The sun

We took M to Los Angeles (and Portland) for a three-week holiday.  I'm still thinking of the time spent with my family in California, the sunshine, the ocean, the tamale-filled festivities.  One day, while staying at my sister's house, we walked to the neighborhood pokē restaurant.  It was a breezy 80 degree day, in late December.  I stared up at the towering palm trees and my thoughts swirled around how cold it must be in DC.

I always enjoy time with family but, with M now in our lives, those interactions take on another level of meaning for me (sorry if that sounds blow-hardy).  I'm starting to wonder if I would be fine with my daughter seeing her cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents -- in many ways, her (and my) cultural anchors - once or twice a year tops.  I'm not so sure.  Yet, I'm not exactly ready to move back to California either.

There are other things I'm thinking about, some more frivolous than others, but someone is calling for me.

And my time is up.

Thanksgiving holiday

I realize I use this space to whine about some of the realities of motherhood.  Today, I'm thinking about how tired I am, how I'm still not sleeping well, how I don't quite fit into my old clothes, and how postpartum hair loss is horrible, if not scary.

I think it throws friends when they ask me how I am doing and I launch into my grievances.  I see the look on their faces. But that is what's going on, dear friends.  Yes, I love my daughter, fiercely. Her smiles make me forget (for a while) some of the difficulties of motherhood.  And life is richer, in ways I didn't understand before.

But I'm not one to sugarcoat things and some days I surprise myself with my ability to get out of bed, get dressed and pretend to be functional, maybe even mildly coherent.  Today was not one of those days. I stayed at home in my pajamas while taking conference calls.

This post was about Thanksgiving in Colorado: There was snow and family. I didn't bring my work computer. I didn't think about human rights or the uphill battle we face. It was great.  And, speaking of M's smiles, here's one that melts my heart.

Strawyberry-Rhubarb Goodness

This was in late June. That's a very pregnant me, after I waddled half a block to the farmers market.  I bought rhubarb and strawberries, and I made this compote.  So good.

David Lebovitz's Strawberry-Rhubarb Compote

Ingredients

• 1 ¼ cups (310 ml) water
• 1 ¼ cups (310 ml) dry or sweet white wine
• 5 slices (15 g) fresh ginger, unpeeled
• ½ cup (100 g) sugar
• 1/3-1/2 cup (100 - 160 g) honey
• 2-pounds (1 kg) rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 3-inch batons, about 1/2 –inch wide
• 1 pound (450 g) strawberries, hulled and quartered

Instructions

In a large saucepan, heat the water, wine, ginger, sugar, and honey (use the smaller amount if you think you might want it less-sweet.)

When all the sugar is dissolved and the syrup is simmering, add the rhubarb and let the rhubarb cook in the simmering syrup until it’s just softened, which may take as little as 5 minutes, depending on the rhubarb. Remove from heat and add the strawberries. When cool, pluck out the ginger slices.

Serve warm or room temperature.

Russian chocolates

The day before I went into labor, Ethan and I celebrated our one year anniversary.  In lieu of how we imagined we would celebrate (a trip to Kyrgyzstan, camping in a yurt), we instead spent the day doing more low-key activities--namely, buying houseplants, eating at our favorite Sichuanese restaurant in the Maryland 'burbs, and visiting a few of the adjacent "ethnic" grocery stores, one of which was a Russian/post-Soviet Imperium grocery store.  There, we came across these chocolates, which I encountered in many grocery stores in Russia. I remember bringing these home as souvenirs for friends in Portland.

That trip feels like a lifetime ago.  I think often of that trip.  I guess it could have been any trip. Replace the Tran-Siberian with a trip to Italy or Chile - whatever.  That trip marked an inflection point in my life; so much changed after that time.

One of the surprising things I've found about motherhood is that it has strengthened my resolve to live/work abroad again.  Moving abroad again has always been our plan, but there's another dimension to it now. When I found out I was pregnant, my mind clung to an image of me, Ethan and our child in Cambodia or another country. Perhaps it's because that's where this story began (where Ethan and I met and fell in love).  Perhaps it's because I was exposed to many expat mothers raising their families in Cambodia, Thailand, elsewhere.  And/or, perhaps I'm clinging to a way of life that may no longer fit.  I'm not sure; it's probably a mix of all three.

With M's arrival, Ethan and I talk a lot about living abroad again.  It pains our families to hear that we plan to move abroad with M in a few years. While life certainly has its twists and turns, I hope that when the right opportunity presents itself, we will have the courage to go through with the move.

But that won't happen for a few years, I think.  And right now, there's a lot to relish about life in DC.

What I've Been Up To

Introducing Madeleine. Two weeks ahead of schedule.

Little Tokyo/Arts District

An afternoon in Little Tokyo with Ethan and Jack: rummaging through beauty shops, a big bowl of ramen at Daikokuya, green tea Kit Kat (!!!), and a visit to Poketo. 

Home

Me + Mom

Last night, I returned from over a week in California.  It felt good to be home.

"Home" is a concept I struggle with.  I was born outside of the United States, lived a huge chunk of my life in southern California, and lived most of what I consider to be my adult life in Portland, Southeast Asia, and now Washington DC.  I feel like I leave little bits and pieces of myself in the cities I've lived.

For as long as I've lived outside California, every time I've visited, I have always ask myself if I could ever move back.  Could I imagine myself doing the long commute in a car to my workplace in x?  Actually, could I even imagine myself spending that much time, daily, in a car? The whole southern California dependence on a car would probably kill me a little and moreso Ethan, who bikes everywhere.

But: Could I imagine being able to have weekend dinner with my family at the drop of a hat?  And reliable childcare?  Diversity?  Good food?  Constant sunshine?

This internal dialogue has been going on for over ten years.

After weighing every factor, I always come to the same conclusion: "No, I can't. Not right now." That was the answer I came up with last night on the plane back to DC, as my thoughts wandered through the week, to the baby shower that I was foisted on me, to the wedding prep, to my sister's stunning wedding, the driving, the eating, the constant chatter, the warmth of being around people who just know me.  It pains me a little to say goodbye each time.

I wonder if someday that answer will change.

Documenting a Walk: Graveyard Grub at Historic Congressional Cemetery

Life has been busy this month.  By the end of the month, we'll have spent three out of the four weekends in May out of the city.  We welcomed a weekend in the District - and it's Ethan's birthday! - so we did what we do best, which is to explore (and eat).

I feel like, at one point in my life (in my childhood or teens, perhaps), my cultural upbringing would have made me turn up my nose at an event like Graveyard Grub, a gathering of food trucks at a historical cemetery in the Eastside of the city.  But thank goodness I shed those kind of feelings and associations with cemeteries and sacred places as vacuously solemn long ago.  

Over the years, my favorite visits to hallowed/sacred buildings are often those that involve life mixed in - people sleeping in the corners of a red-stoned Burmese temple, attempting to escape the dry, unbearable heat outside; children playing outside of, and Hispanic vendors peddling queso fresco and sugary drinks on, the steps of the church in Mount Pleasant, DC; the birds chirping loudly and flying in and out of windows in a Catholic church in Saigon, Vietnam. 

And I was reminded of this cycle of life at this old, stately cemetery, where children ran around, dogs and their owners sunbathed on the green grass, couples explored the rolling grounds, looking for famous gravestones, and late 90s music and Pabst Blue Ribbon were served along with fare from DC Empanada and Captain Cookie and the Milkman.

One of the visits I had - to Wisconsin a few weeks ago, to attend the funeral of Ethan's grandmother - came to mind as I was sitting next to a giant stone obelisk.  Having lost yet another wonderful female in our family and anticipating the birth of my daughter in late July, my thoughts were wrapped up in this idea of cycles, of birth and death, and the lives we live in between.  

Looking back

This is one of my favorite pictures of Ethan.  I took it two summers ago, when we were in Darjeeling, India. It was during that summer of travel between Indonesia, Singapore and India, the summer before we moved to Thailand.  

Drawn out by promises of proper coffee, we walked to this small restaurant. I can't remember what it was called, but it had maybe three tables.  Indeed, it served up a proper cup of coffee and a hot, hearty breakfast.  We sat at this table, staring at the foot traffic outside, the fog and cold enveloping the streets.  I don't remember what we did that day.  I probably dragged him out to afternoon tea at the Elgin Hotel. Or, maybe we took a jeep ride to another hillside town. 

I get so caught up in the pace of life in this city. Sometimes I forget all the little adventures we shared.  I don't want to forget; those experiences ground me.  Sometimes I fail to realize life in this city is itself is a little adventure for us. One day, I'll look back and miss the tree-lined streets; the bands/musicians playing in Dupont Circle, causing music to stream into my office in the late afternoon; the rowhouses jutting up towards the sky; all the bits and pieces that make this life colorful.

Weekend recap.

It was good to be home for a few days.

Good morning, Los Angeles.

I've been in southern California for a few days. It was pouring rain. One morning, I woke up and in those first moments, on that cusp of consciousness and sleep, I thought I was back in the Mekong region during the torrential rain season. 

This weekend was my sister's bridal shower and my grandma Elpidia's birthday celebration.  I also caught up with Cherlou.  She took me to Urth Caffe, and we had way too much good food (evidence, above).  Between bites of an incredible apple tartin, I joked with her that she would probably give birth during our brunch - she was due next week.  She didn't, of course. She apparently waited several hours because I woke up this morning to a picture of a beautiful baby boy.  Congrats to them!
 
I'm off to DC today, off to reality again - that is, if the blizzard doesn't delay my flight!

My sister's bridal shower

via

I am not a planner.  Sure, professionally, I kind of have to be, but my personal life is different.  My aversion to planning is probably most evident (read: extreme) in travel. I prefer not to plan trips ahead (which can admittedly cause some problems).  I once found a cheap ticket to Beijing that left two days later, and I was off - same thing when I chanced upon a ridiculously cheap ticket to London. In my first solo trips to Europe (and I guess most of my trips), I picked a place of arrival and departure and decided that the weeks in between would be sorted out once I arrived, somehow.  I confess that I sometimes get really, really annoyed by travelmates who are compelled to stick to an itinerary.

However, there are exceptions to this planning aversion, and they always involve family/loved ones.  For instance, I was super proud of myself for pulling off Ethan's surprise birthday party a few years ago.

And I am now co-hosting my sister Jennifer's bridal shower, scheduled later this month.  My sister Jennifer is the opposite of me in that she plans everything and every detail is thought-out, perfect, polished.  It's a tall order, but I love her so much that I'll have to put my planning aversion aside for now.  

That said, I haven't gotten very far.  

I like this...

And I feel strongly that there be yummy crostinis...

all images via Pinterest

To be continued.

Joyeux Noël

Last night, I returned from nine days in sunny southern California. It was nearly 80 degrees everyday, which is just ridiculous.

There's nothing particularly exciting to report back. I relished the time with my family, saw my sister's incredible (and incredibly expensive) wedding gown, took our dog Leah for walks to the park, and sat around watching The Wire (still so good) with my sister and our two territorial cats.  We drove out to the suburbs of Rancho Cucamonga for one Christmas party, then to Redondo Beach for other holiday celebrations, and visited places in between.  I frequented my neighborhood taco joint for what are consistently darn good fish tacos, finally tried Tokyo Fried Chicken, had a steaming cup of horchata coffee at my favorite coffee shop in Los Angeles, Tierra Mia, sampled the products of my sister's new ice cream maker, and had lunch with my parents in downtown LA, in what was once Dad's favorite fish and chips place, which is run by a Khmer family and serves up Thai ice teas alongside Mexican horchata drinks -- only in southern California can you have this crazy mix of cultures!

On my last night before flying out, we stayed with Lath in Santa Monica, walked over to have dinner at Milo Olive, and after, watched some strange but equally amusing karaoke at a local bar.  And then, I was on a plane, back to winter, back to reality, back to DC.

I'll admit it's been a rough few months, but there are many things to be grateful for and small pleasures to enjoy.  And it's with that perspective that I ended the year.

A year ago

The past few weeks have been a blur.  I forgot how crazy this season can be. There was a trip to Wisconsin for Thanksgiving, a trip to visit a friend in Baltimore this weekend, holiday parties, snow days, brunches, house hunting, and in a week from today, our trip to Los Angeles. 

This time last year, we still lived in Bangkok, Thailand.  We spent the last days of the year in Cambodia with friends, lounging in the riverside town of Kampot, then returned to Bangkok, where we toasted 2013 on the rooftop of our apartment.  It was great, but I remember aching for the holiday season and its trappings. 

I came across these pictures of Thailand.  I cannot believe it's been a year. 

Signage on the subway train.

Bangkok food courts - awesome.

At the vegetarian food festival in Chinatown with Ethan and friends.

Same as above.

Crispy, delectable, and totally addictive E-Sarn chicken and chili sauce. OH MY.

A new month.

I took this picture while taking a walk in NYC in late October.  I geeked out a little on that trip because it was my first time having a meeting at the UN headquarters - to date, I've only been in regional offices. I remember the October air being crisp, whipping my hair across my face.

While in NYC, I was able to catch up with one of my oldest friends, Jason, who lives in Williamsburg.  A southern California transplant (like myself), he is mesmerized by the city, its energy, the constant pace.  We ate dinner at his favorite Argentinian restaurant, during which he chided me (and Ethan) for not visiting him sooner and now only because work required it.  Afterwards, we had drinks while we admired the skyline. The city glittered.  I remembered how, as a child, I was always drawn to this place.

That was October.

Then, November came, knocking me off my feet.  There were a string of tragedies, in varying sizes, each one toppling me over, chipping away at me bit by bit.  The collective effect was not good.

But that's life, isn't it?  Horrible months like November make me realize how lucky I am to be able to dabble in all the frivolous crap I often enjoy - lately, my searches for Mayle dresses, Erin Considine necklaces, and Dieppa Restrepo boots, my constant daydreams about travel.  But I don't feel guilty for these silly thoughts and musings.  They're privileges, markers of lighter days.

It's a new month.

My aunt

That Friday was not as I expected.  I had ideas of a slow day: two meetings tops, a lunch enjoyed outside in Dupont Circle park, and then the quiet commute home.  But as I walked up to the office that morning, I received a string of phone calls --the kind I've grown to dread this year--and a few hours later I was on a plane back to Los Angeles, where I stayed for over a week.

My aunt had a brain aneurysm.  She passed in the early hours of Saturday morning.  She was 66 years old.  All my memories of my aunt involved she and my uncle, a constant pair.  I didn't know too much about her past, before her marriage. She was very private, though every now and then she'd crack an infectious giggle and say something so out of left-field that it made you wonder.  I knew that she immigrated to the US at an early age, initially making a living as a field worker in northern California. She had a deep love for several things -  traveling, gardening, and her family (not necessarily in that order).

The last time I saw her was in Colorado for my wedding.  I noticed that she and my uncle would sneak away from the crowd and wander the area around the mountain house - they always broke away from large crowds.  She spoke of visiting Ethan and me in DC next year. 

My family is reeling from the shock, but we're banding together.  It's incredible to see the web of support around my uncle.

 

Autumn colors and 38 hours in Wisconsin!

We came back from our weekend trip to Wisconsin to visit Ethan's family.  It felt so good to get out of the city, if only for 38 hours!  It was a weekend of several firsts: my first time in Wisconsin, my first view of the mighty Mississippi River, my first time dipping into Minnesota (just across the river from town), my first time seeing an Amish buggy, and my first taste of a pumpkin shake at Michael's Frozen Custard, in Madison.  And one other first: meeting the community with whom Ethan grew up.  His mom - who helped plan so much of our wedding - held a little "meet the bride" dinner, and I was all smiles and red lips.

In any case, it's back to work.  This week, I feel like I'm herding cats - and not in a good way.

On the week

What is it with this week?  There was the Washington Navy Yard shooting, all of four miles from where I was sitting in my office, oblivious to the news until I received several text messages and calls.  Then there is the flooding in Colorado, close to Ethan's family, who are fine. And how could I forget the veritable war zone in Zamboanga, where my father's family lives and I visited in March??? 

I don't even want to get into my thoughts on the shooting in DC and how, as an American living abroad, I would get so enraged when news of shooting after shooting after shooting would filter through the international channels. 

It's been a strange week.  I might even say it's been a bad week.

Compounding all the weirdness is the current pace of work in this city, the meetings upon meetings, scheduled and re-scheduled, with little notice, and  the realization that I am going to have to maneuver the politics of international law (as in, how the U.S. takes or doesn't take positions on these things).  I love this field of law.  I know I'm fortunate to be able to make a living doing this work.  But some days, I feel as if I'm hitting a wall.  It's this city, this process that I'm learning to navigate.

Recognizing that wall, I decided to work from home today.  I am playing music, procrastinating in my pajamas and enjoying a hot cup of Stumptown coffee.  Funny thing is, I could totally do all that in my office (yes, even the pajamas if I needed to.)   I need to take it slow because October will be busy.

On my list of priorities today are: (1) drafting some language on some submission on international climate stuff; (2) a call with my boss (who is based in the Netherlands but currently traveling around Switzerland for conferences); and (3) maybe a quick walk to Whole Foods for a slice of pie.

Update:  This song and video is lifting my mood a little. I haven't listened to a Shugo Tokumaro song in ages.

Chicken Adobo

via the Kitchn

During her wedding this weekend, my friend was gifted a massive Mark Bittman cookbook, which I flipped through while sipping wine and dreaming about the meals I could cook this week.  I came across a chicken adobo recipe.  I paused.  

Not surprisingly, in my mind, no one can beat my grandma Elpidia's recipe.  Chicken adobo is not a dish I make or have dared to make.  It's reserved for my early childhood memories of running around on some provincial farm in the Philippines, or for my trips back home when my grandma comments on how old I am getting, usually over a meal of this dish and copious amounts of steaming white rice.  

But I guess if Mark Bittman can make chicken adobo, so can I.

This time, I am using his recipe, which calls for the addition of coconut milk.  Already, our small home in the District feels a little more homey.

Chicken Adobo

Adapted from a recipe by Mark Bittman (found here)

Time: 45 minutes

Ingredients
 

• 1 (3-4 lb.) whole chicken, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 8 pieces*
• 1 cup soy sauce
• 1/2 cup white or rice vinegar
• 1 tbsp. chopped garlic
• 2 bay leaves
• 1/2 tsp. pepper
• 1 cup water
• 1 1/2 cups coconut milk**
• Cooked white rice (enough for however many people you are serving)

*I buy a pre-cut whole chicken because I am lazy and have bad knife skills to boot. If you didn’t want to do a whole chicken, it would be perfectly fine to use breasts or whatever you like. He also says this recipe works well with bone-in or boneless pork chops.
**Bittman says this isn’t mandatory, but since the sauce is the most important part of this dish, I wouldn’t leave this out if I were you, it won’t be nearly as rich. I had canned coconut milk on hand, which works just fine, but he says it’s easy to make yourself and tastes purer than canned, so I’m providing his recipe below if you want to attempt that.
Process

1. Combine the soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, bay leaves, pepper, water, and half the coconut milk in a covered skillet or saucepan large enough to hold the chicken in one layer. Bring to a boil over high heat.
2. Add the chicken, reduce the heat to medium-low and cook, covered, turning a few times, until the chicken is almost done, about 20 minutes.
   Optional: At this point, you may refrigerate the chicken in the liquid for up to a day before proceeding; skim the fat before reheating.
   
3. Heat the oven to 450 degrees (F). You can also cook this on a grill or under a broiler, but roasting seemed easiest to me.
4. Remove the chicken pieces from the liquid, dry them gently with paper towels and place in a dish. Don’t discard the sauce. Roast the chicken until brown and crisp and hot, about 15 minutes (closer to 10 if you are grilling or broiling instead).
5. While the chicken is cooking, add the rest of the coconut milk to the sauce in the pan and boil over high heat until sauce is thick and reduced to about 1 cup. Discard the bay leaves and keep warm until chicken is ready.

Serve with rice and top with lots of sauce.
- See more at: http://backtothecuttingboard.com/dinner/chicken-adobo/#sthash.EwSNAYN3.dpuf

• 1 (3-4 lb.) whole chicken, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 8 pieces*
• 1 cup soy sauce
• 1/2 cup white or rice vinegar
• 1 tbsp. chopped garlic
• 2 bay leaves
• 1/2 tsp. pepper
• 1 cup water
• 1 1/2 cups coconut milk**
• Cooked white rice (enough for however many people you are serving)

*I buy a pre-cut whole chicken because I am lazy and have bad knife skills to boot. If you didn’t want to do a whole chicken, it would be perfectly fine to use breasts or whatever you like. He also says this recipe works well with bone-in or boneless pork chops.
**Bittman says this isn’t mandatory, but since the sauce is the most important part of this dish, I wouldn’t leave this out if I were you, it won’t be nearly as rich. I had canned coconut milk on hand, which works just fine, but he says it’s easy to make yourself and tastes purer than canned, so I’m providing his recipe below if you want to attempt that.
Process

1. Combine the soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, bay leaves, pepper, water, and half the coconut milk in a covered skillet or saucepan large enough to hold the chicken in one layer. Bring to a boil over high heat.
2. Add the chicken, reduce the heat to medium-low and cook, covered, turning a few times, until the chicken is almost done, about 20 minutes.
   Optional: At this point, you may refrigerate the chicken in the liquid for up to a day before proceeding; skim the fat before reheating.
   
3. Heat the oven to 450 degrees (F). You can also cook this on a grill or under a broiler, but roasting seemed easiest to me.
4. Remove the chicken pieces from the liquid, dry them gently with paper towels and place in a dish. Don’t discard the sauce. Roast the chicken until brown and crisp and hot, about 15 minutes (closer to 10 if you are grilling or broiling instead).
5. While the chicken is cooking, add the rest of the coconut milk to the sauce in the pan and boil over high heat until sauce is thick and reduced to about 1 cup. Discard the bay leaves and keep warm until chicken is ready.

Serve with rice and top with lots of sauce.
- See more at: http://backtothecuttingboard.com/dinner/chicken-adobo/#sthash.EwSNAYN3.dpuf3/4 cup soy sauce1/2 cup white or rice vinegar

3/4 cup soy sauce
1/2 cup white or rice vinegar
3/4 cup coconut milk
1 cup water
1 tablespoon chopped garlic
2 bay leaves
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 whole (3- to 4-pound) chicken, cut up (with legs separated from thighs); or use 2 pounds bone-in thighs or leg/ thigh pieces cut in two.

Instructions

1. Combine all ingredients with 1 cup water in a covered pot large enough to hold the chicken in one layer. Bring to a boil over high heat; reduce the heat to medium-low or low (you want a slow simmer, nothing more). Cook, covered, about 30 minutes, turning once or twice, until chicken is cooked through. (You may prepare the recipe in advance up to this point; refrigerate the chicken, in the liquid, for up to a day before proceeding.)
2. Meanwhile, start a charcoal or wood fire or preheat a gas grill or broiler. The fire need not be too hot, but place the rack just 3 or 4 inches from the heat source.
3. Remove chicken, and dry it gently with paper or cloth towels. Boil liquid over high heat until it is reduced to about 1 cup; discard bay leaves; keep sauce warm. Meanwhile, grill or broil chicken until brown and crisp, 5 minutes per side. Serve chicken with sauce and white rice.

Married - and in Turkey.

We sadly said goodbye to family and friends in Colorado, said goodbye to the mountain house, which over the summer months has been surrounded by green grass and purple wildflowers, said goodbye to the prolonged wedding celebrations, and boarded a plane to Istanbul.  We arrived on day two of Ramadan.

The clock on my computer says it's 10:00pm EST, but my body knows that it's early morning in Istanbul. Sleep will not come. The morning call to prayers from the Blue Mosque--loud, reverberating in our hotel room--woke me up.  In the distance, I hear a cat meowing, the sounds of a car motor, and seagulls.

I woke up to my mind racing - to thoughts of our small ceremony, where Ethan's father played the bagpipes and, like the Pied Piper, led our guests down to the meadows behind the/(my new) family's mountain home, through sage brush and wildflowers.  Then, I thought of the beautiful words spoken by Jerry, Ethan's friend from grad school and our officiant; the readings by Cherlou, Eric and Nicole; the speeches by Latham and my sisters ... 

Looking back, a few days after, it wasn't a polished affair; rather very casual and free. And yes, I wasn't over the moon about my dress, but it did the job.  All of it felt so very intimate, with family and friends contributing in various ways: the bagpipes, our officiant, the readings, the awesome pies baked by my sister-in-law (we did not do wedding cake), the wildflowers arranged by the women in my family (though admittedly bought from a florist); my makeup done by my sister, Jack; the photography by Rhys and Ingrid; offers from CK to pick up my dress when it wasn't delivered on time; and, through it all, coordination of all the moving pieces by Ethan's mom.  Because of these contributions, the day turned out to be much more meaningful.  

Anyway, I'm sure I'll write more about the whole thing later.

But my main point this early morning: I woke up in Istanbul and suddenly became aware that I was utterly happy.  And if I've learned anything over the years, it's to savor times like this, to really grab hold of them, and maybe even to document them.