Tincture

I've recently developed a passing obsession with making herbal tinctures. Not only are tinctures fun, delicious, and easy to create, but they can also be quite beneficial to the health when used appropriately. A tincture differs from a cordial and an infusion--- specifically, it is the result of soaking an herb in distilled alcohol of at least 80 proof. A cordial, meanwhile, is often sweetened and uses weaker alcohol as a base, and an infusion requires heat to extract the plant's healthful compounds (such as tea). 

Portrait of Ibn Sina.

A page from Sina's Canon. 

Cordials and infusions have been used for thousands of years, but tinctures date back only to the discovery of distillation. The credit of this discovery is given to a Persian man named Ibn Sina , one of the most important thinkers and writers of the Islamic Golden Age (often called the "Father of Medicine"). In The Canon of Medicine, published in 1025, Sina wrote recipes for medicines that we would now call tinctures. It wasn't until the 15th century that distilling became a widespread practice, bringing tincture-making with it. For several hundred years, until the invention of pills, tinctures were the gold standard in oral medicine. Even into the early 20th century, this form of treatment was ubiquitous.

My favorite brand.

The uses of a particular tincture depend upon what herb or herbs were involved in its creation. There are thousands upon thousands of botanicals known or believed to have medicinal applications, and many of them can be prescribed in tincture form. One traditional concoction that I myself find especially helpful is Swedish Bitters, a powerful combination of 14 different herbs that help to stimulate the production of digestive enzymes. I take a couple of teaspoons before eating, or sometimes I add a little to hot ginger tea. I find it delicious, but my tolerance for the bitter taste is relatively high. Swedish Bitters includes: manna, angelica, zedoary, aloe, rhubarb, senna, myrrh, carline thistle, camphor, black snakeroot, valerian, cinnamon, cardamom, and saffron. The tinctures I have made so far were not chosen strategically in terms of their medicinal uses; rather, I was simply interested in how each might taste. For my edification and yours, however, I investigate their practical applications below.

My first effort was a rose petal tincture. One needs quite a bit of herb for this purpose, otherwise the results will be weak. The bottle used should be at least half full of herb before the alcohol is added. Vodka is best, being clear and relatively tasteless. The jar is then filled to the top with alcohol, corked, and set in a dark place for about 6 weeks. It is best to gently shake the bottle every so often to make sure all air bubbles become dislodged and the saturation is complete. Botanical.com gives a good overview of many different herbs and their uses. It says rose strengthens the liver and stomach, prevents cough and vomiting, and calms the nerves. It has also long been thought to treat heart conditions (because of or resulting in the connection with romance?), but this appears to be more of a treatment for the "emotional heart" than anything else. Not that symbolism isn't powerful in its own right, of course.

Victorian rose wallpaper.

The second tincture I bottled was an outgrowth of my obsession with galangal, which I purchased in bulk from Mountain Rose Herbs for the purpose of flavoring kombucha. If you have never tried this wonderful rhizome, you simply must. It is like ginger but... sharper and somehow more earthy. My galangal tincture turned out to be nothing short of mind-blowing--- I must admit that I've not used it medicinally at all, since it makes one doozy of an awesome cocktail! (Best ever low-ish carb tropical cocktail: 1 oz of galangal tincture + 4 oz all-natural coconut water, served very cold. Yow!) The health benefits of galangal, which is closely related to both ginger and turmeric, include: stimulating (aids in blood flow), powerful digestive, gas reliever, treatment for nausea/vomiting/fever, and helps with muscle recovery after a strenuous physical task. You also may be interested to know that the famous 12th-century nun Hildegard of Bingen, who was not only a composer and writer and artist but also a scientist/botanist/healer, extolled the virtues of galangal; she believed it to be a cure for pretty much every ailment.

Hildegard of Bingen stained glass window.

My most recent tincture is a preparation of wormwood, which I have not yet tasted. Wormwood is said to be the second most bitter herb known to man, though I have my doubts because the strong tea I make with it is not bitter to the point of intolerance. I often crave the bitter taste, which makes sense considering my weak digestion--- bitterness is said to stimulate digestive bile and the production of enzymes. Wormwood is said to be "excellent for all disorders of the stomach, creating an appetite, promoting digestion and preventing sickness after meals." It is the basis of absinthe, which, when taken medicinally, is supposed to tone the nerves and clear the mind. When taken in excess, however, it can produce giddiness, convulsions, and (some say) hallucinations.

L'Absinthe, 1901, Pablo Picasso. One of his many depictions of this subject. 

There are many more tinctures I'd love to experiment with, whether for medicinal purposes or for use in cocktails. Among them: turmeric, Tellicherry pepper, hibiscus, cardamom, anise, ginger, and chamomile. The extent of my obsession probably depends on availability of pretty bottles and supplies of particular herbs/spices. It isn't the cheapest of hobbies, but it is lots of fun and produces a useful product.

The Opposite of Real

A certain disturbing usage of the word "real" has lately come to my attention. Frankly, this word has struck me as problematic for a long time. When I was in college, people would say things like: "just wait until you graduate and have to start living in the real world." Although I could discern the intention of this statement, I still felt irritated and wished they would choose another word. College was very real to me. And as it has now been nine years since I graduated, I can say with the certainty of experience: college was as real as anything afterward... just different. But I digress. The truly icky applications of this powerful word go deeper than college vs. post-college life. 

Living the Unreal college life, circa 2005.

Consider the following phrases: "REAL men don't cry." "Real women have curves." "Chris Kyle was a REAL American hero." "REAL Christians___" (fill in the blank). 

In one sense, there is absolutely nothing wrong with these statements; there ARE men who don't cry, women who are curvy, Americans who kill and die for their country, and Christians who___. The serious issue comes to light when one contemplates what is meant, in each case, by the opposite of real. There are several possibilities, as you can see from the dictionary definition above, including fake, imaginary, and even nonexistent... which (I feel) is the most harmful. I've heard the word "real" used to attack a person's most fundamental sense of identity, be it gender, nationality, religion, etc. To state that a certain section of the population is "real" automatically creates an opposite population that is either fake, imaginary, or nonexistent. I think it is often used without sufficient forethought, and not always intended to injure... at least not consciously. But I do believe that the applications of "real" should be reconsidered. There is surely a better way to assert one's validity that does not involve negating the other (the perceived threat to oneself). 

Original Sundance poster.

Real Women Have Curves. Have you seen this film? I saw it many years ago, just after it was released. I thought it was a wonderful movie and I very much enjoyed it. That has not changed. However, the title always made me feel a little strange, and it took some time before I understood why. As a girl who has never been what you could call "busty" (in fact, bras are rendered useless on my body), it gave me the sense that I lacked an essential ingredient in the recipe of *woman.* Now, some might say that I don't know what it's like to be a bigger girl, and that I should not complain since I am thin and our culture is obsessed with thinness. I agree, that obsession is a serious problem. However, I stand strong in my opinion: cannot we both... alll... be real? What if a woman could be a woman simply because she feels like one? I would like to live in a world where that was true. 

The case is similar for a man who cries; he should be allowed to exist as a man because he says he's a man.... whether or not he sheds tears. (Actually, the statement "real men don't cry" is degrading to women as well as men, as it implies that the man in question is really more of a female... horror of horrors).

Below are two photos from a series by Howard Schatz documenting the very different body types of professional athletes. I think they are quite powerful when it comes to conversations about what physical attributes make a woman "womanly," because it's clear how silly that proposition even is. ALL these women are "real" women. 

Professional women athletes fig. 1

Professional women athletes fig. 2

Once again, in using Chris Kyle (of recent American Sniper fame) as an example, my intention is NOT to claim that he wasn't a "real" American. Of course he was. But the implication is that those who choose not to kill and die for this country are not Americans. I am one of those people. Am I not an american? Does being American involve denying the existence of those whose opinions we do not agree with? What a sad thought that is. But certainly human beings have been using this strategy of negation for thousands of years. One of the most consistently problematic and destructive uses of this word (and the idea it represents) is in the context of religion. Wars are fought routinely for the proclaimed purpose of defending the "real" god. Even within a religion, members of different sects or denominations often claim a monopoly on "realness" that can be extremely hurtful to others. In all these cases, the implications of "fake," "imaginary," or "nonexistent" take aim at the most integral ways we define our existence. 

Annunciation as mystic hunt, circle of Martin Schongauer, 1450-1491.

I sincerely hope that we all can be a little more careful with this word REAL... it is such an important word, which is why it is also such a dangerous one.

Doing "Right-Right"

... ... ... Medieval-style.

I have been feeling weighed down lately by the many conflicts that seem to mark this year. Between countries, between religions, between races, between genders, between friends, between family members... and of course the undeniable conflicts within myself. For a number of reasons, mortality has also been a subject of thought for me these days. Although such contemplations are not easy or pain-free, I am grateful for their presence... I am indeed learning much and gaining patience.

Arhia, Rhiannon, Goat, Annwn.

When I was a child, I spent the majority of my time playing with big sister Rhiannon. She was the strong one, the imagination genie, the adventure warrior, and the one upon whom I modeled myself. I would have been utterly at a loss without her; she made my childhood what it was. A fight between us was rare--- she was a leader, I was a follower, we liked our positions, and I didn't often feel a need to oppose her. But inevitably a tiff occurred... and then woe betide me. Of course I am lucky. Annwn was much oftener the one left out. But alas I can only speak to my own experience, so I will say: it was hell being in the shadow of Rhiannon's frown. To make me understand the true meaning of my sin, whatever that may have been, Rhiannon would attach herself to Annwn instead and enact a little maneuver we called "Doing Right-Right." The tactic is simple: #1 (Rhiannon) shuns all communication with #2 (Arhia), making sure to rub her fantastic relationship with #3 (Annwn) in #2's face. Secret whispers and derisive laughs abound. Many a time #2 and #3 were switched up, as I said above, but of course I don't remember this clearly--- such is the human mind! The game was ridiculously effective, aka hurtful. Once upon a time I thought this was an invention of my tribe, but now I've come to understand it is a common practice among children... though perhaps known by another name.

Sun Tzu's Art of War.

As I remember it, we did this both to punish the one left out, and to create a sense of closeness between the two who "did right-right." To draw comparisons again with war: The enemy of my enemy is my friend... or, They had a common enemy. The cruel games of children, of course, are but trifling when one considers those we inflict upon each other as adults. Still, it seems to me that many motives remain the same. There is a desire to punish, and to identify over shared similarity with the one who is not marked by strangeness. Somehow it is a part of human nature, that reflex we have to shy away from difference--- to abhor things unknown (or wrongly perceived as unknown). 

Ready set awesome.

I have many a time committed acts of discrimination based on fear of difference. There are endless varieties of discrimination, some of them passing as unseen, socially acceptable, or even socially approved. For example, before Myer was hired at Harvard Business School, I had a habit of talking about "that kind of person" in a markedly rude and ignorant manner. This sort of discrimination, however, is highly acceptable among many people, even the well-educated. It can actually get you points to talk down about "corrupt Ivy League business people" in many circles. I understand that it may be a wholly different matter than, say, the Fergusen-style racial atrocities going on in this country.... but fear is fear. Discrimination is discrimination. And I believe that whenever I use biased, judgmental, and ignorant language in any arena, I contribute to horrid acts such as the killing of Michael Brown. My friends and family may not ever think to call me "racist," but I sincerely see myself as necessarily having to be part of the problem. 

Racism is made of many ingredients, and none of them is equal to the product. Racism is made of non-racist elements. Like, imagine racism is a cookie--- that cookie does not include any ingredient in the recipe called "cookie".... it includes flour, sugar, butter, chocolate, nuts, etc. Saying a cookie is made out of cookies sounds ridiculous; so, too, does saying that racism is made out of racists. Ingredients in the cookie of racism include actions I myself have initiated, such as turning away from a man asking for money on the street because I was ashamed, when I could at least have smiled at him with genuine kindness... or making jokes about those "stupid jock guys" instead of putting myself in their shoes and contemplating the history and circumstances that formed them. Discrimination based on race, religion, sexual preference, gender, social or economic status... all of these have lengthy recipes and none of them exists apart from the fabric that is made from all of us. 

The best Imagine.

The new year is always a time for "resolutions," for fresh commitments and rejuvenated investment in living out one's beliefs... but I wish to make this promise every day: I shall strive to awaken within each moment, so that I may see my judgments before they calcify; to listen deeply without an agenda, without a need to prove or convince; to keep always in mind the subjective nature of truth so as not to be caught in the trap of righteousness; and to remain conscious of the contrast between my body's impermanence and the endlessly reverberating nature of my actions. Obviously I shall make countless mistakes as I continue to learn... but I do believe I have the capacity to become a creature of greater wisdom and awareness.

By: Thich Nhat Hanh

"Paleo" Flourless Chocolate Cake

The CAKE, ready for its close-up.

Myer tastes the cake.

For about a year an a half, Myer and I have been eating a mostly Paleo-style diet. We decided to take this route due to a number of factors, including a book we both read titled Good Calories, Bad Calories by science journalist Gary Taubes. I could write countless blog posts about various aspects of this book/diet/lifestyle; suffice it to say, however, that I've not done much baking lately. I don't crave bread or grain products--- I actually never had much of a passion for them--- but when a birthday rolls around, I do like to create something that I can stick candles into. This year for Myer's birthday I dreamed up a cake recipe in my brain-kitchen that seemed flawless. I only needed to manifest it! I didn't have much of a budget to buy extra ingredients for experimentation, so I had to trust the vision and hope that a failure in the kitchen wouldn't lower my wife-score too dramatically. Luckily for me, the first try was an absolute success! You know how I could tell? The look in Myer's eyes: Pure Love. If you've ever cooked something delicious for your beloved, you know exactly what I mean. 

The ingredients are very simple, which, I believe, is the basic tenet of "Paleo" eating. I've read some recipes that are so long and complex, it seems the antithesis of ancestral eating philosophy... I mean, to be frank, baking isn't really "Paleo" at all, is it? That's why I don't do it very often. Anyhow, the simpler, the better. And the less processed your initial ingredients, the better. Here's what you need:

The Requisite Elements.

These are the main ingredients, although I also added some spices and vanilla. Below is the recipe with amounts and instructions:

Cake... Perfect Husband Phood.

PALEO CHOCOLATE CAKE

6 VERY RIPE BANANAS

6 EGGS

¼ CUP COCONUT OIL

1 TABLESPOON VANILLA

2 ½ TEASPOONS BAKING SODA

2 TEASPOONS CINNAMON

1 TEASPOON GINGER

PINCH OF CAYENNE

PINCH OF CLOVES

2 CUPS COCOA POWDER

COMBINE BANANAS, EGGS, COCONUT OIL, AND VANILLA; MASH/MIX WELL. COMBINE SPICES, COCOA AND BAKING SODA. THEN STIR DRY INGREDIENTS INTO WET UNTIL CONSISTENCY IS SMOOTH.

BAKE AT 350°F IN WELL-OILED SPRINGFORM PAN WITH PARCHMENT PAPER UNTIL TOOTHPICK COMES CLEAN, ABOUT 1 HOUR 5 MINUTES

WHEN COOL, FROST WITH ALMOND BUTTER AND DECORATE WITH YOUR CHOICE OF DRIED FRUIT.

I put a bottle of honey out at the party, just in case folks wanted more sweetness than the bananas and raisins had to offer, but no one opted for a drizzle. Either they were being super-polite, or else the cake really did please everybody. Myer's pleasure was unmistakable, I can tell you that. Husband cake-tasting-expression does not lie! All in all, it was an exciting experiment and I look forward to other similar culinary experiences on future special occasions.

Consistency and texture were amazing....

It was VERY dark chocolate....

These raspberries were grown, picked, and dried by Mom....

Myer gets his wish!

Hair: God, Sex, Death & Power

Birds in Autumn.

Rapunzel, A. Rackham

There was a time, many years ago, when I took pride in my hair. Well, not in my hair, exactly, but rather in the fact that it was virgin hair. Actually, among the girls of the Kohlmoos household, the thought of cutting one's hair off was to be looked upon with abhorrence and disdain--- an insult to the "ways of the clan." Girlfriends might say to us on occasion, "your hair needs a trim; it will grow longer that way. Look at all the split ends!" That seemed ridiculous, however... cut it to make it longer? Pishaw! Somehow that made us all the more protective of our ragged 'dos. We all wanted long hair; really long hair, like down to our butts, down to our ankles. It seemed the equivalence of beauty, based on various fairy-tales Mom had read to us. But there was also something about the wildness, the extremity of it--- of not allowing a scissors to touch the hair at all--- that appealed to our sense of identity. 

Ok, I lied above. I did cut my hair once as a child, when I was about four. I remember standing outside on the bench... enjoying the sound the cutting made as it echoed through the strands of hair and into my brain, a luscious munching noise. I felt like I was doing something dangerous, and had a wonderful time imagining what Mom would say when she saw me. Of course she wasn't angry, but I did get to see a reaction... always fun for a kid.  

The Beloved Thich Nhat Hanh.

Hindu practitioner of asceticism.

Throughout history and across the earth, hair has always carried weighty significance. The cutting, styling, or strategic letting-be of hair is sometimes overtly symbolic, sometimes a more subtle form of cultural code. Almost all religions have rules and customs pertaining to hair. Buddhist monks and nuns shave their heads to signal their commitment to the practice of seeing beyond the ego and its world of *things*. (I heard Thich Nhat Hanh answer this question once; he said, "We shave our heads first of all to remind ourselves that we are monks and nuns... but also to let other people know not to try and marry us." TNH humor.)  In much of the Islamic world, women are required to cover their hair as a sign of modesty--- hair being considered a sexual aspect of the human body. For similar reasons, some ultra-Orthodox Jewish women shave their heads just before marriage. The idea is the same: modesty is equated with covering the hair. However, in this tradition, it became custom a to shave the hair off as a way of making the covering of it an easier task. Some resources also trace the practice back to ancient times when non-Jewish European kings had the "right" to sleep with any Jewish woman on her wedding night... so she might shave her head in the hopes that he would find her less attractive. In an apparently opposing tradition, certain Hindu ascetics who have dedicated themselves to achieving moksa (liberation from the wheel of birth and death), leave their hair completely uncut and untended, eventually developing what we would call dreadlocks. Although it differs in appearance from the religious custom of shaving one's head, the purpose is the same: to leave behind ego and the realm of earthly concerns.

Queen Elizabeth I

Unidentified French Grandee.

Hair often becomes symbolic in the realms of politics and war. Think, for example, of Elizabethan England. where an extremely high forehead was considered the beauty ideal for women. It was thought to indicate intelligence, but was also a sign of great wealth, as the cost of having one's hairline plucked regularly would have been quite out of reach for any except the uppermost crust. Queen Elizabeth I definitely contributed to the popularity of this style, and the regal aura it exudes is clear in the portraits painted of her throughout her lifetime.  A similar interplay between style and political power can be witnessed in the fashion for large wigs ("periwigs") that became all the rage in the French and British courts during the mid-1600s and lasted until the French Revolution. Wigs were already becoming a regular accessory by the close of the 16th century due to an epidemic of syphilis, a disease which caused dramatic hair loss. As long, full hair was a symbol of status and prestige, and syphilis a shameful illness for obvious reasons, wig-wearing fast became important for those in high positions. But the fad took off in a serious way thanks to France's Louis XIV and England's Charles II, who suffered from early baldness and grayness, respectively. Soon wigs went from cover-up to status symbol for both sexes, quickly assuming an air of ridiculousness in size and in style (consider the powder pink and blue versions, and those sporting scenery or food!)

Samurai topknot.

Wes Studi in "LOTM".

The distinctive Samurai topknot was originally utilitarian, being designed to fit snugly beneath a helmet. But like the French wig, its utility was forgotten as it morphed into a symbol so powerful that a warrior would cut off his topknot upon being captured as a signal of his shame and imminent demise. Warriors of the Native American tribe known as the Mohawks are the originators of a hairstyle which survives today, although much-changed in both appearance and meaning. Most Hollywood films inaccurately portray this customary 'do, making it look more like the Punk version than the historical reality (see above photo from The Last of the Mohicans). In actuality, Mohawk warriors' hair was plucked out, not shaven, and looked not so much like a strip as a patch near the back of the crown. It also included three hanging, decorated braids. Being the signature hairstyle of a warrior, the "mohawk" served a similar purpose as the Samurai topknot in that it indicated rank and power. (I have to add here that the hair-strip we call "mohawk" has appeared in many places and at many times throughout history, and is not the sole claim of the people whose name we use to refer to it.) These intricate wartime hairdos look even more extraordinary when compared to the current requisite cut of US military personnel. The buzzcut is simple and utilitarian, yes, but also serves to discourage individuality... unlike those highlighted above.

Pamela Anderson for Lange, 1992.

Have you ever entered the fix-it room of a ski or bicycle shop? If the answer is "yes," then you will recognize the poster at right (if not this one, then one like it--- seen one, seen 'em all). Brilliant, no? These girls invariably have big and/or long hair. As a male friend once said to me, "No chick can be hot with short hair." I disagree, naturally, but then... I'm not a guy. (Seriously though: Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta. 'Nuf said!) The point here is that long hair = "sexy" in our culture, and probably for the majority cultures around the world. I suppose it is a certain kind of power, like those French wigs... although I'm not sure who exactly holds the power here, considering the aforementioned comment of a friend. Perhaps the power is fluid in this context; a game like any other. I have seen this game, but even when I had long hair, I never acquired the skill to play. If I ever have occasion to take the bus or train, I like to watch what girls do with their hair when they flirt. It is an art, I swear! The perfect flowing locks, falling just so--- the flirty glance from under them, the flirty *toss* to the side. It is a tool in the complex technology of attraction.  Long/big hair is always "in" to some extent, but one era during which it was a must for almost everyone was the 1980's. I remember going over to the neighbors' house, the Sheridans. They had four girls--- girls who introduced the ragamuffin Kohlmooses to hoola-hoops, banana-seat bikes, jelly shoes, and hairspray. At this point you should revisit the photo at the top of this post; do these girls look like they know jelly shoes or hairspray? But although such things seemed strange and foreign at the time, today I feel a twinge of nostalgia when I see an 80's film in which these items make an appearance. I suppose that is my cultural memory... Yes, hairspray. One must have needed a good bit of it not only in the hair but in the respiratory system to make this shag-carpet insanity look attractive!

Random 1980s yearbook pictures. Yow!

Rituals involving the hair of mourners after the death of a loved one are many and varied. Above we saw how religious renunciation of worldly things can mean either shaving one's hair completely or allowing it to grow untended. Mourning customs are similar in their extremes. Jewish Tradition, for instance, forbids male relatives of the deceased from cutting their beards for seven days, Likewise, male Hindu relatives of a deceased person do not cut their hair for eleven days, but on this day they ceremonially shave both head and beard. There also exists a Nigerian custom in which a widow shaves her head in order to express sorrow at the passing of her husband. 

I think everyone has strong feelings regarding hair, especially women. One reason why I found it so liberating to shave my head is that I stopped obsessing about hair entirely. There's nothing to worry about in that department because nothing can be changed. It is what it is. No decisions are to be made. As a teenager, I used to bring myself to the verge of tears on days when my ponytail had "lumps" or my braid was uneven. My hair was a massive OCD trigger for me. Now, when I see a girl with perfect hair, I don't think "Why isn't MY hair like that?" It's not like that because I have none, haha! Problem solved. Of course I do occasionally wish I could do something radically different with my hair... but overall the shaved-head experience has been a positive one for me. 

Egg-head, 2009.

  

Ten Years

*For Myer*

From across the ocean when I was in Italy.

It has been ten years. It has been ten years since I met this "hot skater boy from California" (as one of my best friends called him). We were both studying at Lawrence University; he had just transferred from Deep Springs, an all-male "cowboy college", and his hair was a wild pink tangle that I could see from across campus as he rode his skateboard to class. Someone told me he was a pianist in the conservatory, but I didn't get to hear him play until the summer when we both stayed on campus to work. I remember he skated to the recital hall--- walked to the stage in what seemed to me a state of total zen calm--- and set the piano on fire with the first movement of Rachmaninoff's second piano sonata. Classical music is the sexiest kind of music... and to me, this piece is the sound of falling in love. Soon I learned that piano was just one of this dude's many sweet swoon-worthy attributes, including gourmet cooking, poetry, painting, and philosophy. When I saw a copy of Douglas Hofstadter's Gödel, Escher, Bach (which Dad owned and held in high esteem) on his bookshelf, my heart thrilled.

The first picture Myer took of me, before we were together, on a walk one autumn afternoon.

 

Cowboy-philosopher punk.

Our first date was a long bike ride early in the morning on my 23rd birthday, September 16th 2004. We didn't know it was a date at the time; only in retrospect did that become clear. I rode my bike after him down an insanely steep hill --- I never would have followed anyone else in such a reckless venture, but nothing was going to separate me from this boy... a conviction that has remained strong ever since. We biked many miles, walked through fields, sat in a tree house in the woods, napped by a lake, and stopped at a tea shop where he bought me chocolate and a special tin of chai tea as a birthday gift. Our conversations were delicious. Back at McCarthy co-op, where he lived that year, I gave him a super awkward hug in thanks. I knew it was awkward, but I just could not leave without embracing him.

After Christmas I went away to study in London and Florence until spring. By this time, we had been dating for only three months; but we decided to "do long-distance" even so. Perhaps Myer didn't know how much it meant to me that he agreed to try this. I had a hard time expressing my deepest feelings back then. But in truth I would have been ruined if we'd broken up. Does that sound pathetic? My whole existence was focused on him--- how could it not be? He used to read ee cummings poetry aloud, and in his first love letter to me he quoted a Joni Mitchell song from Blue... again, how could it not be?

During my time abroad, daydreams of Myer kept me in a constant state of romantic high. We had matching journals in which we'd write letters, xerox the letters and send them to each other, and finally tape them into our respective books... so each of us has a complete copy of our hand-written exchanges. What precious tomes! The time apart was not easy--- I won't pretend that. But it sure as heck was romantic. Myer came to visit me for a week when I was in London, and there we made some pretty unforgettable memories.

A photo I took of my darling in London, which has ever since been my all-time favorite.

Proposal flowers.

After graduating from Lawrence in 2006, we spent a summer apart. It was hellish (for me). Thank goodness that was the last time. We moved to Nebraska together that autumn, where we stayed for three years, figuring out what it meant to live life as a couple and out of college. A learning experience for sure, of the best kind. In spring 2009, when I'd just been accepted into the MFA program at Boston's School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Myer asked me to marry him. We'd not been the "marrying type" up until this time, or so we thought.... therefore, the proposal was unexpectedly exquisite--- one of those days that is the best of days. A rainy cold weekday, I was at work teaching students, and someone brought me a note to come upstairs. I was so scared, because I thought I'd done something wrong and was in trouble with the administration. When I got to the entry hallway, there was Myer, dripping wet and holding a big bouquet. "Arhia," he whispered.... "wanna get married???" He also had a piano string, and that book of ee cummings poems.

Our dorky "twin primes" rings.

We got married in 2009, a week before packing up everything and driving a Penske truck across the country to Boston. Our wedding was epic, thanks to 100+ incredible friends and family who traveled all the way to Nebraska for us. We felt incomprehensibly fortunate to know such love and caring. Often we think back on that occasion and are filled with wonder at the memory. I do believe it helps, in a marriage, to know you have the genuine support of those who matter most--- your family and friends. Our wedding, and the memory of it, has served that purpose for us.

My favorite early photo of us together; Christmas in Lincoln NE, 2004.

Do you remember before you met your partner, or maybe back when you were a teenager just starting to think about romance? Imagining the "perfect" one for you, what he/she would be like? I recall indulging in such daydreams. Thank goodness we don't have the power to manifest this fantasy of a person. What a flat and boring an individual would be the result. (Btw if you want to see a good film on the subject, check out Ruby Sparks). It makes me think about how little I knew of myself, to look back on the imaginary "perfect partners" I conjured. You don't dream the difficult things; but it's the challenges that make the intimacy closer, the joy more real. Take away the left and you have no right. There cannot be one without the other--- left makes the reality of right possible. I've found this to be true about relationships. Welcome the challenges as compost for the bliss.

Myer, you are a first-rate example of a human being. We were friends before we were lovers, and I am infinitely glad. One thing I know: our conversation-well is bottomless. The first thing that drew us together was a sense that the bond of intellect and friendship between us would be iron-clad. I do believe my intuition is a finely-tuned instrument, because that bond has not weakened since the beginning. We were basically kids when we met, and though I'm aware we remain "ignorant youth" in the big scheme of things, I do know that you, Myer, are also one heck of a quality man. I can't comprehend how I stumbled into something so precious; I don't understand why I should have this and not some other. I do know that I am deeply grateful every day. Happy 5th/10th anniversary chickpea, I love you.

Hahaha teenage Myer, so dorky and cute! Sorry dude I couldn't resist ;-) xoxo