Friday, November 13, 2009

Superstitions


Today on Motherlode, one of the blogs I moderate at The New York Times, is a Friday the 13th discussion about superstitions and whether we inherit them from our parents or pass them to our children.

Personally, I don't have many, if any, superstitious fears or foibles. But I grew up with a father who had quite a few (including the two mentioned in the Motherlode post). My Dad used to say he got them from his grandmother, but if you ask my great-aunt Dee, she would say, "my mother never said any thing like that!"

One of the rules Dad clung to through the years was the idea that planting coriander, a staple ingredient in Indian cuisine and therefore something my mother would have very much liked to have in her garden, was bad luck. Well, not even bad luck so much as if you grew it, you would leave your house and move. Which is ironic, because in all my years of growing up, we never grew coriander, and we never stayed in one place more than six years! Wonder how much we would have moved if we HAD grown it!

If we had, we would not have been able to trim the plants at night. Also, we couldn't cut our nails at night. Both bad luck. And I just learned about this one: Dad did not like a collection of seashells in the house.

I have to say, he might have been on to something because I do consider myself an incredibly lucky person and was certainly blessed to be raised in the family I was. So who am I to poo-poo these little rules and regulations? On the big stuff, the stuff that mattered, Mum and Dad were always very reasonable and liberal. So what if I had to sleep with sapphire earrings under my pillow before I was allowed to wear them? Not that big of a hardship, really! No bad dreams, brand new earrings!

My husband has his own set of superstitions, which have now become mine my default. We're careful not to leave shoes on a chair, don't walk under ladders or open umbrellas indoors and avoid having black cats cross our paths whenever possible. Last year we had little choice but to fly on Friday the 13th and, luckily, we had a safe and pleasant voyage. But maybe that's because I had my fingers crossed the whole way.

Sunday, September 06, 2009

The Secret Diary of a Budding Insomniac

I used to be a good sleeper -- I could fall asleep anywhere, sleep through a hurricane and wake up feeling refreshed and positively un-grumpy. Somewhere along the line, things changed. I don't know if it's age, anxiety or environment but I now often -- too often -- find myself struggling to fall asleep, battling to stay asleep and then fighting to wake up feeling rested.

Take tonight, for example. I know I have to wake up early and be ready for action. I headed to bed at 11:30pm but I couldn't fall asleep. My mind was alert and active. OK, I thought, I'll give in and work on the computer for a short while, just till my eyes get tired. It is now 2am and I'm still awake. Still alert. Eyes still not tired. I want to sleep but I know I am subconsciously fighting it as well. Wonder what I'm afraid of.

I truly hope that with more exercise, maybe a change of scenery, an overall better quality of life, my old friend sleep will come back to stay. I miss it. I'd hate to think it's gone for good. I'm too young to be that old.

Update: It seems that in choosing to write about sleep this week I am in good company. Christoph Niemann, who illustrates a wonderful blog at The New York Times, also has sleep on the brain. And news out of the U.K. suggests that sharing a bed may be bad for your health. Sleep specialist Dr Neil Stanley told the British Science Festival how bed sharing can cause rows over snoring and duvet-hogging and robs precious sleep. Dr. Stanley says, "We all know what it's like to have a cuddle and then say 'I'm going to sleep now' and go to the opposite side of the bed. So why not just toddle off down the landing?"

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Plan B

I love cooking, but I don’t cook. I love gardening, but I don’t garden. I love dogs, but I don’t have one, love the ocean but can’t get to it. These things bother me.

I live in New York, but I am not a New Yorker. The city doesn’t buoy me, doesn’t move me. I need more. I need less. I no longer want to live in the in-betweens.

I want to count the stars at night and feel cold, wet grass beneath my feet and go to bed tired from having spent a day working hard. Working hard for ourselves, for our sustenance, for our land. Working towards something that has an output, an end result. Something tangible.

I want a creative idea to lead to another and another. I want to try things, even if they don’t work out. Fix things, build things, make things, bake things.