four days

I read in Oprah's Big Book of Happiness that four days is a good amount of time to make changes and see results. Not sure about the results part after my first set of days, but I can envision a series of four that will get me closer to vegan. Each set of changes builds on the one before. Here's my plan:

Thursday-Sunday: no meat - DONE
Monday-Thursday: no fried food - STARTS TODAY
Friday-Monday: no processed sugar
Tuesday-Friday: no gluten
Saturday-Tuesday: no processed foods
Wednesday-Saturday: no dairy

I saved the hardest [cheese] for last. My list is not just about eating animal-free but living healthier. Eventually, I'll add exercise and other kinds of activities to the series.

As I make large and necessary changes for my well-being, perhaps it is time to return to and take seriously the practice of blogging. A new entry, every four days. And as with all mandates and restrictions I impose upon myself, I will indulge once in awhile.

family

My grandparents arrive today, not from Guam directly, but from San Francisco, where my uncle has already equipped my grandfather with a cell phone, and they have my number in case I am needed somewhere between the plane's landing and their walk through the security checkpoint. I'm not sure to what can compare the process of family visiting -- a ship at sea? A great Spanish galleon not even on the horizon, but through news reports from other people and ships, I know its impending arrival. And then, it's only a date in the calendar, a far away worry. Weeks and then many days in advance the anxiety hits, the list of to-do's seem daunting, a sense of urgency washes over because I know my life will not be my own, my time sucked up into the vacuum that is not necessarily just their needs and concerns but my own spree of wreckless spending -- all time gets funneled in to precious moments in the kitchen, in the car around town, and around malls. Anything to build our reserves, to give one another the emotional sustenance to get us through the 6,000 miles that will inevitably separate us once again.

And then the penultimate day comes, and the excitement hits, the joy of gazing out to sea knowing that a vessel will appear through the sky and clouds. And today their ship appears, I can see it at the lip of the ocean's mouth making its way to the throat of the shore. And the negation of my individuality is accepted, the long hours I will spend late each night to catch up on work is welcomed -- bracing for the uncomfortable unspoken conversation sure to accompany the immense gorging of food. And yet I remember that almost imperceptible flutter in my chest on that day the calendar was first marked -- when my imagination first envisioned the galleon's approach -- so indistinguishable in the avalanche of foreboding apprehension, like a small butterfly trapped in the thick of dry brush.

kite surfing

On beautiful windy afternoons in San Diego, there's nowhere better to be than Coronado. It has been my ritual, after appointments and anything that brings me to that part of town, to walk along the strand past Hotel Del, past the high rise condos to the absolute military government edge, where I must turn back again. From my parked car, I could see kites flying and my soul ran ahead from me to meet them in the sky. I imagined taking my sister and my little niece, her daughter, here, when they come visit from Guam in two weeks. The pockets of my jacket were loaded with droid phone, keys, ipod nano, and wallet. A bottle of water in my hand. I felt padded and bundled under the warm sun and was glad for the crisp fresh air.

The usual tourists were around, a small scattering because there was no corporate event on the beach this time. I always imagine one day staying with my family in one of the hotel's beachfront cottages. Walking along the path is a formula for instant civic pride -- I live in this region -- and the invigoration of belonging.

I finally noticed a man I must have passed many times before but was too caught up in my head to realize. Even at first, I quickly glanced in his direction, mostly taking in the large simple murals of art on the pavement that I was too afraid to walk over and the plastic dustpans with the word "Sand Man" written with a black sharpie. He has a nice smile and wears something like a captain's hat from The Love Boat TV show. His world is a bit sequestered from the wind and the beach, an intersection on the edge of the hotel property before the strip becomes a more public space.

And almost immediately past the turn, where the high rise condos that seem like glorified military barracks begin, the kite surfer sails over the waves breaking on sand and his arms are like rope that extend up into the sails capturing this gorgeous amazing air of the day. I never stop on my walk, but his feet sailing on a board over sand and waves and crashing waves and out into the bluer deep completely stole my breath and mesmerized me into paralysis. And only then could I more properly take in the traffic of kite surfers going down the rest of the coast, away from the Hotel Del. The energy of the air seemed to flow through their bodies, as some walked against the wind with kite in tow against one arm or attached to his waist -- as they leaned into the wind pushing forward, their task was not a mission but a complete and thrilling pleasure.

returning to writing through blogging

I feel grateful for accessible writers who blog like Penelope Trunk who led me to Leo Babauta, a writer currently living in Guam -- and somehow, connecting to a Chamorro blogger feels like a miraculous return.

Developing a theme for my blog has been a work-in-progress. I hear the advice, "Just write!" and I have had to stray into other blogging territory to affirm that Full Circles will do just fine for now. It could change, meaning my life focus and interests may expand (or sharpen). But I know intuitively that the act of returning to the point of entry, the beginning, and starting anew is a lifelong theme I would like to hold delicately near to the consciousness of my mind and my heart.

There is so much to explore in the idea of Full Circles:

BINARIES

• Fullness and the idea of an almost overflowing bowl of life, related to gratitude and its branch of gratefulness as told by Lynne Twist.
• Emptiness and not quite getting there, not quite knowing your destination, not knowing you have been there already

• The Return -- its unplanned surprise, its welcome and delight
• The Departure -- the necessary sojourn into the void, into the lengthening so that the stretch from the origin creates a wider ring to go around the fingers of God

SYMBOLIC

Circles and mathematics, their arcs and degrees and dimensions. How they represent an unattainable perfection, unlike the more practical elliptical orbit of the earth around the sun. How even our planet is not a fully perfect sphere. Circles can be lonely or paired or in logos, in venn diagrams and bracelets along arms and necks.

Yes, there is much to explore in this circumference of life.

"We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." --T. S. Eliot

first circle

It's funny how I left this blog many years ago now. An entry saved as draft was last posted in September 2006 -- that must have been the time I left this blog name stamped on the black background and left the web site empty and waiting.

I return to it now and like the title, it has aged over the years and after watching Julie and Julia, reading other blogs and seeing how project-oriented this genre seems to be, mine has been here all along, ready for the day I come home.

The first full circle I can find as I look around my office and think about the organizing work I have undertaken, is this actual blog itself. I have come back to the beginning, to what I have posted yet couldn't publish, to this empty space filled with memories in the vault of drafts and jobs past. One job, one place that broke my heart.

And here I am again, full circle. The ironies are endless and nascent. What brought me here was a friend and needing a login to give her comments and support. Now, there's just me and this other world out there, of people writing, processing, sharing.

I've struggled to find a forum in which to write openly and publicly. At least, I think I have found it. Do you have to be my friend? I've LJ'd and myspaced and occasionally noted here and there. I thought the problem was in corporatized space, the homogeny of acquaintances, the need to impress literary Joneses. I realize now I needed the right theme.