Are Marshmallovaries Kosher For Passover?

This week has been a fascinating mix of heaven and earth, ether and mud, ridiculous and sublime.

The spiritual plane was occupied with three beautiful experiences: solemnizing a wedding, hosting a seder, and welcoming Quan Yin. Meanwhile, in the corporal arena, my ovaries are swollen and tender, my uterine lining appears to be shrinking, and a cornucopia of cooch suppositories creates a daily rainbow in my pants.

Where to begin?

The wedding was gorgeous, the weather cooperative, the bride and groom glowing, the guests charming and fun. It was tremendous and awe-inspiring to be able to speak the words that created a whole new entity - a married couple. It was a privilege to sign their marriage license and make it all official.

For the next two days, I shopped and cooked and bustled about getting ready to host a seder for the very first time. I'd been to so many, but I still couldn't remember what went where on the seder plate. I had no idea how to roast an egg. I nearly forgot to get a lamb shank bone (and am so grateful to the Irish butcher who kindly reminded me when I picked up the brisket). I struggled to figure out a vegetarian alternative to the brisket for Atomic and two of our guests. Fortunately, with the indispensable assistance of Atomic and my dear friends who provided the matzoh ball soup and charoset (and constant hand holding), we pulled it off.

Eleven people around our table, a few Jews, mostly gentiles, three of whom had never attended a seder. What a beautiful sight. We used a wonderful Humanist Haggadah (which we dubbed the Hippie Haggadah) that I found online. It made me so happy to share the story of oppression and redemption in a way that emphasized our commonalities as humans. It made me even happier to see my friends devour the food I made for them. What a privilege to feed the spirits and bodies of people I love in this way.

And then, two days after that, came Quan Yin. My new acupuncturist, a devout Buddhist (I'll call him Lan Ts'ai Ho), had a little dustup with a woman with whom he shares an office right before my appointment. She thought he had made the office look "too Chinese." She particularly objected to a lovely, delicate porcelain statute of Quan Yin, the Chinese goddess of mercy, that Lan Ts'ai Ho had placed in the center of the office, so she moved the statue.

One of the things I love most about Lan Ts'ai Ho is that he tells me what I call Buddhist Bedtime Stories during my appointments. He talks about Quan Yin and prays as he's doing body work and inserting the needles for acupuncture. It's very soothing, and I'm inspired by his sincere devotion. I've also become quite fond of Quan Yin and started lighting a candle and thinking about her while I prepared my hormone injections each night.

On the heels of the unpleasantness with his office-mate, Lan Ts'ai Ho decided that Quan Yin needed to be somewhere else. She needed to be with me. He wrapped up the statue in a soft cloth and placed her in my arms. She now stands regally on the dresser in our bedroom. I feel blessed every time I look at her.



Then, yesterday, at our follow-up appointment with Dr. Nice, a scan showed giant sta-puff marshmallow ovaries and a thinner lining than when I triggered. Dr. Nice didn't seem too alarmed about the big ovaries, and I'm frankly amused that my supposedly tired old 'nads are showing such spunk. I am concerned, though, about my lining shrinking to 7mm. That's not good, and no one seems to know why that would happen. Dr. Nice prescribed estrogen suppositories, so now I get to shove one little blue thing and one little pink thing up my cha-cha each morning and evening. Perhaps the resulting nursery hues in my undies are a good omen.



Just in case there's a god, goddess, forest spirit or universal life force I've overlooked, please put in a good word for us, okay?

A Joyous Task

We interrupt the regularly scheduled infertility kvetching for an important announcement and some profound pondering.

My dear friends are getting married, and they've asked me to officiate at their wedding.

What a mind blowing thing.

What an honor.

I am totally in love with the couple getting married. They're both incredibly smart, sexy, compassionate, and passionate people who are So. Freakin. Right for each other. They do what people in love should do -- they sparkle and sizzle when they're around each other, and they make everyone around them fall in love with them, too.

I also have a special place in my heart for them because, like Atomic and I, they found each other after they'd become fully realized grownups.

To be perfectly honest, my first emotion when they asked me to officiate was fear. I blurted out, "I don't have enough gravitas for that!" I mean, when I think about someone conducting a wedding, I think of someone, well, older. But that's obviously my bias, not theirs, and I'm grateful to them for showing me that.

Now, I am not religious, per se. In fact, I think that most religious dogma is built on equal parts fear, fairy dust, and bullshit. But I am committed to bringing a spiritual and ritual aspect to this wedding. I want my friends to feel utterly blessed, and I want everyone there not just to witness, but to participate in the making of a sacred pact.

This whole fertility business has, in a way, put me in touch with the divine (in a non-dogmatic way, of course). I talk to my ancestors. I look for and respect the spark of divinity, in myself and others. There's a lot of goddess magic floating around me, offered by so many loving members of our extended family. And maybe that has something to do with why I'm officiating at this wedding.

I recognize that officiating at a wedding is not just a ministerial duty, it's a spiritual task. I recognize that whatever challenges we have before us, we can't face them alone. I have learned that the good thoughts and intentions of others can hold us up when we'd otherwise be falling down.

And now it's my task to tap into that well and bring the sacred. As a newly-ordained Spiritual Priestess of the Universal Life Church (Sole tenet: do what is right. I'm down with that.), I intend to fulfill that task with honor and with great joy.

Keeping the Faith

As we shimmy through this limbo period, it's sometimes difficult to be mindful of the present moment, to let ourselves enjoy just being on this earth with each other and all of the wonderful people who surround us.

I've been ambling around in a bit of a funk. A bit of a fog. A foggy funk, but nothing as cool as a funky fog. Every now and then, I look up, and I appreciate the fact that our loved ones, and random strangers, and the weather, and the universe itself all seem to be conspiring to pull us out of it. To wit:

Exhibit A: In this notoriously foggy city, there's been nary a cloud in the sky for the last several days, and the sun has been warm and plentiful. Even the evenings haven't been chilly. It's hard to maintain a personal fog when the sun is so actively trying to burn it off you.

Exhibit B: The other day I was running to catch a bus. The driver had already started to pull away from the stop. He saw me and stopped to let me on. (That may not seem like an unlikely occurrence unless you live here. Trust me. I should have called the newspapers about this.)

Exhibit C: It's suddenly wedding season. We haven't been to one in a year and a half, and suddenly, we've got two coming up in the next month. It's a lovely reminder of the radiant joy and hope we had at our own wedding not quite two years ago. Plus, my friend's bachelorette party is going to be a camping trip. It's hard to be in a foggy funk when you're camping in a beautiful place and celebrating a good friend's happiness.

Exhibit D: It was impossible to watch the herds of kindergartners dressed up like adorable piglets for the Chinese New Year parade and not grin like an idiot.

Exhibit E: I idly broke open a leftover fortune cookie the other day. The paper inside said, "A short stranger will soon enter your life with blessings to share." I suppose that could signify a vertically-challenged postman, but maybe not.

Exhibit F: My mom sent me this.

I rest my case (and reserve the right to present rebuttal exhibits if necessary, so don't screw with me, world).