair and fireworks.  What's not to love?  Starting our last year of college, we spent the next 5 Fourths with our best friend Ryan.  Either floating down the Tahlequah River, boating or hanging out by a pool, it seemed we were always enjoying the holiday together.  Those were great times that I will always cherish.

But last year was certainly one to mention, because on July 2, the hubby, the two terriers and I were on a plane bound for Almaty, Kazakhstan.  We embarked on the craziest adventure of our lives and better yet, we lived to tell about it!  We spent Independence Day 2010 eating shashlick, drinking imported beers at a Kazak pub, feeling very much out of our element.   Over the past year, I have worn these random experiences as a badge of honor.  Maybe I thought it showed that I was tough enough to endure or open-minded enough to take it all in. I was proud of us for doing something so bold and a little unorthodox.

A year later, we're gratefully back in the USA, but I have been reluctant to change my Facebook statuses.  I ponder why....living internationally meant I couldn't officially have a job, because I didn't have a work permit.  It was perfectly acceptable to be an ex-pat wife.  But now, it seems a little lazy and spoiled of me to not have children and not work.  "Stay-at-home dog mom" sounds ridiculous.  And although I love Oklahoma and I'll always be an Okie at heart, I'd love to have my "current city" listed as some exotic locale.  It's an odd internal struggle. 

My remedy?  Buy an American flag and fly it patriotically.  We will also spend quality time with friends and family eating good ol' fashion American hamburgers and hotdogs.  And I will update my Facebook profile.

The Repatriation of Miss Pickels

Before we moved to Kazakhstan last summer, we endlessly scoured the web for any information about our new residence.  While doing so, we ran across a random blog entry about an American guy who had been living internationally, but was in the process of shipping his bulldog back to the USA.  The entry was written from the dog's point of view and was called, "The repatriation of  Miss Pickles".  It made for good reading and obviously it struck a chord with me because I still remember the title.

We all (me, the husband, 2 terrier mixes and the big boy, Pete) are now living back in OKC, in our new house and enjoying our time being one family again.  Pete had been living at his grandparents' house while his sisters did a little traveling abroad.  He definitely got the better end of the deal because Grammy was always baking something, which invariably ended up on a cooling rack placed on the dining room table, so it was easy pickings for a dog that when standing on his hind legs, is at least 5'4".  The girl dogs on the other hand were restricted to a diet of Russian-grade Purina (who knows what by-products are in that stuff).

Our repatriation is still a work in progress, as the majority of our household goods, including most of our wardrobe, will not arrive from Baku for at least another month.  Our house is a little scarce, albeit a few pieces of just-purchased furniture.  I'm having a little shell shock at the monthly bills that we went without while living internationally.  A mortgage, car payments, car insurance, utilities....I liked it better when someone else was picking up the tab.

Our new house

It's all good though because we are still in that honeymoon phase where we aimlessly roam the Wal-mart aisles, enjoying the variety of everything.  Overly-friendly people are still charming.  The oppressive Oklahoma summer heat is thrilling.  Mowing the yard - fun!  Washing the car - can't wait!

So, yes, we're all settling back in just fine.  It seems that the repatriation is much easier than the expatriation of Miss Pickles.

Old Dog, New Tricks

Under no circumstances do I consider myself old.  I'm just more mature now.  But, I have undertaken a few new adventures recently.  First, the most mundane, I learned how to mow.  I know, it's not at all impressive.  My best high school friend was mowing her parents' yard in grade school.  I guess mowing-wise that I was late to blossom, but I have a perfectly good excuse.  Growing up, we always had a pool (so, I'm spoiled too).  My daily chore in the summer months was to vacuum the pool.  It was no small feat when I slept in until 11 a.m. and then had to complete my task in 100 degree heat.  Dad took care of the yard.  And, what a fine looking piece of grass it was!

So, here we are, owning our sixth house and I'm finally biting the bullet.  Except for now, I mow as early as possible (for the neighbors' sake, I wait until at least 8 a.m.).  I want to avoid the heat, of course, but I'm also slightly embarrassed at the finished product.  So, the less people who see me mow, the more people who think that my husband is the responsible party.  They can assume that he is the one creating bald spots and missing several obvious tuffs.

More to my liking, I also started tennis lessons.  When the instructor was teaching us newbies how to hold the racket, I noticed the women decked out in tennis skirts, over-priced tops and visors looking at us and I'm certain they were thinking, "Have they never even picked up a racket before?"  I wanted to state matter-of-factly that, "No, I have not had the privilege."  But, the instructor quickly drew our attention away by hitting balls at us as we learned the proper way to swing.  My internationally diverse "teachers of the world" experience continues, as this instructor is from Chile.  Doesn't really compare with my harsh Russian boxing coach, but still cool.

And finally, I just registered for my first triathlon.  It will be early in August, so I've expanded my training beyond my usual runs to include laps in the pool and until we purchase road bikes, I'm settling for the stationary ones at the gym.  It's called a "sprint" triathlon because it's only a 500 yard swim, followed by a 13 mile bike ride and a 5k run.  Sounds invigorating.  I can't wait!

It's a Family Tradition

My family has been going to the Alabama Gulf coast since the mid '80's.  Every summer, the day after school got out, we would load up Clampett-style and drive 14 hours to our little piece of sandy paradise, scattered with beach houses and a spattering of mid-level condos.  It's where I learned to "body surf" and "hunt" for sand crabs as a kid.  In the teen years, it taught me the power of a bikini and the importance of sunblock.   And the summer before college, it's where my best friend and I recognized that the whole world lay ahead of us.  A surreal and terrifying realization for two over-achieving, self-described book worms.

As a young newlywed, the hubby and I saved enough money for our own trip to the coast.  Telling a friend and her boyfriend of our impending trip, the boyfriend said, "It's the Redneck Riveria."  Ouch!  What a blow!  Good thing she broke up with him.  We never liked him anyway.

My family's traveling style has evolved over the years.  Now, flying is the norm and hurricanes have change the landscape into a plethora of high-rise condos, remodeled seafood joints and chain restaurants.  But the important stuff is still the same.  Blinding white sand, crashing waves (albeit a little murky) and the smell of salty air.

I like to tell people that my family is notorious for inviting themselves on each others' vacations.  My sister went with me and the hubby to NYC.  My parents were with us in Vegas.  My niece was with my parents in California.  And I have twice been treated to my sister and brother-in-law's trips to the beach.  I am happy to report that on our most recent trip to the coast in June, we did not spot one tar ball or anything else oil-related.

I think most people have a "place" that will always remind them of their youth and will be a sacred second home or a retreat.  Whether it's grandma's house, church camp or the lake, it's some place that holds special memories and life lessons.  For me, it will forever be Gulf Shores.  Learning of the oil spill along the coast last summer, my heart ached.  It was like hearing that Disney World had gone bankrupt.  "What?! My paradise cannot be threatened!"  But as I have witnessed first-hand, the people and the environment rallied.   Roll tide roll.

Things I couldn't talk about - Part 2

Unlike my previous blog on the Baku police, I could have written about the following topic while in Baku and without fear of harm, but I chose to delay the subject, as to not seem too critical or harsh toward Baku. I made many acquaintances while living internationally, several who were local Kazak, Azeri or of Russian descent and while living in their countries, I hated to seem ungrateful for their friendship and hospitality. With some distance and time between us, it's now less of a concern.

One of the first things you notice when driving into Baku city from the airport is the fine walls and impeccable landscaping that line the highway.  And as the drive continues along the busiest street in town, the Bulvar, it is the same sight - palm trees that do not naturally grow in Baku, lush grasses, nicely crafted retaining walls and cobblestone walkways.  And then you walk one block into the center of the city and it's heart-wrenching.  "How can people even live like this?"

The rumor among expats was that Azerbaijan wants to put in a bid to host the Olympics, which seems ludicrous knowing first hand that Baku, the largest city, is completely inefficient.  But according to this gossip, that is why the government is putting a new facade on everything.  It's all for show.  Old, decrepit buildings are given a "face lift" by making the street side seem new and modern, but the interiors are left to literally rot.  And don't even get me started on the 10-mile long wall that randomly runs on the outskirts of town.  I think they are trying to hide the slums that can be viewed from the highway.

Section of wall "hiding" an apartment building

The saddest part is that instead of investing in the future of the city, by actually fixing things, they are throwing money in the wind and making the masses even more resentful.  In referring to Baku, our British friend said, "What a soul-crushing place." To see your government building a ridiculous wall while the city crumbles behind it, must truly be maddening.

Things I couldn't talk about

There's a little more unfinished business from my time in the former Soviet state of Azerbaijan.  I never felt comfortable writing about these topics while living there and have been hesitant to even do so now that I'm back in the USA.  Since AZ claims to have freedom of the press, it may seem overly cautious to self-censor, but when the Baku Women's Club city directory was held up by the Azeri government because it contained a section on the government's censorship (the irony was not lost on us), I thought it was wise to keep the following thoughts to myself, or at least to discuss them only in close company.

By all standards, it was a typical Saturday afternoon, on our way to Citimart, via our driver Hikmet.  It seems absurd to even try and explain just how safe of a driver Hikmet was.  He sometimes drove too slowly and would always let pedestrians have the right of way, even if it meant that we were nearly rear-ended by a Lada.  In the midst of all the craziness of Baku traffic, Hikmet was singled out for a traffic violation.  Who knows what the infraction was, if there even was one.  Nonetheless, Hikmet had to a pay a bribe to the officer to let us go.  The whole ordeal lasted only a few minutes, but as we drove away, Hikmet was indifferent, "that's just the way it is" but I was outraged.  The Baku police drove BMW cruisers and made a nice living off of threatening the public.  No one was immune, expats were just as likely to be taken advantage of as their fellow Azeris, who were poor by all standards.

I remember reading an article by the CNN journalist Anderson Cooper.  Among the discussion points regarding his international assignments was how in most countries of the world, the police are not your friends.  Never a truer statement has been made.  Our run-in with the police was minor compared to what other expats had experienced.  The stories were countless and some were slightly terrifying*.

And the corrupt police were just the beginning of an entirely inefficient government.  The money coming into Azerbaijan from oil exports must be incredible, but besides the numerous parks being constructed around Baku, no one would ever know that AZ is a top exporter of oil worldwide.  The public schools are lousy, groceries cost an arm and leg, medical care is dismal - all in all, it's a tough place to eek out a decent life.

So, it wasn't really surprising that during the previous months' "Arab Spring" movement, that Baku had it's fair share of protests as well.  Expats were warned by their embassies to avoid certain areas of town, as to not inadvertently get swept up in a protest, or worse yet, the squashing of the protests by the police.  I hope for the country's sake that the government takes heed to those brave folks trying to air their grievances because it's a long list of wrongs that could be made right.

*I would like to state for the record (or for my mom, whichever), that while living in Almaty and Baku, we never felt threatened for our lives.  Both cities were generally hospitable and extremely safe, as guns are a rarity, even for the police.  Crime can happen in any city anywhere in the world and we never worried for our well-being.

An Ode

It's an odd form of patriotism that I have recently discovered within myself.  Not unlike the heart-swelling reverence that I feel anytime I see a man or woman in military dress.  Quite similar actually.

My dad worked for the electricity company for almost 30 years before he retired 10 years ago.  He was a lineman, which meant that he climbed poles or rode a lift bucket to fix power lines tens of feet up in the air.  After every storm that rolled through the OKC metro area, dad wouldn't even wait for "the call" that meant he'd be working all night long.  Instead, he'd be out the door after a kiss for mom and a hug for me. It would still be raining, but the wind and lightning would have subsided.  My childhood memories are flooded with images of his big orange O G & E truck heading out into the dark night, en route to get the power back on - to a building, a neighborhood, a town or even the entire city.

In the early years of dad's career, the linemen could wear any type of long sleeve shirt (dad's was usually an immaculately-ironed flannel print) with work jeans (very tight Levi's) and steel-toed boots.  It was the later years that I remember better, the flame-retardant, company-issued khaki long sleeve shirt with still-too-tight Levi's.  A detailed-oriented man, dad's shirt was always tucked-in, with a brown belt to match his brown boots.  Even though he now has a desk job from his home office, when I think of dad "at work" I catch myself absurdly imagining him wearing this unique uniform, even though it would be ridiculous for a successful business man.

My dad, the lineman, circa 1980.

After living outside of Oklahoma for the past few years, my deep rooted pride surprised me last week as I cut through OKC along I-40.  I spotted a caravan of familiar bright orange O G & E trucks heading west, presumably to El Reno, which had been devastated the night before by a ravenous tornado. The trucks were on a honorable mission.  And my heart delightfully swelled knowing that my dad committed so much time to the exact same cause: getting people's lives back on track.  Now that's something to be proud of.

Shifting Gears

When I started this blog, I was writing about my international experiences for an American audience. Now that I am again state-side, the tone has somewhat shifted.  Recalling my favorite Reader's Digest article "Life in these United States," I suppose that I am now focused on my new life in the USA and describing events to international readers.  I apologize if Americans find the topics mundane, but maybe they'll see things in a different light nonetheless.

A recent observation about my fellow Okies is how adept at weather forecasting we have become. Even the most redneck hillbilly is able to intelligently tell you, using correct verbiage, what a dry line, super cell, mesocyclone, wind sheer and Doppler radar are.  We have all watched enough Gary England (local meteorologist/celebrity) to be experts on the subject of funnel clouds, wall clouds and tornadoes.  It's a matter of self-preservation when you live in "tornado alley."

What I love the most is how extraordinarily polite people are.  And I chuckle every time I catch myself saying, "that person was so rude" because compared to my former countries of residence, Okies are saints. We even slow down on the interstate to allow someone else to merge and that person in turn will give a happy wave.  Baku take note:  honking is not necessary.

Music to my ears

I love how just a few beats of a familiar song can take you back to another place and time. There was the James Blunt song, "1973" that played over and over on the Italian radio stations as we drove around Tuscany. And then I'm teaching a spin class a few months later and that song was our cool down. I was instantly transported back to the Italian countryside with its yellows and oranges and smell of hay and lilac. Didn't matter that 25 people were staring at me, waiting for me to tell them what to do next on their bikes, I wasn't wavering from my daydream.

At Oktoberfest this past year, the bands repeatedly played "Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars.  I had never even heard the song, but the the internationally-diverse crowd would go wild and sing/shout the lyrics, complete with emphatic arm motions, each time.  When I hear that song on leisurely drives, I now feel a sense of excitement unfit for the errands at hand.

Recently, I entered a 10k race around Lake Hefner. Around the half-way point, I'm fighting with the wind and my Ipod's earbuds when The Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian" starts up. The line, "all the foreign types with their hookah pipes" made me recall the Syrian girls smoking hookah in Dubai. The group of four girls, barely in their 20's, wore full abayat and their eyes were laced with heavy make-up. The waiter brought them a large hookah pipe to pass around and it smelled faintly like strawberry. The scene was a study in contrasts.

And while running the OKC half-marathon, the smash up of "Singin' in the Rain" with Rihanna's "Umbrella" was extra loud as to cover up my huffing and puffing (the song is performed by the Glee cast - I'm not embarrassed to admit that they are among my fav!). It was only too perfect since the rain poured dramatically as it blew diagonally.

It's all music to my ears.

Just Life

Pete, our big lab mix, had what started out as a small lump just below his elbow.  Almost a year later, it had grown to golf ball size.  The vet removed it and the test came back that it was cancerous but with only a 20% chance of returning.  All has been going well, minus the original stitches that were replaced by staples, which were then replace with stainless steel stitches.  Why didn't they just use stainless steel the first time, you may ask.  One of the great unanswered questions in life....

Pete wearing a cone to protect the stitches in his leg

In other news, with only a few days to go before closing on our new house, the builder has been threatened that we'll push back closing if he doesn't get the yard's drainage problem fixed.  And put the correct address on our mailbox. Geez...

And on the brighter side, working out with my youngest niece has been a blast.  We joined the local YMCA and have been regular ole gym rats.

As for my oldest niece, I was allowed to be there when her date picked her up for prom.  Her in a gorgeous purple Cinderella dress and him with a mohawk.  I've also traveled up the turnpike to Tulsa to visit my friend with 3 little boys, which sounds perfectly horrific to me, but she handles everything with grace and patience.  It also helps that her boys are sweet little gentlemen.

Dinner with our college "besties" was as joyous as ever.  It's one of those relationship where you can slide right back into familiarity with uncanny ease.

Just a few of the things that make being back in Oklahoma so perfect.

A little longing for Baku

My dear Baku friend, Gemma and her husband John, have graciously taken care of Kyle since my departure from Baku a month ago. I'm worried because Gemma is a fabulous cook and she's been preparing great feast of curry, dumplings, pot pies and bread puddings - all of the fine traditional English dishes (she is British after all). The worrisome part is that Kyle might start to expect this. He'll have to readjust his expectations because I'm all about easy Tex-Mex and salads. And to be fair, the availability of lettuce in Azerbaijan was scarce, so maybe he's looking forward to it. Maybe?

Brooke & Gemma at the Irish Ball

As Kyle is living vicariously through my American experiences, ("you ate icecream, ran a race and peacefully walked the dogs?!" he jealously asked after I had a particularly productive Saturday morning), then I am also living out my Baku life through him. Kyle having dinner with Gemma and John, drinks with Max and Adriana, running with the harriers, letting the dogs parade back and forth to Kira and Georges' apartment, and being chauffeured around by Hikmet, gives me the "in" to Baku that I might otherwise be missing from my previous life.

It was all a wonderful experience, not always good, but never boring. And even though I'm missing the hubby and anxious for his arrival in a couple of days, I will definitely miss this connection, however slight, to my Baku friends.

Run to Remember

Have you ever run in the rain with 8,000 of your closest friends? It's not a bad way to spend a Sunday morning, which is exactly what we (I'm including my 8,000 friends) did in the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon this Sunday. Well, I just did the half marathon and like the shirt that I was proudly wearing said, meant I was only half crazy. Because another 2,500 oh so happy people did the entire 26.2 miles. It wasn't so much the rain or the wind or the thunder that delayed the start of the race 30 minutes, it was the lightning that had us all ooohhing and ahwwwing each time it flashed across the sky.

I would guesstimate that half of the 13,000 runners were wearing some sort of rain protection, either a store-bought poncho or a trash bag with arm and leg holes, making the whole lot of us sound like thousands of sacks stuck in trees every time the north wind picked up, which was pretty much the entire time. The rain poured hard, I swore it was sleeting and the aroma coming off of our bodies was intoxicating at an inhuman level.

The OKC Memorial Marathon is run each year to remember the 168 people who died in the bombing at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995. Around mile 2 of the race, banners are reverently hung off of light poles with individual names of the deceased. I ran from pole to pole in honor of each name. "Here's to you, Linda..." "Please be with Richard's family today....", "Thinking of you Antonio...", "I'm sure Carol had a great smile..." and so on. The rain was beginning to pound, so it was hard to distinguish if that was sweat, rain or tears. Definitely tears, as they were hot on my face.

Approaching the state capitol, the Native American "Guardian" statue is visible on the dome. And watch over us he did. I wasn't hallucinating (yet), but I did imagine his baritone voice boomed out, "You go, girl!"

And on the race went. There was Gorilla Hill, where a gigantic blue blow-up gorilla greeted us, with people dancing in full-body banana costumes. And the hundreds of spectators, smiling/cringing as their umbrellas turned inside out at horrible gusts. Some kids were holding the sign, "Hurry up and run faster so that we can go home!" Amen to that!

Mile 9 was when my IT band had had enough. I looked like I was skipping for about a quarter mile. My paced slowed, so that I was still technically jogging, but in all honesty, it was a fast walk. I was moving so slow for a while that I thought, "Please let there be somebody else behind me!" The last couple of miles were endured as my mantra of "strong mind, tough body" rattled through my head. I did not set a PR, but I made it, all in one piece and I received a medal just the same. The cruel joke was walking back to my car for another 6 blocks (still in the cold rain) and not being able to find my spot in the parking garage. It was the only time I wanted to sit down and cry. Alas, all hope was not lost, as I made it home (on heated seats).

And so now that I've showered, lunched and napped, I reflect on the race and all that it means to OKC. All Oklahomans should be impressed with the quality of the race and the level to which it has been taken. The bar is set for professionalism. This was my tenth half marathon to complete, and I'm so proud that my hometown offers something so fantastic. I've raced in Dallas, Houston, Denver and Las Vegas. OKC beats them all, hands down, and then some. I cannot say enough about the crowd support and organization. And Okies are of genuine caliber. Politely pushing my way through the crowd to get to the start line, my poncho became wedged between several people, pulling back on the hood, and choking me out. As I stopped dead in my tracks, several women reached over to "free" me. And they all called me "sweetie" while doing it. Gotta love it!

And I have to give a big shout out to my friends who persevered through the entire marathon. It hailed on them for crying out loud! And they still put one foot in front of another, completing life-long goals while running to remember.

Missing the Most

It was relatively easy to say goodbye to Baku the city. It was more difficult to say farewell to my friends. Since we were all "orphans" living in a foreign city, we only had each other to rely on. It was impossible to run home to mama or to even console oneself with shopping therapy. So, we did what anyone would do in our situation, we had cocktails! I will miss these friends more than I thought possible. There's something about being strangers in a strange land that ties people together.

The pilates girls at the Rotary Disco Party: Kira, Adriana, Donna, Christie and Brooke

And I cannot fail to mention the other "rocks" in my Baku life...Hikmet and Farhad.

Hikmet was our driver and so much more - tour guide, market shopping companion and explainer of all things Azeri. There were days when I talked more with Hikmet than anyone else. He was patient, kind and put up with what I'm sure were my annoying American habits.

Kyle, Hikmet and Brooke all dressed up before Srinath's wedding

Farhad was my infallable boxing coach. The little man routinely kicked my butt and yelled at me in Russian and I loved every second.

Farhad and Brooke before the final workout

Unfinished Business

In the span of 7 days, I flew across the world (32 hours of total travel time!), endured a stomach bug, overcame jet lag, looked at 43 potential homes and finally settled on a great house in north Oklahoma City. Not a bad day(s) work.

And now, I have some unfinished business from Baku. As I sit in a comfy home office in OKC, it's hard to even fathom that I was actually there. I lived in Kazakhstan, I lived in Azerbaijan. That was me. Not a book I was reading or a tv series. That was my life. It all feels surreal. It's been easy to slide right back into "normal" life in the USA. I've wondered several times over the past week, "was I even really ever there?" Like a strange dream, some parts of my time in Baku are already a little foggy. Seeing as how we moved quickly from Oklahoma, to Houston, to Denver before going international, I should be used to this feeling, right? It's just something about the whole crazy experience that we had over the past year that makes me feel a little sad. Or is it reflective?

Well, in any case, the few days leading up to my Baku departure were jammed packed with friends and fun. First, there was Srinath's wedding. Kyle works with Shrinath, who is British Indian, and Guyla was his beautiful Azeri bride. We were included in the wedding party, so we helped in the old-fashioned ritual where the groom goes to the bride's house and "kidnaps" her. Thankfully, it's an outdated practice and now is only for fun. And my favorite part was that our car was part of a honking-extravaganza caravan that drove all through Baku.

Guyla and Srinath

The bride & groom's car was completely covered in sparkles!

We also attended a disco-themed party hosted by the Rotary. You know what happens when a bunch of ex-pats, the majority from England or Europe, get together and have a South American DJ? Very few disco songs get played. Instead, Big Bopper's "The Twist" and Madonna's "Vogue" are the top requests. Needless to say, a grand time was had by all.

Brooke & Adriana (with a wig!) at the Disco Party

I'm not done yet. Check back soon for a few more tidbits of unfinished Baku business...

Bitter Sweet

There was a day mid-January when I honestly thought, "I cannot make it another second in Baku!" The weather was cold and rainy, the air quality was dismal, the dogs looked miserable or maybe that was just me projecting my emotions. Whatever the case, I wanted out of Azerbaijan. But as these things seem to go, the next day was a little sunny and the next day even sunnier and "snap!" - I was out of my funk. I started teaching pilates, taking an online class and working out with a boxing coach. I made new friends and made coffee dates and lunch dates and dinner dates. Before I knew it, I was longing for some down time to take a nap.

And now, it seems that this too is coming to an end. My husband has accepted a job out of Oklahoma City. Honestly, he didn't seek a job back in the states, that's just where it happened to be. I feel it's fate really. This will give us an opportunity to reconnect with friends and family and maybe start a family of our own. But as my time in Baku winds down, it's all becoming bitter sweet. The things that drive me crazy about the Azeris, I now find endearing. The incessant honking and silly mustaches and all black attire and no smiles, don't even faze me anymore. Maybe I've become anesthetized to it all. I'd like to think that I've accepted the Azeris for who they are. I don't have to understand why they do the things that they do, but I can at least appreciate their particular uniqueness and the experiences that have made them who they are.

We are not closing the door on international living. In fact, we hope to do this again in a few years, just hopefully not in an ex-Soviet country. Maybe we can do South America or Europe. It's a big world and I'd like to try it all out. For the time being, we are going to see where life takes us and currently that is the USA.

Mirror Mosque

I'm on a roll. Coming off the high of touching the sacred relic at the Russian Orthodox Church, I figured my "special treatment" luck had run out. Apparently, I was gifted one more VIP experience, this time at the Sanctuary of Mir Movsum Agha, or Mirror Mosque, just on the outskirts of Baku city.

Exterior of Mirror Mosque

My friend, Galina, once again served as tour guide and instructed me on how to wear my veil and the customs for entering a mosque. When there are not scheduled services at this mosque, it becomes less strict and allows sight-seers of all faiths. Also, men and women were allowed to enter together and one was not expected to perform ablution (the washing of hands and feet) before entering, but we did have to take our shoes off. This mosque was more of a holy pilgrimage site and has become a sort of last resort for those seeking healing of ailments. The poet Seyid is buried at the mosque and his tomb is the main draw. At Seyid's shrine, visitors walk around 3 times, saying prayers as they move in a conglomerate circle. The truly reverent were "walking" on their knees.

Outside the mosque, stalls for ablution.

It was beautiful. We were not allowed to take pictures of the interior and it's a shame that I do not have the words to properly describe it. But, every square inch of walls and ceiling were covered in mosaic mirrors. It was like being inside a giant disco ball. As we exited, a male employee motioned for us to follow him. I was reluctant, but Galina seemed at ease, so we went. He took us to the second floor for a better view of the tomb and into a special prayer room, both of which usually only allow men inside. We were the only people there, gazing down onto the 100 or more worshipers below. Again, I was awe-struck at the mosque's beauty and at the incredible opportunity we were given.


Brooke outside the second floor of the mosque

We ended the afternoon with tea at Galina's summer house or "dacha" as it is called in Russian. And just when I thought nothing could top the mosque visit, I was introduced to Galina's 2 Central Asian Shepherd puppies, who will grow to over 150 pounds each. I'm not being dramatic. I have never seen anything so adorable in my entire life. Playing with the pups was like getting a hug from an angel. My face hurt from smiling so much.



Brother and sister were like polar bear pups!