Dance is my language

Since I can remember thinking thoughts like this, I've known that expressing myself with total fidelity would involve not a single word. My story, my song, my portrait, my compassion, even my apology would be a dance. A swirling, muscled parade across a wide stage. An epic stretch from the fingers on my left hand through the toes on my right foot. Joy would be pirouette in attitude. Fear a open-mouthed back bend. Sadness a deep bend in the knees until no one could tell where I ended and the vast floor began.

Every once in a while, I come across a song that seems a perfect setting for one of these imaginary episodic dances. It's almost painful to listen to while sitting still.

The Report Is Positive

Today, perhaps more than any day since Jimmy deployed, I feel good - accomplished, energetic, optimistic. Jimmy and I had amassed a pretty serious to-do list before he left, and I've finally checked off many things on that list. The house is relatively clean after a weeklong battle with at least eight - count them, eight - loads of laundry. And despite the dishes in the sink, the Valentines sitting desperately incomplete on the breakfast bar, and the BoA bills I need to pay this month - Christmas catching up with me - I'm feeling a rare sense of compassion for myself. As if the unfinished things are not a reflection of an unfinished person. Kindness feels good.

This Thursday will mark one month since Jimmy deployed, and not only have I not totally crumbled in his absence, I've been happily chipping away at my "List of 10 Things." Check it out:

1. Run. Swim. Dance. Every week.

Resting in the corral after summiting Cowles Mountain

On April 12th, I'll be one runner in the pink, orange, and green blur of the 5k Neon Run in San Diego. I'll also be sinking into the driver's seat around 4:35 am four days a week for the next five weeks to join the lovely ladies of Kaia FIT 4S Ranch. I sincerely look forward to kicking my own butt.

La Jolla Shores

2. Let no day be spent totally indoors.

I've been on two early morning hikes with friends Heather and Hans as they train to traverse the Grand Canyon, rim-to-rim-to-rim, this May. The trails up Cowles Mountain and Fortuna Mountain now bear my footprints. This Saturday, I also spent three hours wandering around sunny La Jolla, taking in the lazy sea lions, well-dressed shoppers, and historic storefronts (many complete with Girl Scouts and towers of  boxed cookies).

3. Read the books I've purchased but scarcely cracked.

I'm currently hiking through the pages of Wild and unknowingly aiding the Manhattan Project with The Girls of Atomic City.

Early Valentine's Day treats

4. Eat decadently. But make sure it's homecooked.

I count this sweet potato and black bean chili and the adorably boxed sweets (pictured right) among my culinary accomplishments this month.

5. Learn something new. Try something weird.

I'm enrolled in my first three-hour photography class on March 2nd. Stay tuned for some beginner shots of Balboa Park!

6. Get more curious about God.

I picked up a Rob Bell book, "Love Wins," at a Saturday morning book exchange down the hill from my apartment complex. The Unitarian congregation in Hillcrest is my next planned stop.

7. Get out of town.

I'm looking forward to my trip to Austin in late May to see my amazing little sister graduate from college. Also hoping to make it out to D.C. in early June when my office closes for Shavuot. I can't wait to ride the Metro until the train slides up into the sunlight, shuffle between produce and craft booths at Eastern Market, sit in the aged pews at All Souls Unitarian Church, stuff myself with Jose Andres nosh, buy a book with a radical title at Busboys & Poets, sip a pinot at Tryst, get a haircut from my favorite barber in Dupont Circle, and join the throngs of tourists armed with smartphones, hoping for a glimpse of Bo or Sunny lying out on the White House lawn.

Friday afternoon, 5 minutes until close

8. Keep my job in proper perspective.

No solid evidence (except the photo at right) to support this, but I consider this done and done. I love my new job but understand - and seek to allocate my time in ways that demonstrate - that the other things on this list are what make me whole. Plus, becoming a better writer, photographer, and citizen of the world count as professional development in the world of non-profit marketing.

9. Find a few people who think the strange mix of things I like is fun.

I'm hoping my return to Kaia FIT will result in some rich new friendships. Meanwhile, I've been reconnecting with friends who understand and inspire me. When I really think about it, my cup runneth over.

10. Stop planning, and do.

I submit to you my future participation in a 5 am boot camp, photography class, and 5k run as evidence of my progress in this area. The home cooking, serious laundry accomplishments, and trips to the book exchange also top the list of time well spent this month.

A List of 10 Things I'd Like to Do

In the wee hours of January 13, I dropped off my boyfriend at Camp Pendleton, and (after several hours, a few dimly lit photos - including the selfie to the left - and many tears on my part) he headed off to Afghanistan in a bus - then a plane, then a second plane, and then a third. And I went back home to take a nap and begin my next year flying solo.

Before Jimmy's deployment, I did a lot of searching online about this strange phase I've now entered. I think my search terms were things like "coping with deployment," "what to expect first few weeks of deployment," and many variations of "gifts for deploying boyfriend." (You can see I'm rather verbose - and gift-obsessed - even in my Google search bar.) I landed on some sites that alleviated my anxiety and others that did not. What I did feel was a very confusing mix of emotion as I started to see in action the military culture that says every military spouse is doing her duty, too, by staying stateside with a big smile on her face. A patriotic military wife cares for children, sends decorative packages at regular intervals, and daily tears strips off paper chains or moves glass pebbles from one jar to another to count down the days until her man is back home.

All at once, I wanted to latch onto these palliative methods of marking time - I love Jimmy and I knew I was going to deeply miss him, maybe these habits would soothe me - while at the same time I wanted to swiftly and forcefully reject them. Am I not a strong woman with agency, interests, and an adventurous spirit? I will be thinking of and missing my serviceman, but I don't need no stinkin' paper chain.

For me, the most confusing of these military wife rituals was the creation of what I often saw called the "deployment bucket list." Significant others of deployed members of the military list all the things they hope to accomplish while their loved ones are away and strike through them as they're finished. I wasn't sure how to feel about the "bucket list" because I had an immediate, overwhelming urge to create my own - as I do when the prospect of creating any list presents itself - but I also disliked the term "bucket list." What is it that we women can't do while our men are around? And is this just another superficial way to distract ourselves? We must become the leading ladies in our own lives, I thought to myself, quoting a throwaway line in that classic Cameron Diaz film The Holiday.

But I've succumbed to my love for lists and also realized that while writing a "bucket list" isn't right for me, taking a moment to pause, assess my new life in San Diego, and make a concerted effort to increase my joy here and form habits that will make me a better person - that's something I can get on board with. So, with no further ado, a List of Things I'd Like to Do:

1. Run. Swim. Dance. Every week.
I've now run a 10k. I've always loved to swim - and there's a heated lap pool 100 feet from my front door. And I received 12 prepaid modern dance classes as a Christmas present. Running, swimming, and dancing make me happy and healthy. There is no reason I shouldn't do them all at least once every single week.

2. Let no day be spent totally indoors.
I'm a hopeless introvert, but I must make sure I never spend a single day totally indoors. (I have a dog to walk, of course, but walking the dog around the block doesn't cut it.) San Diego offers beautiful weather and beautiful scenery. I need to soak in the sunshine everyday.

3. Read the books I've purchased but scarcely cracked.
I have the following books to read (this list is way too long): Quiet, And the Mountains Echoed, Five Days at Memorial, Memoirs of a Geisha, Traveling Mercies, Ghost Wars, The Girls of Atomic City, Everything is Illuminated, Bowling Alone, The Heart of the Matter, God of the Oppressed (to be fair, I'm halfway through that one), Rabbit-Proof Fence, The Cost of Discipleship, Slavery By Another Name (another 50%er), Game of Thrones, What is the What (how did I graduate from college without reading that one?), Lies My Teacher Told Me (the author is a little self-indulgent, but I need to give it another try), The Poisonwood Bible, and several books that will be make me better at my job.

4. Eat decadently. But make sure it's homecooked.
I love to cook, but sometimes, in just the right light, my stove looks like a metallic monster with flaming hair, lunging for my sweet, sweet leisure time. Who cares? I need to get my ass off the couch and cook something delicious and healthy. Subway or Chipotle is good enough when I work until 9 and the laundry isn't finished, and the dog isn't fed and walked, and I foolishly left even more work to do at home. But mostly, I need to make the time to thoughtfully, intentionally nourish myself.

5. Learn something new. Try something weird.
The "learn something new" will probably be "figure out how to use my DSLR camera." Jimmy got me a fabulous camera, complete with a huge, long-range lens and a camera bag, for Christmas. Now I must master the thing. The "try something weird," though, I haven't quite figured out. I got some sushi-making supplies for Christmas, but rolling some rice and nori isn't quite what I'm talking about. I want to take a risk for once - a risk for me and my comfort zone. Maybe go parasailing. Or join Toastmasters (ha, yeah right). Or build a piece of furniture not prefabricated by Ikea. Or participate in a protest about something I care about.

6. Get more curious about God.
I've been really struggling with the Jesus question for a while now. Hell, let's be real: I don't think Jesus was divine. A right nice fellow with a penchant for revolutionary troublemaking? Sure. But I'm not so sure he was the flesh and blood Son of God. Which is a problem for me, seeing as how I'm Christian. But I do believe in God. I have experiences in nature, with people, when I'm totally alone, that convince me there is a high-order mystery no one has solved yet. I want to find a group of people who want to talk about that in a serious way.

7. Get out of town.
Austin? Seattle? Appalachia? Phoenix? Dear ol' District of Columbia? Here I come.

8. Keep my job in proper perspective.
I have a history of forgetting that I'm just an ant in the giant, teeming ant farm of the universe. The ting of a triangle in the epic opera of history. My job should (usually) make me happy, and I hope to use my brain most days. But succeeding or failing at work does not define me. I won't have this job forever. And my particular job - in the grand scheme of what is happening at any given moment - is just not that big of a deal. So I'll go to work, do my best, take some risks, and be kind to my coworkers. And when it's all over, I'll come home as close to "on time" as I can get and kick back with a glass of wine. Because my job doesn't come with emergencies - I have it good.

9. Find a few people who think the strange mix of things I like is fun.
For years, I've watched other people's lives on Facebook, convinced that I'm just not that fun. I don't love wild parties, getting hammered, rushing sororities, skydiving, or moving to some remote part of Asia with no job, no map, and no plan. That's not me. But I do love making and consuming art, engaging in (some forms of) exercise, watching good movies, reading excellent writing, spending time in the Great Outdoors, spending time with kids, and making lists like this one. Rather than surrounding myself with the kinds of people who like wild parties et al, I want to find a handful of old souls who like the things I like, who think I'm fun. Maybe by doing what I really like doing, I'll find people who make me feel at home.

10. Stop planning, and do.
And with that...

To be clear, I have the deepest respect for military spouses of both genders. What I take issue with in this post is not military spouses themselves but rather the reduction of these people to just one of the many difficult things they do - wait.

2013 by the pixels

Anne and I inflict our decorating enthusiasm on a gingerbread tree

Three generations of McLellan women

Back in San Diego, Jimmy and I take in "The Del"

In which Jimmy and I devour (fabulous) fried scallops in Catalina

My wonderful parents in the dock cafe at Lake Tahoe

A tree in Tahoe teaches us humility

My team

Jimmy and Lucy make their way in Mammoth Lakes

Lucy and I in the tall grass, by the cool water

Career anxiety

Asteroids by Dave Makes

places to hide

let me ball it up

a tiny orb

my pebble in David’s slingshot

send it to sleep among the asteroids

mute and grey

let’s starch and iron it

flat, white

a cotton dress

tuck it in my quiet closet

whisper with the wool

and silky shawls

help me build an all-consuming blaze

that will take it, yellow and blue-silver

Swoosh.

sweep it away with tired embers

smoky ash

close it, solemn

as a heavy tome

one line:

It is finished.

slide it spine-side-out in line

lean into the mirror just to watch it

fold itself in crows feet

become my eager smile

ring in laughter

melt away

CML

7-2-13

"Taken" and the Real Global Market for Persons

I saw Taken for the first time this afternoon. Like most people who saw this film, I was incredibly disturbed. I'm also embarrassed to report that it took seeing this film to get me to commit time to researching the real global market for people. The video below was one of the better issue primers I found on human trafficking. It also offers actionable suggestions for those of us who want to become involved but who probably will not commit our entire careers to anti-trafficking work.

One of the most striking facts Sorvino shares is that the trafficking of human beings is the second most lucrative illicit activity in the world, second only to narcotics trafficking. The United States government, however, spends more money in one month on the war against drugs than it has ever spent to end the trafficking of persons.

Like most worthy pursuits, stamping out human trafficking and supporting trafficking survivors takes a lot of time and money, both which are in woefully short supply.



Mira Sorvino; "Using Your Gifts to End Slavery" from Not For Sale on Vimeo.

D.C. for Christmas

I've been missing D.C. a lot lately and so have begun a time-sucking search for paraphernalia that will feed my nostalgia. Some of my favorite (and now highly coveted) knick knacks include:

D.C. Map Earrings from the Urban Gridded Collection at Aminimal

D.C.-shaped cutting board and cookie cutters at Hill's Kitchen

Customizable D.C. pillow by ilovecalifornia on Etsy.com

D.C. monument-shaped chocolates by Chocolate Chocolate

Before the Cliff: Mini pies and cinnamon ice cream

Black & Blue (berry) Mini Pie

Well, I've been in San Diego for exactly three weeks now. As predicted, the daytime temperature rarely strays below a breezy 75 degrees. My proximity to the coastline (about two miles) and at least a hundred great hiking trails are great sources of happiness. I'm still working remotely for my D.C. employer, exploring ways that business and philanthropy in the United States and Mexico can bolster the non-profit sector across the border. (Paying attention to Mexican non-profits would be a good start, I've learned.) And I'm doing some ad hoc work for my soon-to-be San Diego employer, a community health group. Through those experiences, I'm re-entering the world of food and physical activity policy, writ large, a huge excitement for me. And I'm interacting with the community again, which makes this whole move a bit sweeter.

In other news, I'm working on becoming a big sister through Big Brothers Big Sisters. I've joined an area women's book club, appropriately called "Hip Chicks Book Club," whose next read is the first book in Game of Thrones. There's an amazing YMCA down the street from my apartment, which I plan on joining as soon as their New Years joining fee waiver goes into effect. I'm planning a container garden from my partial-shade balcony to be seeded early next year. And I've bought the supplies necessary to paint a foolproof forest scene, using this handy YouTube instructional video. Plus, I'm forcing my boyfriend to partake fully in Christmas festivities, including but not limited to tree adorning, stocking hanging, gingerbread house constructing, cookie decorating, and Christmas music jamming. We'll see if he endures...

I'm hoping to start work full-time with the San Diego folks in early January. In preparation for the big job transition, I've been invited to their holiday party tonight. It's a potluck, and I signed myself up to bring a pie. After much Internet research (and a new ice cream maker), I've decided to make mini apple and berry pies using a standard muffin tin, and a creamy cinnamon ice cream. I sort of crowd-sourced my pie recipes, but you can find more information on making these adorable desserts at Dollhouse Bake Shoppe and Zoom Yummy. The cinnamon ice cream recipe I stole wholesale from this rave-reviewed one on AllRecipes.com. As the commenters suggested, I used just 3/4 c. sugar, rather than a whole cup, but otherwise followed the instructions exactly. Most of my produce is from Sprouts, my new hangout and a welcome throw-back to my time in Phoenix, where Sprouts was also king. Fun fact: produce is ridiculously cheap in Southern California.

I feel a little ironic, baking pies and ice cream for the staff of a childhood obesity prevention group. But hey, if we're going off the fiscal cliff in the next couple of weeks--Wile. E. Coyote-style--I'd like one of my last meals to be a miniaturized dessert. (Read a smart column on the ubiquitous Cliff conversation by my current boss here.) And I know the end of the world is predicted for the 21st, but doesn't anyone else find the date 12/12/12 a little fantastic? This is the last time this century that we'll have a matching date, month, and year. (The only cooler date was last year's 11/11/11, when all the digits were the same.)

The only conclusion I can draw is that we should all eat pie.

Cash Cows? What Writing for Slate Taught Me About Making Milk

Holstein cows grazing by F.d.W. / flickr.com

"If being a dairy farmer were like riding a roller coaster, 2009 was the loop-de-loop. 

"This summer’s drought was the gut-wrenching vertical drop."

In the wake of this summer's drought, how are dairy farmers faring? You probably never asked yourself that question because it's an unobvious one to us non-farmers. 

Before starting research for this series of articles on Slate I might have guessed that the worst-off farmers were the corn farmers. There's a drought, their crop is destroyed, they lose money, right? Not so. In fact, dairy farmers and cattle ranchers are in much worse shape than the princes to King Corn. The cheap corn and soy that dairy producers rely on is suddenly much more expensive, and the prices they receive for their milk are hardly rising. They're watching their life's savings flow steadily out of their bank accounts, retirement accounts, college savings accounts. Read more from Slate HERE...

There's a lot to this whole debate that I didn't explore in the article. One issue is the labyrinthine milk pricing system in this country. In attempt to understand it, I read the USDA's 20+ page primer on the issue. A half-hour later I was no smarter and battling a serious headache.

I figured an ag journalist would do a better job explaining the issue to a laywoman like me. I decided to talk to Pete Hardin, who edits and writes probably 80 percent of the content in a fantastic trade publication The Milkweed. When we got on the phone, I told him simply: "I want to understand how milk prices are set in this country." There was a pause when I was sure we'd been disconnected, then laughter. He had been sitting in his car, parked in his garage, trying to dig up some old papers and stats for me. He was laughing so heartily I imagined him doubled over his steering wheel, wondering who this supremely naiver writer was.

Finally, he took a deep breath in and said seriously: "If you don't have to, I wouldn't touch that issue." Even though he writes about it ad nauseum, he said it's highly politically charged and--to be honest--pretty boring. Unless the piece is really about milk prices, it'd be better not to give the issue short shrift.

But I got into it a little bit, and I think you should, too. The people who make our milk are getting short changed by ineffective, cobbled-together policies that don't respond readily to market pressures. It's not just that dairy farming is hard or unprofitable. It's actually impoverishing farmers across the country. Those hard-to-understand federal and state milk prices make it easier for monopolistic practices to rule the day. Big diary is on the way. Small family dairy farms are becoming a thing of the past.

And the few young people who have tried to enter the business--and it's incredibly costly and risky to do so--are being driven out. In the dairy sector, perhaps more than any other, we're losing our new farmers. The average age of American farmers is 57. This summer's drought will likely erase any progress we've made in the last five years enticing young people to the biz.

Family Farm Defenders and the National Family Farm Coalition are good sources of information. The Rodale Institute, which focuses on small-scale, organic production, is a great organization, too.

Take some time in the midst of the election shenanigans to think more deeply about your milk, cheese, yogurt, ice cream, and coffee creamer. My new dairy farmer friend Chris Kraft pleaded with me: "Think behind the shelf."  The people who make our milk need us readers to dare to take on the complex, even the boring. It's often the dense stuff, the weedy policies, the will-not-be-sound-bited issues that matter the most.

A Magazine Doing It Right

When I was a senior in college and my campus minister was retiring from her job as my pastor, she reflected on her experience with Duke kids. They seem so tough, capable, even cold, like they've got everything together. They don't need help from anyone. But when you touch them, they just melt.

I was reminded today that this is not just true of Duke students; it's true of people. This brief blog post is a shout-out to Los Angeles-based event series and online publication Zócalo Public Square*. This magazine never ceases to amaze me by capturing people as they're melting. Their editorial staff makes intimate personal experience available to the masses--to the readers, sure, but also to the writers who end up sharing their stories. Many of them wouldn't call themselves writers, but Zócalo gives them the space to become one. A recent piece by their deputy managing editor, Jennifer Lee, who I've met in person a couple of times, moved me to my core. Give it a read and tell me what you think!


*Full disclosure: My boss is their editorial director, and I've written a piece for them.