tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119552712024-03-08T01:48:01.029-08:00Austin to Africa, Brasil to the BayThe story of my life as an artist, jeweler, traveler, translator, writer and dancer. Lots of geography, lots of heart.Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.comBlogger1175125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-24000258981280950312024-02-29T11:36:00.000-08:002024-02-29T11:36:09.841-08:00I No Longer Blog...I'm Writing a Book<p>At the pace and depth I'm going, it's probably more accurate to say I'll be writing a series! :)</p><p>I've been working consistently for the last two years, despite moving continents yet again and being a mom to a preschooler. I hope to have the first volume of the Origins and Routes series.</p><p>I hope one day soon to be able to announce here - in the place where this ambition started - that you can read along with me once again.</p><p>Much love,</p><p>Ali</p>Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-58805210861094321962021-02-13T18:09:00.005-08:002021-02-13T18:09:52.908-08:00I’m Blogging Again!<p> Except not here - although this is such a sentimental place for me, and where I met so many of you, dear friends.</p><p>You can find me at my new virtual home, www.aliambrosio.com</p><p>Much love from Florida!</p>Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-14019041989261478612019-03-23T17:35:00.001-07:002021-02-13T18:05:59.868-08:00An Origin and an Ending<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On February 12th, 2019 at 6:41 in the morning, I experienced the greatest origin there is - the arrival of our daughter after 26 long hours of unmedicated labor. Life changed in an instant with the birth of our baby and my subsequent birth as a mother. Our girl has already taught me everything and then some about being in the moment, letting go of control, cultivating gratitude, and amplifying love.<br />
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I'd been contemplating for some time - years really - how and when to write the final entry for this blog. I want to keep writing, tried to start again here, but never quite found my momentum. Life has moved forward. I have a new home now, a new partner, a new family. I'm a new person. Only right that I'd have a new space in which to share.<br />
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And with new beginnings there are endings. The news of Cyclone Idai last week, and the subsequent devastation of Mozambique's central region (as well as Zimbabwe and Malawi) has my mind and heart back in Africa. It's surreal to see the places I lived and worked in when I started this blog back in 2005 completely underwater, decimated, the future precarious and uncertain.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.savethechildren.org/content/dam/usa/images/global-programs/emergency/mozambique-cyclone-idai-ch1313197-sq.jpg/_jcr_content/renditions/cq5dam.thumbnail.768.768.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://www.savethechildren.org/content/dam/usa/images/global-programs/emergency/mozambique-cyclone-idai-ch1313197-sq.jpg/_jcr_content/renditions/cq5dam.thumbnail.768.768.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgba(34, 34, 33, 0.8); color: rgba(34, 34, 33, 0.8); font-family: GillSansInfantW01, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo credit: Denis Onyodi/IFRC/HANDOUT/EPA-EFE/REX/Shutterstock</span></em></td></tr>
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<a href="https://www.savethechildren.org/us/about-us/media-and-news/2019-press-releases/fears-for-mozambique?fbclid=IwAR14CUfJxjd5i65EnbxsS8IRYUlJwO2mvOeimy-reSZ3S00-rfOJzNAxgR4" target="_blank">Here is a link to donate to relief efforts</a> - I personally know the country director for Save the Children Mozambique and, despite all my NGO cynicism documented in this blog, this is the best way I know to help at the moment - cash aid, in the hands of a team I know is "real".<br />
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May these waters recede and somehow there be a thousand miracles.<br />
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If you'd like to stay in touch, you can find me at <a href="http://www.originsandroutes.com/">www.aliambrosio.com</a> - a space that is still very much a work in progress. I will be starting a blog over there, and updating the content regularly.<br />
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Much love and my most sincere thank you for following me here over the past fourteen years. Here's looking forward to the next chapter, the next routes, the next adventures.<br />
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xx,<br />
AliAli Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-78606863901520324342018-11-25T08:04:00.000-08:002018-11-25T08:04:17.950-08:00Books Roundup 2018This year I have torn through the books (in paper, not digital, I just can't with the e-readers). Reading brought relief when grieving the loss of my pregnancy with Baby AB, relaxation while on the beach in Hawaii, and welcome entertainment while in Peci where there is no internet or even a good phone signal. Here is the list of the 16 books I've read so far in 2018:<div>
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<b>The Lost City of the Monkey God</b> <b>by Douglas Preston</b></div>
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This was my first book of the year. Fresh with grief and having taken a physical pummeling from the loss of the baby and resulting hormonal swings, I desperately needed a book I could lose myself in. My mom gifted me this book at just the right time. A mix of anthropology, adventure travel, and radar technology, this true story tells of a lost city being found in the Honduran jungle. Incredible to think that entire empires lie buried under vegetation. The title annoyed me (smacks of white male expedition marketed with exotic language to the people back home - which is exactly what it is on some level) but still I really enjoyed the story.</div>
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<b>Song of the Lion</b> and <b>Spider Woman's Daughter by Anne Hillerman</b></div>
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I grew up reading Tony Hillerman's mysteries and remember staying up late, flipping the pages until my hands ached, unable to pull myself away from the stories of Leaphorn and Chee and the Dinè (Navajo) way of life. As a New Mexican, I appreciated the sense of place and often took Hillerman books with me while living abroad to soothe my <i>saudades</i> (or perhaps just make them worse). When I found out that Tony's daughter Anne had continued the mystery series, emphasizing the perspective of Bernadette Manuelito, a female detective, I was excited to return to the characters and scenery I so enjoyed years ago. Unfortunately it was a letdown. Perhaps I'd excessively built up my expectations, or maybe it was the difference of reading as an adult vs. a teenager, but I found the storylines to be predictable and lacking that urgent page-turning quality I remembered in the original series. I read these on while on our honeymoon in Hawaii in February, and they were definitely good enough for a beach read or to pass the time on the plane. I don't plan on reading more in the series, though... </div>
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<b>Love Africa</b> <b>by Jeffrey Gettleman</b></div>
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This one hit me hard. Part travel narrative, part political essay, part memoir. Intelligent yet humble writing, and deep honesty from the author about his past mistakes. I loved the stories, felt compassion for the characters, and appreciated the complexity of the situations in which the author found himself. It also stirred up nostalgia for East Africa, and a desire to keep traveling and keep writing no matter what. Fantastic book, I can't wait to read more from him.</div>
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<b>Shark Drunk by Morten Stroksnes</b></div>
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The story of trying to catch a Greenland shark, a poorly-understood cold water giant that I'd first heard about while watching the tv show <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1476750/" target="_blank">River Monsters</a> and found fascinating. I was expecting a mix of science, adventure, and Nordic culture - and I suppose it was all of those things - but somehow the book dragged on and felt bland. Maybe it was because of translating nuances (it was originally written in Norwegian), or maybe it was just an accurate portrayal of the slow pace of time while fishing. Whatever the reason, I found it very difficult to get through and nearly abandoned ship several times before finally, stubbornly, turning the last page.</div>
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<b>The Monk of Mokha by Dave Eggers</b></div>
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This was perhaps my favorite of all 2018. A true story, set in San Francisco and Yemen, about a young man who successfully revitalizes the Yemeni coffee industry despite widespread skepticism, production challenges, and war. A story of entrepreneurship, agriculture, development, politics, immigration, cultural ambassadorship, and global commerce. And, of course, coffee. I learned so much and can't wait to try a cup of specialty Yemeni brew one day here in San Francisco, even though it is hard to find and costs $16/cup, and as a pedestrian coffee drinker I am unlikely to appreciate its subtle aroma and palate qualities. Still, because of this story, I want to try it.</div>
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<b>The Sober Diaries</b> <b>by Claire Pooley</b></div>
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I LOVED THIS BOOK. My interest in sober living started about three years ago as I contemplated the role alcohol played in my previous marriage/life chapter. My ex was a happy and frequent drinker, as was his family, as were our friends. Our respective cultures reinforced this norm, as did our lifestyle (expat development workers and frequent travelers tend to be a heavy-drinking lot). Without really noticing, I'd become a habitual drinker. Bored? How about a drink. In an airport? Obviously time for a beer. Celebrating? Drink. Bad news? Drink. School sucks? Have a glass of wine with that essay. Work challenging? Drink to decompress. Gallery slow? How about some bubbly to pass the time. Weekend? Day drink. Weekday? Vino with dinner. Anything, anything at all? Drink. Of course we were both very responsible people, kept up our obligations, never had "consequences," and in his eyes never had a problem...but for me there was a quiet and increasingly desperate feeling that something was very, very wrong. I started to cut back on my own consumption, and then after our divorce I had the opportunity to further examine my own habits and behavior and make some big changes. I still have an occasional drink, but my relationship with alcohol has changed completely. It is now the exception rather than the rule. I don't get drinks on auto pilot, and I certainly don't buy into the idea that you need alcohol to have fun, or cope, or be accepted. My current husband has a very similar approach, and our life is sober most of the time, often for long stretches. THIS BOOK WAS SO AFFIRMING OF THESE DECISIONS. Claire Pooley is a hilarious writer, and hearing how she became sober and then how she beat breast cancer while maintaining sobriety was inspiring. I highly recommend it, especially if you are reexamining your relationship with alcohol.</div>
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<b>Alburquerque</b> <b>by Rudolfo Anaya</b></div>
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It's always fun to read a book set in your hometown, and this was no exception. Magical, mystical, poignant, and engaging. I hadn't read Rudolfo Anaya since high school, and it was like visiting an old friend. The storyline was compelling, felt ancient and modern all at once, and I loved the characters. Anyone with a connection to New Mexico will particularly enjoy reading this book.</div>
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<b>Dear Sugar</b> <b>by Cheryl Strayed</b></div>
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What a punch to the gut and embrace to the heart. I bawled and cringed and laughed while reading Cheryl Strayed's no-bullshit advice to others, punctuated with devastating and uplifting stories from her own life. My friend Heather had recommended this to me shortly after we lost Baby AB, and I was happy to find this in my mom's bookshelf. Definitely helped me find perspective and strength.</div>
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<b>Deep South</b> <b>by Paul Theroux</b></div>
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This road trip narrative tells devastating and hopeful stories from America's southern states. I appreciated the author's attempt to present many perspectives, cultures, and ways of life. From gun shows to shacks in the Delta, economic ghost towns to sites where black youth were murdered, churches to restaurants, and the long stretches of highway in-between, the reader comes away with a real sense of the history and struggle and complexity of the region. I found the more academic interludes a little hard to get through, but the actual stories from the road were captivating. Highly recommend.</div>
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<b>Robicheaux</b> <b>by James Lee Burke</b></div>
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I enjoyed reading all of the previous Dave Robicheaux detective novels, and this was no exception. Gritty, well-written, and full of Louisiana culture. The storyline was unpredictable and made for a real page-turner, although not ideal for bedtime reading because of the often gory situations. </div>
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<b>Red Sparrow</b> and <b>Palace of Treason</b> <b>by Jason Matthews</b></div>
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More not-ideal-before-bedtime reading, but oh so good. These spy novels are intelligent, complex, and compelling tales of politics, love, loyalty and betrayal. The main characters are very well developed. I enjoyed all the Russian language and culture, and the recipes at the end of each chapter are an unexpected bonus. I can't wait to read the final book from this trilogy.</div>
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<b>The Pregnancy Instruction Manual by Sarah Jordan and David Ufberg</b></div>
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<b>The Baby Owner's Manual by Louis Borgenicht and Joe Borgenicht</b></div>
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Now that I'm pregnant again (baby Anastasia is due in February 2019) my friend Marjana gave me these books that she'd enjoyed reading before her first child was born a several years ago. They are practical, easy to understand, and comprehensive. That said, both books are oriented to heterosexual couples and pander to antiquated gender roles. Mom gets tips for how to dress during pregnancy (avoid stripes that make you look larger that you already are!) and Dad is reminded to switch off Sports Center and make himself useful around the house. I get that it's an attempt at humor, but ugh. Otherwise useful books, and I'm sure I'll be consulting them in the future.</div>
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<b>Ina May's Guide to Childbirth by Ina May Gaskin</b></div>
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This book is my Bible right now. I want to have an unmedicated vaginal birth in a hospital, so I'm trying to read everything I can about how birth is a natural and empowering process that women are entitled to experience free from a culture of fear. I love reading all of the birth stories from the Farm. These women and midwives are incredibly inspiring. I'll likely reread this about 10 times between now and February!</div>
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That's it! I'm proud to have read so much and look forward to squeezing in maybe one or two more books before the end of the year. What have you read lately that you really enjoyed? </div>
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Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-6927230297698443642018-09-05T21:24:00.000-07:002018-09-05T21:31:33.501-07:00Shyness<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVTVeCDvr5XXCrJsDiVTh8Nn7lULTeCWYcn49TzKqAltqOseCq0vKSP93uzWtRmPALGaUwz_YtK6mjCCSrz81zy8C6cn1rS90SyvYnh9DFFNIXHl3dxlNJ-NGUCSqy41LMLkx7uQ/s1600/6eaaa777-00bd-4f5c-9935-9c40c9eca3a3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVTVeCDvr5XXCrJsDiVTh8Nn7lULTeCWYcn49TzKqAltqOseCq0vKSP93uzWtRmPALGaUwz_YtK6mjCCSrz81zy8C6cn1rS90SyvYnh9DFFNIXHl3dxlNJ-NGUCSqy41LMLkx7uQ/s640/6eaaa777-00bd-4f5c-9935-9c40c9eca3a3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first time in Grand Central Station. Looking down while Roberto looks up through the lens.</td></tr>
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Several weeks ago Roberto and I went to New York to visit my cousin Anders. While there we went to this shop called, well, SHOP, a hyper-colorful, heavily curated concept store that changes its theme every season. Full of clever gift items, there was also the occasional show stopper, like the giant unicorn pool floatie that was in the middle of the space when we visited (the theme was Out of Office, an ode to endless lazy vacation days).<br />
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Anyhow, while at SHOP Anders bought a pack of cards that is supposed to generate ideas for small talk, improving your conversational skills, or simply getting to know people better. Later that evening we pulled random cards from the deck over a midnight snack of leftover donuts. Some of the prompts were pretty predictable (What did you want to be when you were a kid?) some were amusing (What's a guilty pleasure?) others were deep (Do you value mercy or justice more?) and a couple were downright cringe-worthy (What relative do you like the least?).<br />
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One of the cards I found strangely difficult to answer was "What circumstances make you shy?"<br />
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My initial reaction was silence, because I'm not at all a shy person and it took me multiple minutes of thinking to even come up with some candidate scenarios...and even then, not really! Like I am reluctant to ask strangers for directions when I'm lost because I don't want people to know that I'm disoriented or not "from" a particular place. I'm reluctant to interact because the information I'd share makes me feel vulnerable, not because I'm timid about the approach. The other scenarios I came up with were also one-off from shyness, like not wanting to talk about certain accomplishments (modesty), occasionally being quiet at dinner parties (paranoid about being a motor mouth), or back in the day deciding not to get gelato because I didn't know the words in Italian for 'scoop' and 'cone' and the embarrassment I was sure to suffer because of that was greater than my desire for ice cream (stupidity - now I get gelato despite any linguistic limitations).<br />
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My friend Hilary is perhaps the most shy person I know. We were in jewelry school together and bonded over a mutual love of running. We've been meeting for weekly runs for over 6 years now, and the funny thing is that while we run we talk nonstop - both of us! There's nothing like chatting to make the time and the miles fly by, especially when training for long distances. I believe that being side-by-side while we run (as opposed to face-to-face) takes the pressure off and makes it easier for a shy person to chat. In my case it makes me talk less because Hilary is in better shape than I am and so I reach a point of huffing and puffing and not being able to hold a conversation much faster than she does, so it's a good balance!<br />
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What made me think of shyness was the realization that the place I quiet my voice the most these days is here, on my blog. Sometimes I long to write and will spend hours composing in my head and feeling the itch to get my fingers on the keyboard, and yet I hold back. It's not writer's block - the instant I sit down the words pour out. Rather it's censorship, fear of oversharing, a questioning whether my current stories truly belong in this place so rooted in the past or whether I need to find a new home. I miss writing, be it about unremarkable daily routines or major stuff like marriage, miscarriage, and how to crack the code of living 6 months in California and 6 months in Italy (current conundrum). I know the way forward is to keep writing, be it here, in a private diary, on scraps of paper, whatever. Doubts about where to write shouldn't be an impediment to writing. So here I am, despite my shyness, showing up to say hello.Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-49337537667737656872018-05-25T23:45:00.001-07:002018-05-25T23:50:40.271-07:00Catching Feelings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I just watched the South African film "Catching Feelings" by director-actor Kagiso Lediga. It came up as a suggestion on Netflix and I jumped on it. The cinematography left me with massive nostalgia for Johannesburg: the jacaranda-lined streets, the gray skies, the unique vibe, and oh that accent...I so miss that accent! But it wasn't all purple blossoms and good times: there was also realistic portrayal of the challenges in urban South Africa: drunk driving, bribing police, fenced and guarded homes and accompanying race-based fear, immediate discrimination of the main character by both whites and blacks when he loses his shoes and appears poor and possibly homeless, shantytown tourism by wealthy white foreigners, sexism, cell phone addiction, and in general lots of moral ambiguity.<br />
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I found it interesting that there was a distinction between Cape Town's racial situation (the only black people in a hip, upscale restaurant are the main character's party and the waiters; the student body at the university is majority white) and that of Joburg (portrayal of many middle and upper-middle class blacks with prominent positions in companies and academic institutions; nice restaurants and social events with racially diverse patrons; mixed race couples and friends groups; university student body majority black).<br />
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Although the movie is about an unhappy marriage and the moral boundaries of the main couple and their friends, the subtext is all about identity and racial politics (to paraphrase the main character, "I'm South African, everything is about race"). I appreciated that the film's perspective was not Eurocentric, and as an American I was interested in the subtle and not-so-subtle differences between our racial issues and those in South Africa. While I really enjoyed the film overall, I found the characters to be over-acted and many of the scenarios unbelievable, in particular the white "old man" author and how readily he is able to influence the main character and his wife, and how he is invited into their home. White privilege was brought up in the film but not explored very much, and I found it of note that colorism was not discussed at all (although it was most definitely present). Also how about those double standards regarding cheating for the main character and his wife?? And actually for the men in general? Ugh.<br />
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The role of alcohol and drugs in the film also struck me. The movie is basically about moral choices and behavioral gray area, and in 100% of the moments where characters make a critical move, they are massively drunk or high. It was frustrating to watch seemingly intelligent, educated, cultured, and independent characters lose all their willpower and convictions anytime alcohol is offered. Again, like the white privilege issue, there was a moment where the partying was scrutinized (Is this a problem? Do I need to be worried about you?), but instead of further exploring it, the questioner just jumped on the bandwagon and went bottoms up herself.<br />
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I guess I have a lot of critical points, and the movie definitely left me with a lot of food for thought. Overall, I definitely recommend it and am happy I took a chance on a random Netflix suggestion.<br />
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A final note is that the soundtrack to Catching Feelings was excellent. Tracks are listed below:<br />
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Chimanga – Dorothy Masuka<br />
Let Me Live – Mpho Pholo & Moneoa Moshesh<br />
Lenyora – Philip Tabane<br />
Mama Liza – The Movers<br />
Ngud (Ilala Vuka) – Kwesta featuring Casper Nyovest<br />
Mahlalela (A.K.A Lazy Bones) by Letta Mbulu<br />
Noma Themba – Letta Mbulu<br />
Voice Inside – Lerato Moiloa<br />
Joburg Girl – MXO<br />
Ngubani Gama Lakho – MXO<br />
Jungle Fever – MXO<br />
Bring Back the Love – MXO<br />
iZolo – MXO<br />
Soweto Disco – The Movers<br />
Why are you here – Ishmael Osekre<br />
UNH! – Philip Tabane<br />
Vidala Para Mi Sombra – Juana Pires Rafael and Ariel Zamonsky<br />
100KMACASETTE by Okmalumkoolkat<br />
Monsieur Bon Bon – Ebenhaezer Dibakwane<br />
Mpahlenkulu – Mabiza and Zah<br />
I Need You – David KibuukaAli Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-39346445081645688332018-05-16T13:45:00.000-07:002018-05-16T13:45:00.319-07:00Belated Mom LoveA bit late, but better than never! Happy belated birthday to my Mama, and Happy Mother's Day as well. We had a great time celebrating her bday at a local nursery called Annie's Annuals. It's a literal oasis tucked away in an industrial and somewhat blighted corner of North Richmond. So many lush and unusual plants and flowers, truly a delight for the senses. My mom, who is a master gardener, was in heaven. Roberto and I were very inspired too.
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<br />Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-54725830780741039362018-05-12T22:27:00.000-07:002018-05-16T13:52:50.265-07:00Book Three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset from Hawaii's Big Island, understanding what this next phase is all about.</td></tr>
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If moving to Mozambique was Book One, moving to California and starting art school was Book Two, then this is Book Three. I am still based in the Bay Area but the cast of characters is significantly different, as is my perspective. I feel deeply moved to write these days, but found myself questioning whether it was right to continue blogging here, in this space that is all about homes I no longer live in, a career I no longer have, and a man I am no longer married to.<br />
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Despite all that has changed, this is still the place where I feel the most comfortable sharing, documenting, and processing my life. I remind myself there is no "wrong" in continuing to write my own story, even if the space is imbued in memories of Books One and Two. What a blessing, really, to have this record to look back upon. <br />
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Thirteen years have gone by since I started this blog on a rainy evening in Austin. I am now 36, working as an artist and translator, married to a soulful Brazilian cinematographer named Roberto. We met in San Francisco through a mutual friend, a beautiful story for another day. We live in a light-filled apartment about 10 minutes away from my mom's house. My days are spent making jewelry and painting in my studio, interpreting in hospitals and at welfare appointments, and translating technical documents. Roberto spends his time going to ESL school and working on various film and video projects. Life is good.<br />
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At some point I'll share some photos, perhaps from our wedding at City Hall, or from recent travel to Hawaii, New Mexico, and Italy/Slovenia. And I'll share stories. There are SO many stories from the last two years that I want to get out before the details dull. But for now, a small synopsis of Book Three thus far:<br />
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<li>I healed my heart from the end of a marriage, relationship, partnership, and friendship</li>
<li>I lived with my mom for 1.5 years for the first time since I was 15</li>
<li>I started working as an interpreter</li>
<li>I reconnected with my roots in the Italy/Slovenia border region</li>
<li>I opened myself to finding love again, and did!</li>
<li>I lived in San Francisco for 6 months with Roberto in a shared apartment in the very foggy Outer Richmond neighborhood, and eventually rented a place of our own in the East Bay. </li>
<li>I realized that I want to be a mother. </li>
<li>We got pregnant!!</li>
<li>We found out at 13 weeks that our baby had Turner's Syndrome and the pregnancy was not viable.</li>
<li>We lost the baby at 14 weeks.</li>
<li>We got married!! (Very strange to be celebrating and grieving at the same time).</li>
<li>I have a new name - Ali Ambrosio!!</li>
<li>My dad was diagnosed with cancer (again) and had major surgery. Thankfully he's now recovering.</li>
<li>Roberto had a heart attack (he is 40 and otherwise healthy) and we discovered he has several congenital heart defects. So so so grateful he received treatment and is now seemingly okay.</li>
<li>Contemplated moving to the Big Island of Hawaii (the tropics were calling big time, but we realized our destiny is elsewhere)</li>
<li>Currently figuring out how to make life work in the Bay Area, with a medium-term plan to spend half our time in Italy/Slovenia.</li>
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So far Book Three has been dizzyingly intense. You can understand why I need to write again. Looking forward to sharing here frequently, I've missed blogging and missed interacting with you, my lovely readers, if any of you are still out there after all this time. :)Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-89332032581400717232018-03-18T13:36:00.000-07:002018-03-18T13:50:24.231-07:00Tractors and Translating and TanzaniteMy life right now! I am working on a custom tanzanite and white gold ring for a client-friend. It is a piece for her daughter, using a stone bought when my client was in Tanzania a decade ago, a gift to commemorate her daughter graduating high school and celebrating a birthday.<br />
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It's been a massively challenging piece to make. Lots of very small scale complex curves. It's hard to make thick wire do what you want it to when you are working tiny. You need lots of leverage. Also rectangular stones are by far the hardest to set in my opinion. So much precision. So much laser-focus measuring and cutting. And the soldering setup. OH, the soldering setup is so hard. But it is a wonderful way to continue developing my skills. Nothing like a project that twists your brain and challenges your endurance and ingenuity. It's nearly done. Yay.<br />
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When I'm not in the studio, I'm working as an in-person Portuguese interpreter here in the Bay Area. Mostly it's accompanying families on their children's medical appointments (well-child visits, cardiologist, dermatologist, endocrinologist, etc) but this last week I interpreted at a special needs school for 8 different people (school principal, student's father, teachers, county mental health representatives, occupational therapist) as they went over the student's annual progress, academic performance, behavioral issues, and goals for the next year. It was intense and high-level interpreting, as people were presenting formal reports and recommendations. All my experience writing business plans and donor reports was useful, as there is a similar vocabulary to talk about goals, recommendations, and evaluations across sectors.<br />
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Also in a throwback to Mozambique, I am doing written translations for an agricultural project in the Northern part of the country. I'm grateful that while translating on-the-ground in Moz, I took the time to put together a vocabulary dictionary with regional specifics and reminders to myself of particularly hard-to-translate expressions. I'm definitely using that to remember the local terms for things like "weeding," "mechanized land preparation," and "demand," all the while learning new things about field preparation and the benefits of using tractors and disking and improved seeds. Very interesting, and thankfully so far the source texts have been very well-written, which makes translating so much smoother!<br />
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Ok. Back to work. Time to set the tanzanite.Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-61923837739924758812017-11-14T15:54:00.001-08:002017-11-14T15:54:22.874-08:00New Cali HomeAbout two weeks ago I moved out of my mom's house (temporary home base for the last 18 months) and into a new apartment with my partner. I'm so relieved to have found a place that is safe, decent, near public transportation, and - major bonus - full of natural light and high ceilings. Truly a gem in the middle of a lot of crappy options. I am still pinching myself that 1) this place exists, and 2) we got it!!!<br />
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The housing situation in the Bay Area is competitive, restrictive, and depressing to say the least. It is SO EXPENSIVE and honestly what you get for your money is pitiful in most cases. Here's a sampling of some of the places we looked at in our search:<br />
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Apartment 1: Located in the Outer Richmond in San Francisco (read: cold and foggy and not on the BART line, so one of the more "affordable" places in the city). $2,200/month for a studio consisting of a converted garage with one tiny window, a tiny bathroom, a double burner hotplate and a mini-fridge "kitchen", and a murphy bed that pulled down from the wall. Nope!<br />
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Apartment 2: Located one block away from Lake Merritt in Oakland, seemingly a great spot but this is an area where the neighborhood can vary vastly from one corner to the next. This was on one bad corner that's for sure! I understand why there were no photos of the outside of the place on Craigslist. As we approached there was a lady in panties and a fishnet top with her boobs hanging out walking into the liquor store on the bottom floor of the building. Across the street was a parking lot full of dudes loitering and heaps of trash. After a few minutes the lady came out of the liquor store and plopped down on her mattress on the opposite corner of the street, put on some headphones, and started smoking a joint. Next to the liquor store was an establishment that was operational, had a street number, but all the windows were blacked out and there was no identifying sign of what was going on in there. Not good. The inside of the unit had been completely remodeled and that, plus the fact that my partner's school is nearby and I often run at the lake, is what had attracted us initially. We never even made it inside, sending a polite email to the listing agent saying it just wasn't the right spot for us. Cost? $2,000/month for a 2 bedroom (600 square feet). Right...<br />
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Apartment 3: Located in El Cerrito, adjacent to highway 80. $1,950/month for a 2 bedroom plus one month free rent if you signed a 16-month lease. Totally new interior, new appliances, looked really lovely...but surely there must be a catch at that price, and why on earth would anybody offer a signing bonus here in the landlord's paradise?? Sure, the place was right next to the freeway's sound barrier wall, and the neighborhood was older and pretty humble, but what could be the issue? All the bars on the windows of every house around? Maybe... The neighbor's yard full of pit bulls and rottweilers and neglected looking poodles, all on short chains, aggressively barking nonstop? Who knows. There were about 8 other couples waiting to see the place, and for us the paranoia that something was fundamentally wrong to offer the place at that price was too much. Next!<br />
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Thankfully, by some great Craigslist miracle, we stumbled across our current place and managed to make a deposit and get in an application before they could show it to anyone else. You have to act fast here, that's for sure. I feel much like I did back in Maputo, where we had an excellent apartment at a price that we were afraid to disclose less someone show up at the landlord's door and make a higher offer. At least here in California there are binding leases and what not, although I shudder to think what will happen when it comes time to renew and most certainly the amount will be adjusted up according to "current market value".<br />
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There's a high price to pay to live in the Bay Area, and it's only getting harder. I've definitely thought about moving somewhere else over the last 18 months, and even did some (fruitless) job applications in places as diverse as Houston, Chicago, and Washington DC. But seemingly it's in the cards to be here for the near future, which makes me happy, as this Cali life is pretty incredible and I'm excited for this new chapter to kick off in our new apartment.Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-44164654422479424392017-11-08T16:06:00.001-08:002017-11-08T16:21:15.762-08:00More Endings and More Beginnings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been a year since I last wrote here. Often I've had the urge to come back and chronicle what's been going on in my life, but while this is my favorite space for writing, it also felt strange. Outdated. Too connected with people and places who are no longer in my life and, honestly, a reflection of a self that I no longer am. I suppose that's inevitable when you blog for over a decade, but my goodness the changes have been massive. New continent, new school, new profession, divorce, passing of loved ones, new relationships, new homes, new beginnings. It's been so much.<br />
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For a while I was decided that I would start a new blog for this new chapter, but I never found a format or space or whatever that seemed right. I like writing here, and I like all of you who follow(ed) me here, and so I've come to peace with the idea that yes, my past is present, but my present can be as well. </div>
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So where to start? This time last year I'd just come back from a month of traveling. Geographic distance from Casa Cali, as well as the constant stimulus of new landscapes and languages and people, allowed me to feel like my old self again. The traveler, nomad, extrovert, adventurer. It also helped me begin to glimpse my new self, who I would become after all the transitioning, questioning, grief and growth.</div>
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Back in the Bay Area, life delivered up one of those sublime coincidences (that aren't coincidences at all, really) and I met a very lovely person who has become my partner in life and in love. I certainly wasn't "looking," but when you find treasure you most absolutely open your heart and say yes. I would like to write volumes about this person, about our adventures and insights together, but I must say that I have come to value privacy immensely and so choose not to. But know that I'm happy and, true to my Libra nature, am in a pair and feel at balance.</div>
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Over the past year I have really reconnected with my roots on my mom's side, and spent a lot of time along the Italy-Slovenia border where my family has had a home for centuries. I recovered my ability to speak Italian (it's full of mistakes but I don't really care, I'm just happy that it's present and functional!). I made many local friends and danced salsa and kizomba till the wee hours (funny how there's such a passion for Latin/African dances in that part of the world). Together with friends and family, we did a bunch of work on the house my grandmother used to live in, trying to get it fixed up and ready for who-knows-what next incarnation. Retreats, a place for wellness and healing, wine tourism...there are so many attributes and possibilities. But for now, as they say in Italian, <i>piano, piano</i>. Take it slow. For a while there many people were asking if I'd moved to Italy. It was/is definitely in my mind, but I'm letting life lead me there at its own pace. Although I am applying for Italian citizenship - it will take two years, and just getting together the necessary documents has been a fascinating process. Stories for another day, however...</div>
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Last month I was back in Italy and we had a memorial ceremony for my grandmother, who passed away last year in California. It was quite the event. My family was there from the US, the whole village turned up, we had two choirs sing, and everyone came to the house afterwards for prosciutto and pastries and wine. Truly the closing of one gigantic chapter and the opening of the next. I want to write about the whole funeral organizing experience, as it was priceless. Talking in limited Italian about opening graves and preparing floral wreaths, and trying to figure out catering, and getting the priest booked, etc. etc. etc. Truly memorable, I swear many of the people and situations seemed straight out of a film. Too good (and sometimes too bad!) to be true.</div>
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Now back in California I continue to make jewelry, my focus these days is on heirloom redesign and memory projects. I've also been working as a medical interpreter (Portuguese and Spanish), which is interesting and a good counterpart to my studio practice. Always the Jill of a thousand trades it seems. :)</div>
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I suppose what really moved me to write here again is the sad news that Pria passed away three days ago (the cats are still at Casa Cali with Ricardo and his new wife). I got the call that Pria had collapsed and was at the emergency vet, and that it didn't look good. Apparently he had cancer all throughout his body. I'm grateful that he didn't suffer long, and I know he was in good care. Still it is so incredibly sad. I feel lucky that my last memories of Pria are of days when he was happy and heathy and purring in my lap. I miss him. I'd been missing him all year. Losing our animal companions is terrible, but boy did he give us years of funny stories and fond memories. I hope he's living it up on the other side of the rainbow bridge with his brother, Parceiro.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9g-e3IPq0C1q32LKy-1Vj0cis2ZAILXgCWjp89sfbpJINd7ij6UoWkcfUGfAZ27FU-_5iiNXFBAJK9bY8uOBgtgkQc5ySpxSvI4RvNpTACa_n-Qcl3kiSTenjfZ4J2KFt2ntP1A/s1600/IMG_5556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9g-e3IPq0C1q32LKy-1Vj0cis2ZAILXgCWjp89sfbpJINd7ij6UoWkcfUGfAZ27FU-_5iiNXFBAJK9bY8uOBgtgkQc5ySpxSvI4RvNpTACa_n-Qcl3kiSTenjfZ4J2KFt2ntP1A/s400/IMG_5556.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-52835674694003971552016-11-03T09:12:00.000-07:002016-11-03T09:12:44.763-07:00The Quiet MomentsI a home in California after nearly a month traveling. My itinerary included New Mexico (Valencia County and Albuquerque), Texas (Houston and Austin), and Mexico (Playa del Carmen and Tulum). The trip was filled with moments of excitement and energy, but also lots of quiet time. I so appreciate my solo reflective time while on the road. It's what gives me perspective on my life "at home" and allows me to reconnect with my internal North. Here are some visual captures of some of those contemplative moments:
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLH6uv7SR2YfuRYBu7LvP2rqNJEf7BkutO-_3G2GL92IM-kHuDbnBZz-W3tt4fnvjY3oJ8PqPhNQwVvxNj9lJwBmHTBUbogOPdIrB5eaaawDV4m6lX7BK7OuHuY7onOU8NDHVvfQ/s1600/IMG_2845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLH6uv7SR2YfuRYBu7LvP2rqNJEf7BkutO-_3G2GL92IM-kHuDbnBZz-W3tt4fnvjY3oJ8PqPhNQwVvxNj9lJwBmHTBUbogOPdIrB5eaaawDV4m6lX7BK7OuHuY7onOU8NDHVvfQ/s640/IMG_2845.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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While on the road I turned 35. This blazing sunset was taken on the eve of my last day being 34. I was in the parking lot of Bodyshock Fitness, a gym in Los Lunas I discovered on this trip that was my salvation while in New Mexico. After a particularly hard workout, I was rewarded with this fiery sky. I thought about the past year and all the change it has brought for me, the wild ride my heart and body have endured, and what I want from the next cycle - be it a day, a year, or a decade.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3R5eMfw5w5PeIhxQAwp6p3yMwCiX3OHVmuw3IPqQuE78JRl07M8fguNNnWXtZu2mp8zaLpBxvvESjAe3UDV0Yfvwlf2yKbeKu1pWPKFYGAJw2_OK792cTMrQaiQeWxFnz_PD7w/s1600/IMG_2847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK3R5eMfw5w5PeIhxQAwp6p3yMwCiX3OHVmuw3IPqQuE78JRl07M8fguNNnWXtZu2mp8zaLpBxvvESjAe3UDV0Yfvwlf2yKbeKu1pWPKFYGAJw2_OK792cTMrQaiQeWxFnz_PD7w/s640/IMG_2847.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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This snapshot was taken at sunrise on my 35th birthday, taken from the ditch road that runs behind my dad's house. I was feeling very proud of myself, as I'd managed to go to a 5:30am body combat class to start my day off right, an intense bout of movement before getting on a plane and heading to Houston later that day. I could hear the soft sound of water flowing through the irrigation ditch some doves cooing in the distance. I kept my ears and eyes alert for signs of sandhill cranes (they migrate to New Mexico every fall, often arriving on the day of my birthday) but didn't hear/see any although I knew they were out there somewhere.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-r1G683aLF6AdT5Tv8iHL6Laa-CDq89Au2THivdlxL5-6BHq_1pWvhKc_OsTCbnQBZksb41LaKK8pNAivU4uoaPx2nOgM1y42GrlKEY1Ukv-FfzqGTe07j9hbxMwefnzkUEV_4Q/s1600/IMG_2936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-r1G683aLF6AdT5Tv8iHL6Laa-CDq89Au2THivdlxL5-6BHq_1pWvhKc_OsTCbnQBZksb41LaKK8pNAivU4uoaPx2nOgM1y42GrlKEY1Ukv-FfzqGTe07j9hbxMwefnzkUEV_4Q/s640/IMG_2936.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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As part of the Texas leg of my trip, I decided to drive to Austin for a night and experience the last place I called home prior to moving to Mozambique. I haven't been back since I left in 2005. I decided to visit the Umlauf Sculpture Garden and journal for a bit amid the greenery and bronze figures. It was hot and humid, but the scenery was so perfect for reflection that I found a bench in the shade and wrote for about an hour, trying to ignore the sweat dripping down my legs. What a strange experience to revisit Austin after 11.5 years. So much has happened in that time, yet in many ways it feels I'm back in the same psychological place I was in when I left Texas and headed to Africa. The end of one major chapter and the start of another, tumultuous at times but full of promise and adventure.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAScLKNK6gT_fXj3mbTrKJMwyF1QULO2_VH1ejpi6z22Ky00v7YPRWb2uZDSMJJNaN8BHMj5ZOtwicvqNS8wh0nUrFug6ef_xcZiFmPo_WytMcfxk1yNFgw8XxU5aBF6u8q6Le1A/s1600/IMG_3063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAScLKNK6gT_fXj3mbTrKJMwyF1QULO2_VH1ejpi6z22Ky00v7YPRWb2uZDSMJJNaN8BHMj5ZOtwicvqNS8wh0nUrFug6ef_xcZiFmPo_WytMcfxk1yNFgw8XxU5aBF6u8q6Le1A/s640/IMG_3063.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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In the Mexico leg of my trip, I enjoyed reflective time while swimming in cenotes (freshwater swimming holes that dot the Yucatan Peninsula and were considered sacred by the Mayans). This one pictured here is Cenote Azul. The water was clear and refreshing, and the jungle scenery all around made it feel like the garden of Eden. Swimming here felt like hitting the reset button on my life, which may be a bit dramatic but it really did seem that way in the moment.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIwcsku79JarN1y7FDcMlrig86qCPysAiZ2RdRn_ITVbQH41a1O5Y5fqpZ3cLxM55VW7P20mQTd11qG0XFonZCQm6gCF7O3iF5QeithP14C2_xPZMsWUblcuo4QZ7JiYXqsWnPA/s1600/IMG_3237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIwcsku79JarN1y7FDcMlrig86qCPysAiZ2RdRn_ITVbQH41a1O5Y5fqpZ3cLxM55VW7P20mQTd11qG0XFonZCQm6gCF7O3iF5QeithP14C2_xPZMsWUblcuo4QZ7JiYXqsWnPA/s640/IMG_3237.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Finally here is a moment from the women's wellness retreat that brought me to Tulum. We did a clay treatment and then went into the ocean to wash it off. I am the person on the far right. This was the start to me swimming far out into the water, what I wrote about in my previous post. I felt very calm here, at ease with myself and my surroundings.</div>
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My hope is that I can carry these feelings from my trip into my California life, especially as I gear up for the busy holiday season with my jewelry work, and continue to navigate the up's and down's of my personal life transition. Starting my day today with blogging was a good way to reconnect and reflect, for sure.</div>
Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-21841621393422304412016-10-30T16:30:00.001-07:002016-10-30T16:38:55.370-07:00Tulum Reflections<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Today I swam into the ocean, going further out than I ever
have before. I used to be afraid of the water, afraid of the waves, afraid of being
at the mercy of a force so much greater than my own strength. Previously I
refused to get in the deep water unless I had a companion to cling to. But
today I was at ease. The water was warm and clear, and I let myself drift out
beyond the breakers. I made sure to periodically check if I was being dragged further
out to sea or if there was a lateral riptide, using a large rock outcropping
and the distant view of our beachfront hotel as landmarks. To my relief I
seemed to have found a spot without a strong current and I stayed more or less
stationary. I felt calm, treading water and occasionally submerging my head
under the swells. With each dive I would invent a mantra: This is for letting
go of the past. This is for embracing the future. This is for being in the
present moment. This is for all the loss I have endured. This is for all the
love that is yet to come. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am in Tulum, Mexico right now. I came here with a group of women that I know from Hipline, the dance studio I go to in Oakland. We are on a wellness retreat that involves dancing and strength training and journaling and relaxing. I have been on the road for about three weeks already, and this comes as a welcome opportunity to slow down and reconnect with myself. I am grateful that the format of this retreat is opt-in/opt-out, that each participant is invited to do exactly that which feels right at the moment, nothing more and nothing less. Letting go of the should's of life and instead seeking out what we want, what we need. I have been opting out a lot, foregoing dance class in favor of solitary beach walks. Relaxing in the hammock. Reading Solo Africa, an account of a filmmaker's journey across the Sahara, Sahel and Congo in the late 1980's. Observing the ocean. Drinking mezcal cocktails. Reflecting on the past three weeks I have been traveling, on this year of transition, on my life of habitually moving from one place to another.</div>
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I feel compelled to travel, if for no other reason than it brings out my very best self. The person that is aware that moments are fleeting and change is the only constant. The person that is up for spontaneous adventures and road trips and solo yolo salsa dancing under the stars. The person that says yes to what feels right and is unafraid to take risks. The person that had no regrets. The person that cliff jumps and goes skinny dipping and takes long-distance buses and makes friends in an instant over a shared smile and a familiar song.</div>
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I don't want to veer away from this path. I don't want to sacrifice this feeling of freedom and endless possibility. I am aware it is a privilege to be able to travel and be self-employed. I hope to do it justice. I hope to move forward with courage. To get in the ocean and swim beyond where it seems reasonable and realize that I am safe there, that I am at ease in the world, that everything is as it is meant to be.</div>
Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-41908017410337951162016-10-10T09:36:00.001-07:002016-10-17T09:01:08.840-07:00Valencia County Observations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm in New Mexico for a week, enjoying some time observing life in the place where I grew up. Here are some of the moments that have stood out to me about Los Lunas and Valencia County, the place where my dad calls home:<br />
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This is a rural area about an hour south of Albuquerque. The scenery is serene and classically New Mexican: wide open fields of hay and corn, grandiose cottonwoods whose leaves have started turning yellow with the changing seasons, chile roasting on street corners, and dusty mountains in the distance. In the middle of this all runs the Rio Grande, currently a small trickle because so much water has been diverted into the irrigation ditches that criss-cross the landscape. The people here are connected to the land, to family, to tradition.<br />
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Driving around I am struck by the billboards along Highway 47, which fall into a few main themes:<br />
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- DWI (You can't afford it!)<br />
- Anti Domestic Abuse (Elders and children are our heritage, our future!)<br />
- Pro-Life propaganda (My heart beats 18 days after conception!)<br />
- Personal Injury Lawyers<br />
- Military Recruitment<br />
- Indian Casinos<br />
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Tells you a lot about the problems people face and the values they hold...<br />
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As I write this I am sitting in a café in Los Lunas (the main town around these parts) that is part coffee shop, part Christian bookstore / religious supplies, and part guitar store. It is the closest wifi to my dad's house (he has no internet and my cell signal is practically nonexistent) so if I want to check email or blog or do some work, I come here.<br />
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Culture shock is an understatement. Not only is there all the religious paraphernalia and "church people" vibe from the staff and patrons, there is the political aspect. The people here like their guns. Next to the coffee creamer is an advertisement for Concealed Carry Training. I just overheard someone talk about how Obama was the best thing ever for gun and ammo sales, that they skyrocketed because of him. Another table over there is a guy loudly voicing his support for Trump and calling Bernie Sanders supporters "sheeple" for now supporting Hilary. He's all about the government conspiracies, too, talking about 9/11 being an inside job and how he just bought a $2,000 end-of-the-world survival kit because shit is going to go down.<br />
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The scary part to me is that everyone who walks in and overhears these conversations in progress jumps in and is in agreement! Guns and Trump and anti-Obama and God are the anthem over here! It makes me reconsider where I am spending my $7 for coffee and a breakfast burrito, but then again there's no guarantee that the owner of Starbucks on the far side of town (the other wifi option) is not cut from the same cloth, even though the corporate aspect of the place might suggest neutrality.<br />
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I don't identify with Valencia County as being home (I lived with my mom in Albuquerque from ages 5 to 15), but my dad has always been here so it is familiar and full of memories. Since my mom moved to California over a decade ago, my dad's house is now my base when I come to New Mexico. While I appreciate the hospitality he and his wife extend to me, I am struck by how anthropological these visits feel. I am definitely an outsider, observing "the other," gaining heightened perception of my own views and values as a result of the contrasts.Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-55041436359507471022016-09-28T17:26:00.000-07:002016-09-28T17:26:34.726-07:00My Dance Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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All I want to do lately is dance salsa, bachata and kizomba. It's definitely been my remedy these past several months, the activity that has allowed me to find myself and connect with others amid great transition in my life. </div>
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There is something uniquely special about partner dancing. You are given the opportunity to connect physically and energetically with another person (often a complete stranger). You have to relax into each other and find a common language of movement and flow. It's spontaneous and intuitive, expressive and intimate. It is an exercise in trust and vulnerability and being in the moment. And at its best, dancing feels like falling in love - a euphoric suspension of space and time, where all that exist are you and this other person moving together through the world.</div>
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I first danced salsa when I was in college in Albuquerque. We would have these glorious house parties attended by friends from all corners of Latin America. Someone would throw on a mix cd and we'd all dance into the wee hours of the morning. I didn't exactly know what I was doing, but it was always a damn good time.</div>
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Then I got a boyfriend who didn't enjoy dancing. He was also a jealous type, so I shifted from partner dancing to taking cardio-salsa classes at the gym. I got in shape and met many incredible women in the process, but didn't really register that I had abandoned something that sparked great joy for me.</div>
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In the time between college and now, I had the strange luck become involved almost exclusively with people that weren't into dancing. Rather than push someone to take up an activity they found akin to pulling teeth, I dove deep into the world of solo dance to satisfy my passion. I discovered Nia in Austin, did <i>samba de passarela</i> in Brazil, learned all sorts of fun moves in Mozambique, and eventually found my home crew of ladies at Hipline in Oakland. Dance has been a constant in my life, but moving your body solo (albeit in a room full of other people) is a different animal from dancing with another person.</div>
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It took me fifteen years to return to partner dancing. Fifteen years!!! Better late than never, though, right? Actually I returned somewhat by chance. At the beginning of this year, as I was planning a trip to Gorizia, the small city in northeastern Italy where my maternal grandmother was from, I had a strong desire to do something different, to meet new people. I've been visiting this place of my roots since I was a child, but always the trips were centered around my grandmother: who she knew, who she wanted to visit, how she wanted to spend her time. I have some childhood friends in the area who I enjoy spending time with, but I really wanted to break out of my family's circle of influence and find an expanded social scene.</div>
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I randomly googled "zumba Gorizia" thinking I'd find a gym with some cardio dance classes. I came across <a href="http://www.artedancestudio.it/" target="_blank">Arte Dance Studio</a> and messaged them to see if I could take a bunch of different classes for the two weeks I'd be in town. They were super receptive to my request and welcomed me with open arms. I took zumba, modern dance, pilates, piloxing, and something called Latino Base. I showed up to the latter imagining a class akin to zumba; instead I found myself smack in the middle of a salsa and bachata dance course with no partner, no knowledge of the moves everyone had been practicing for the past several weeks, and sweaty palms.</div>
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It didn't matter. The instructors Marco and his wife Mikki welcomed me with open arms. They allowed me to jump right in and made me feel like part of the group despite my language and dance limitations. With them I was introduced to cuban-style salsa and moves like <i>dile que no, enchufla, setenta</i>, and all manner of variations on the <i>vuelta</i> (turn). Classes were a funny mix of Italian and Spanish, with students a mix of Italians and Slovenes. I felt as if I'd finally found my people.</div>
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About a month after that experience, I found myself in Playa del Carmen, Mexico with my best friend Angel. We were looking for a spot to grab a bite to eat and go dance, and a local friend recommended La Bodeguita del Medio, a Cuban restaurant that has apparently franchised in other locations (I went to the original location in La Habana with my mom back in 2000). It was pretty quiet when Angel and I arrived, but there was a live band with salsa music and I ended up dancing with our server for much of the evening (I guess dancing is part of the job description?). I had tons of fun, and vowed to find some lessons and keep dancing upon my return to the Bay Area.</div>
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The first time I went to Allegro, a dance school in Emeryville, was with Rico's mom. Sort of strange to go to a dance social with your ex-mother-in-law, but we are friends and enjoy hanging out, and she was interested in taking a salsa class. So we hit the beginner lesson, then I stayed for the intermediate one and the open dance afterwards. Honestly it wasn't the best experience - I got stuck dancing with a creepy, overly-touchy dude and sadly was not practiced at setting boundaries or making the great escape after one dance - but live and learn, right?</div>
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Despite the slight trauma, I knew I'd be back, and this has been my go-to place for dancing for the last five months. I've gone way up the learning curve in salsa, and added bachata and kizomba to my repertoire. Actually kizomba has become my favorite - it's a dance originally from Angola that is slow, sensual, and deceptively simple. You basically embrace your partner, with chests and belly buttons touching (no contact below the belt, though!), and then proceed to "walk" in very close proximity to different rhythms. There is no clear pattern to the steps, which makes it impossible to predict what's next - and therefore as a follower it is impossible to back-lead.</div>
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That's one of my main objectives in dance, actually: to be a good follower. It means relaxing, connecting with your partner, and not anticipating or forcing any of the moves according to your own agenda. Harder than it sounds, especially after so many years of dancing by myself. It's quite different from the ultra-independent role I have in my "regular" life, and the balance and lessons to be gained are not lost on me.</div>
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My 35th birthday is in a couple weeks and as a gift to myself, I got private lessons with Isabel, one of the instructors from Allegro. I want to be sure I have good habits and know my basic footwork before proceeding much further down this dance path. Much better to build on a solid foundation as opposed to one that is flawed.</div>
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I have plans to dance salsa and kizomba in Albuquerque, Houston, and Mexico this coming month as I embark on yet another travel adventure. Here's to meeting more lovely people and learning some new moves. See y'all on the dance floor!</div>
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Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-66400632118728262982016-09-05T10:38:00.001-07:002016-09-05T18:52:38.167-07:00Lines and CurvesLines and curves, about to get on a plane. Headed to Italy but Niemeyer on the brain. //<div><br></div><div>Linhas e curvas, indo pegar um avião. Rumo à Itália mas com Niemeyer na cabeça.</div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_6c96_a292_a533_c63f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9O3UEHlVUK65f-TinqkIXgFPnThVF3vdPZAlqsOnwzkfvp6PNA9NjwqKNyayZ_MUwKeWrodWXbcd9xN-a7hpvanTbpkygUiBhVUUInCMNMODMX1d0SSr0jzjdkSAVWmZ3vWWKDA/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></div><div><br></div><div>It has been such a long time since I wrote a poem. My dad is an incredible poet. I found that out a few months ago.</div><div><br></div><div>Now, apparently, the inspiration has passed through to me. In a rhyme, which typically I hate. But I was thinking of poetry after a particularly time-warp evening of dancing, and then upon seeing my reflection with the piano and multiple doors and books, the words came to me.</div><div><br></div><div>I am traveling later today, to Italy, with my mom. We will be working on my grandma's house and affairs. And I will dance! More soon.</div>Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-79819978106202496192016-08-31T22:38:00.001-07:002016-08-31T22:38:54.717-07:00Try-On<img id="id_d229_5c5d_ca83_7ddf" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcw7rSDNZXeAPXbmvxloGeAKBcXGpBdacVbh5ndVWqzV1kksw4seNCslClaBAYLKXRJzWldIGLT5OXj2L8hQ_ZoZ2KQfA56jiMnOpg3BMiByWyKHCyjQfhyphenhyphen9wfIRwH7d4kLm56rg/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> Quality assurance try-on before delivery of a client's heirloom necklace and earrings I built out with gemstone drops.Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-48711720652713911942016-08-29T12:33:00.000-07:002016-08-29T12:33:22.635-07:00Pop-Up RecapCarolyn and I had a great pop-up on Saturday, attended by friends, family, and lots of new faces. Thank you to everyone who came out.<br />
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I'm emerging from a period of severe burn-out, and it's a welcome feeling to want to be in that space again, to want to show my work again. I am particularly excited about how the gallery is looking these days. Lots of color and flowers and patterns and texture. And finally the mix of paintings and jewelry is making sense. A final bonus is that Carolyn's jewelry mixes in so well with my paintings, and complements the assortment of wearable pieces that I have in stock as well. Yay all around.<br />
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Here are some photos from the beginning of the pop-up, with everything nicely displayed and ready for visitors.<br />
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<br />Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-48652100214606685972016-08-26T14:05:00.000-07:002016-08-26T14:05:06.641-07:00Road Trip to Arizona and Nevada with My MamaA couple weeks ago my mom and I took a road trip starting in the Bay Area and passing through some of the most beautiful deserts and mountains in the Western US. We needed to clean out a storage unit (of unknown contents) that my grandmother had in Flagstaff, as well as take care of some of her affairs there, so we decided to make an adventure of it and take the scenic route. Here are some highlights:<br />
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The Colorado River appears like an oasis along the California-Arizona state line, with the Needles mountains in the background.</div>
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My grandmother owned an apartment building in Flagstaff and at some point the property manager commissioned a local artist to paint a mural to ward off vandalization. I love the imagery and colors.<br />
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So far the mural strategy has worked, because there is no tagging and people have respected the art.</div>
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Here is the storage unit we had to clean out. My mom was hoping it would be empty (fat chance knowing what a packrat my grandmother was!) and I was expecting it to be full...but not exactly *this* full. What a nightmare. Stuff was all jumbled up, in various states of damage (there had been water, bats, and rats in the unit at some point from the looks of things), and most of it wasn't "worth" hanging onto in the first place. Happily we did find a few family treasures, and there were a lot of throwback items to my mom's childhood...but mostly it was books and old clothes and a lot of junk. My mom and I spent a lot of time sorting what to keep, what to donate, and what to throw away. Sadly in the end the charity shop rejected the donation pile so everything we didn't keep went into the landfill. What a lesson...</div>
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At least we got in some quality outdoor time while in Flagstaff. There was a walking path right outside our hotel room that crossed through ponderosa pine forests and open meadows full of wildflowers and lava rocks. Beautiful!</div>
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There's nothing quite like the clear air of the mountains. Big sky, sunshine, and the afternoon monsoon. Made me miss my homeland of New Mexico (although I'll be there next month for a visit, yay!)</div>
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On the way from Flagstaff to Tonopah, Nevada we passed by the Hoover Dam and Lake Mead. Really stunning scenery to see that big body of water amid such an arid landscape.</div>
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We walked across a highway bridge to get a view of the dam, which was worth it despite the 106 degree weather and strong winds.</div>
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A convenience store and rest stop in the middle of nowhere in Nevada. There was a brothel behind this building, by the way. No big deal, business as usual!</div>
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In Tonopah we stayed at the (supposedly haunted) Mizpah Hotel. I didn't experience any ghost encounters but the place was definitely like being in a time warp.</div>
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I had fun sketching one of the big chandeliers in the lounge while waiting for our dinner.</div>
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From Nevada we crossed back into California and drove on some very hilly highways and over some major mountain summits. It was a massively scenic stretch, including Mono Lake (above) and Monitor Pass (below).</div>
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It was a long, hot, tiring but fun trip. Definitely the kind that is better with company, and I'm happy to report that my mom is an excellent road trip companion. Maybe we'll do another one next year (although without the storage unit!!).</div>
Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-4808164485795863732016-08-22T13:20:00.003-07:002016-08-22T13:20:49.799-07:00Invisalign Day FiveAfter five days of wearing invisalign, I feel slightly better than I did on day one. The hardest part is the social aspect of not being able to go out for extended eats and drinks. I also miss nursing a coffee in the morning, and having snacks throughout the day. Although in some ways, invisalign is the willpower I never had regarding food, so I am developing better habits and eating when I'm truly hungry as opposed to when I'm bored, lonely, anxious, procrastinating, or simply because it's there.<div>
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My mouth is a bit sore and my tongue is a little cut up, but nothing compared to the agony of metal braces. I've been really diligent about brushing and cleaning both my teeth and the aligners, so no complaints there (some people have issues with the trays becoming cloudy or gross). I've been using Dawn dish soap to scrub them, which seems to work quite well and is cheap and easy. My final complaint is that I still lisp a little bit, but it seems like others don't notice it the way I do.</div>
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To compensate for the self-consciousness of having weird stuff on my teeth and a small speech impediment, I got a haircut and have been ramping up the workouts and taking the time to do my makeup (no lipstick, though!! NOT compatible with invisalign). So I'm feeling fly and also feeling like such the ugly duckling. A funny combination, for sure...</div>
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Here's hoping I get more and more used to this.</div>
Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-39945451040394726542016-08-18T21:26:00.003-07:002016-08-22T13:13:38.454-07:00Invisalign Day OneToday I started treatment with invisalign. My dentist recommended it not for aesthetic reasons, rather for functional/health reasons(although I do have crooked teeth because I didn't properly wear my retainer after braces as a teenager). The main culprit is a lower incisor that juts to the outside of my top teeth, a classic cross bite. My bite doesn't align properly, my teeth are starting to get ground down in weird ways, and I was having TMJ issues. After hearing my dentist's speech about how these symptoms will evolve in the long term, I was convinced.<br />
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I am set up with 32 aligners (clear trays that progressively move your teeth), each of which I should wear for 22 hours a day. I will switch to a new aligner every two weeks, bringing with it some soreness as my teeth adapt to their new position. So best case scenario I'm looking at about 16 months of treatment.<br />
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By far the hardest part of invisalign will be wearing the trays for 22 hours a day. You only remove the aligners to eat and drink, and no snacks or coffee or gum or anything between meals. You also have to majorly step up your oral hygiene game and brush and floss your own teeth, and as well as clean the aligners after each removal.<br />
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My dental visit today was a bit traumatic, as they had to shave down about 10 of my teeth in order to open up space for them to move into their new position. On my top teeth they had to create .3mm gaps, and on my bottom teeth they had to create .5mm gaps. Half a millimeter is a huge amount to shave off a tooth. Because dentists and jewelers use many of the same tools and processes, I not only was very familiar with the rotary drill and diamond disc, I could imagine exactly what was being done to my enamel because it's exactly what I do to metal every day. I really think this is a case where ignorance is bliss. It also hurt, but I am a baby with very sensitive teeth.<br />
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I also have 18 attachments (also called buttons) on my teeth now, basically little knobs of tooth-colored material that helps the plastic trays grip your teeth and get them moving. Some people require no attachments and no tooth filing...I got "lucky" and was prescribed a pretty heavy dose of both. What's worse is you can totally notice them, especially with the trays in, so my invisalign is far from invisible.<br />
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My initial feeling when seeing my mouth with the aligners in was regret. I feel ugly and awkward and have a little bit of a lisp (they say it gets better after a few days once your tongue adjusts to the aligners). I am dreading being in social situations that call for removal of the trays. I can't even contemplate dating with these babies in the mix, although that's not on my radar at this point anyhow so I suppose cross that bridge when I come to it. I am trying to keep the long-term perspective that this is a sound investment in my health, and that a little bit of suffering now will be worth it to avoid serious problems down the line. But today I just feel blah.Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-39027723460609910202016-08-15T23:06:00.000-07:002016-08-17T14:33:18.383-07:00Hands and Meteors and a Song<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Hs43VlcnSpw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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This song just hit me hard. Driving up the hill in Point Richmond after spending the evening at the gallery with my friend Carolyn and brainstorming jewelry stuff for our show, and for our lives. It felt good to be there, in that space. A welcome coming-round of sorts after being very burned out.<br />
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Life has been full lately. I've been traveling like mad, spreading my work wings broadly, dancing. Sorting. Measuring and evaluating. </div>
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One exciting thing is I believe I've started to "cure" my chronically cold, clammy hands. (A standout memory from 10 years ago is a salsa partner telling me that my hands were like eels, slick and hard to hold on to.) Beyond sweaty my hands also "loose their blood" periodically and become numb and white in patches thanks to Reynauds Syndrome.</div>
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Anyhow, after decades of avoiding people's touch but also really, really wanting to do things like dance and hold hands and safely grip onto a subway pole when when the train lurches, I've been searching for a solution. Over the past 3 months I've been doing a mix of acupuncture and herbs to treat circulation and digestion. Over the last 2 weeks I've been shocking my hands in water (a therapy that seemingly works for many people). And over the last week I've significantly modified my diet to be very low sugar and low carb. </div>
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I don't know if it's a mix of these things, a coincidence, or whatever but my hands have been totally different these past three days, maybe even week. They are not sweaty or cold. I lost a bit of circulation this morning, but it was cold and foggy out and I went running at Tilden without gloves on, so to be expected I guess. </div>
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But I danced on Saturday and Sunday and pretty much had warm, regular person hands. This seems like a miracle, and I'm almost afraid to believe it.</div>
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In other news, Carolyn and I drove out to the middle of nowhere outside Antioch the other night (madrugada, really) to see the Perseid meteor shower. I miss the dark, dark skies of the Sandias. We saw several dozen meteors but even way out in the Sacramento Delta there is still so much light pollution. And it was cold and windy as shit. But absolutely worth the effort.</div>
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Here's the sky from earlier that evening. No meteors in Point Richmond, though. Too much fog later in the night when the moon was gone and the shooting stars visible.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQi2Ge-7kMxoN6xEAGSZOnLsOyIzGDbnuEN9GQE82yUOyB8_HK-swydfZtFv6LSR4G_0HHleNGxwhsFN9z3tnJ8YGYAzzJFbpGYukJZh4kiysfASZdzHnp0swPrGXXcMr1jIeHA/s1600/IMG_2298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="point richmond sunset the night of the perseid meteor shower" border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQi2Ge-7kMxoN6xEAGSZOnLsOyIzGDbnuEN9GQE82yUOyB8_HK-swydfZtFv6LSR4G_0HHleNGxwhsFN9z3tnJ8YGYAzzJFbpGYukJZh4kiysfASZdzHnp0swPrGXXcMr1jIeHA/s640/IMG_2298.JPG" title="point richmond sunset the night of the perseid meteor shower" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-52121489743380135482016-08-15T15:39:00.003-07:002016-08-15T15:39:52.793-07:00It's a Pop-Up!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsCEk4ehtk_JR5xKXR9lGlUm2G_XPXLmwqJrYW7UFK9lCjEHQGQMtNKWk1-J0JdWjHGxTUYF1uHrR5806sGYotAjPRHu8eYeAcZjH2syyWy77UqfSYaIUV4W5ovH_mh7AjLBpSgQ/s1600/digital+postcard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsCEk4ehtk_JR5xKXR9lGlUm2G_XPXLmwqJrYW7UFK9lCjEHQGQMtNKWk1-J0JdWjHGxTUYF1uHrR5806sGYotAjPRHu8eYeAcZjH2syyWy77UqfSYaIUV4W5ovH_mh7AjLBpSgQ/s640/digital+postcard.jpg" width="358" /></a></div>
<br />Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-22759077840396907402016-07-31T16:02:00.000-07:002016-08-01T11:22:09.384-07:00Leaving Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZuZNkVqOA3bbYuZ2R8bXj7anLuiFtn5sm_Bm-Hbdsy_isYupVhzaR4ZXTcPk2b12rk660_Mca0sxoR-HEPTdUmK84nP1p61a5S85m-v7PxMIuS2apXgk8fJYugrTH91mmebNdBg/s1600/IMG_6207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZuZNkVqOA3bbYuZ2R8bXj7anLuiFtn5sm_Bm-Hbdsy_isYupVhzaR4ZXTcPk2b12rk660_Mca0sxoR-HEPTdUmK84nP1p61a5S85m-v7PxMIuS2apXgk8fJYugrTH91mmebNdBg/s640/IMG_6207.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Last week I house sat for Rico while he was in India for business. It was wonderful to spend time with the cats (he has all three of them, which makes me feel like a bad cat mom for "abandoning" my babies but it's the better situation for everyone...except possibly Rico, who still has to deal with Pria waking him up at 5:45am demanding food). Anyhow, it was a relaxing few days of sitting on the couch binge-watching Weeds, eating ice cream, and snuggling with the cats.<br />
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It was also quite strange to be back in the place that once was my house, our house. Rico and I continue to be on very good terms with each other (I am truly grateful for our drama-free split) but being back there, in what is now His house, was emotionally difficult. Everything is still so familiar. I know that house intimately, I could navigate it with my eyes closed. I know where the light switches are, how to jiggle the downstairs bathroom door so it opens without sticking, where to find the Lysol and extra toilet paper, how to turn on the tv and the stereo. It is all so comfortable, like slipping into an old skin.<br />
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Except certain things are different (and, of course, I am different...the slow metamorphosis into my identity as a single person becoming ever more noticeable). I am clearing out my stuff bit by bit. The contents of drawers emptied, paintings removed, closets vacated. I notice Rico got new drinking glasses and cutting boards. There is "man brand" lotion and soap in the bathroom. And the smell of the house is subtly changed. I can't describe it, really, but suppose what I notice is the absence of myself, of my perfume and sweat and cooking and tears.<br />
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The closest thing I have for comparison is when I returned to my mom's house in Albuquerque after spending my junior year abroad in Brazil. The house was nearly exactly the same, but not quite. Home but not home anymore. Familiar but no longer fits. That was also a big moment of transition for me because I had decided to skip my senior year of high school and go straight to college. So it was more than just a re-entry after a year of international living. It marked a major chapter change, the start of a physical move as well as a shifting identity and a breakup of sorts. Much like now.<br />
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Being in Rico's house last week led me to process through a lot of emotion surrounding our split. Which is good, because I don't want to find out five or ten years down the line that I didn't adequately feel or deal with all this stuff. But still, not easy. Not easy at all.<br />
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Mostly I feel sadness, but not in the regretful "I-wish-I-could-go-back" sort of way. No, sadness as in mourning. Sadness as in acceptance. Sadness as in realizing that two people and an ocean of love are sometimes not enough to "make it work." And a strange, quiet happiness in understanding that despite all of that I am okay. Rico is okay. We are okay.Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11955271.post-20788285504367003232016-07-15T10:31:00.001-07:002016-07-15T10:31:40.294-07:00Nice<div><img id="id_4f1d_7a8f_d07_701e" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiM4jDKD39nu2TBkIbTXBROjHzblV-Nny3KPD2xbRrFlNSqRzE_x7vht34x2qPikcSUk4xrU5QY5QsMyNAeTL5n3WHBP2vf-40jmak_TGzGsNeZupJNLxg4Tumk8ljBTsnfN74Vg/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></div><div><br></div><div>News out of Nice is horrific. I can feel myself becoming tragedy-saturated, and with this comes a numbing of the senses, dulled reactions, a sick feeling that it's all too far away and nothing we can do anyway to stop the hate and violence and death.</div><div><br></div><div>This is not the state I want to exist in, of detatchment and apathy. So I will reconnect and affirm our common humanity in baby-step ways today. I will smile warmly at strangers and hope it's contagious. I will hug my people and pet my animals. I will work fearlessly on my creative pursuits, and put my next travel plans into action.</div><div><br></div><div>Do you need some loving words in these difficult days? Let me know - I'll tell you something I adore about you. Just reach out, in the comments, in a private message, in a text, on the phone. Let's spread the love.</div>Ali Ambrosiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00521627345210424042noreply@blogger.com0