Rebecca A. Foster

What I learned about physics: sometimes, when you rearrange a whole lot of books and don't pay attention to putting the heavier ones on the top, this happens in your bedroom**: BEFORE AFTER AFTER AFTER My dad's personalized Army beer stein from when he was stationed in Germany, complete with his Battalion and Unit motto and insignia, that I left sitting on top of the bookcase, and which hit the wall when it fell. My dad left it to me when he died and throwing it out is not an option, so I called a pottery shop and got a recommendation for a glue called Bond 527 that I HIGHLY recommend if you are gluing glass or ceramic; it's thin and sets very fast. A friend is going to solder*** the little man back onto the lid for me. I've been piecing it back together and I'm finally down to the bottom part, which used to have the silhouette of a naked lady blown into the glass and when you held the stein up to the light, you could see the naked lady. I g...

Is there any age when the death of a parent doesn't pierce your heart and affect every facet of your life? My dad was in the hospital room when I was born, and I was there when he died. I know many people don't believe in an afterlife, so I don't know if they would have the same feeling I do about helping someone transition out of life into death. But for me, to be there with him was an honor. My heart aches for those who lose their loved ones to accident or trauma, who never experience holding someone's hand as their body breaks down and their heart and lungs labor to beat and breathe and even though it breaks your heart, you're glad they aren't doing this alone, and you believe under that labored breathing and unconsciousness they know you're there with them, supporting them, loving them, telling them it's okay to let go and move on, that you'll be okay. It's taken me these years to see the beauty in living; not just the appreciation, or ...

When I was in China, I was asked to write an article for the Peace Corps China wiki about what it's like being a female volunteer in China. I guess I seemed well-adjusted? Ha, little did they know the hardships I still dealt with on a daily basis. It does get easier over time, but the challenges never fully go away. I forgot about it, but the other day I searched for it and there it is! My name isn't attached, but if you want to read what I had to say about being a female Peace Corps volunteer in China, you can read it here . It was interesting to me to read it again, after being home for these months. Gosh, it wasn't easy to live there. ___________________ My grandpa has pancreatic and liver cancer; cancer sucks. I was in denial for a while about this. I think after everything I went through with my dad, I couldn't go through this again. I think I'm still in denial about it. Dealing with cancer never gets easier. He's not doing treatment, but being treated f...

Today was a hard day. I had to go to a funeral for a relative at the same cemetery where my dad is buried, a place I have steadfastly avoided the last four years. My step-sister said to me, "Is it hard for you to be here too? Or is it just me?" I felt so much better knowing I wasn't alone in feeling bad/anxiety today. We agreed we might be big babies, but at least we weren't alone. So, I need to take my mind off of things. 1. I went to Eddie Bauer later to buy a cream colored soft shirt, because they are the only ones I know who make great cream-colored (not white) layering shirts. While I was there, I saw this Downlight hoodie pullover , in coffee, my size, on sale. I am now the proud owner of a really warm, sporty jacket. I figure if I'm going to live here now, I should build up a winter wardrobe. I love this new jacket. 2. A friend this week said he thought Marion Cotillard is my doppelganger. I would never make that connection, but it's a really n...

My dad bought me my first book about wabi-sabi. I don't know how he knew about it or knew it would resonate with me, but he was my dad, so he just knew stuff. As I understand it, wabi-sabi is a Japanese concept of humility and acceptance of time and imperfection. It means accepting who you are in your soul. It means loving something because it is meaningful, and this makes it beautiful. It means that objects are beautiful when they aren't perfect or mass-produced, but when they develop character through age and use. Wabi-sabi is not shabby chic. Wabi-sabi isn't just decoration, it's the way you conduct yourself in your daily life. It means you are perfectly yourself and you don't wish to be anything else. It means you revere experience and humility. It means to live as simply as possible, so as not to clutter your mind or your heart or your home. For me, the goal of wabi-sabi is to love every space I am in. I often describe myself as a minimalist, but in re...

I've had this little pig since I was a toddler. As you can see, it's been broken a few times. I loved this pig so much, I'd carry it around like it was a stuffed animal. I got very upset when I'd drop and break it, and even though it was just a worthless, cheap ceramic pig, my dad glued it back together each time. I've saved it as a reminder of one of the qualities I admire most about my dad: if it was important to you, it was important to him. Another thrift store find: my vintage Pendleton wool, double-breasted peacoat. Very heavy, very warm. I got it for $15 about ten years ago. It's been in storage for years and years because I didn't need a coat after I moved to San Antonio. I considered taking it to China, but it's so heavy it would have taken up precious weight in my luggage. But, the coat is back! The first time my mom saw it, she said, "Ew, it looks like something an old grandpa would wear." I KNOW, that's why it's awesome! ...

I'm revisiting my last letter, I realized I had more to say about it. My last two posts were pretty serious, so how about something more light-hearted for now? 1. Old Things. My mom abhors old things, so I know I get this from my dad, in some cases literally. This little desk was his nightstand during college, but I remember it as the place he stored wiring and electronics, etc. He gave it to me, I painted it black (not well-- needs to be redone) and I use it to store toiletries/medicine cabinet stuff. I reckon this little chest is about 40+ years old now. I love it because it was my dad's. He also gave me his Army toolbox, and a really cool old Army messenger-type bag from the 1940s. I think he got it at a surplus store, but he used it as a fishing bag and I cherish it. It's in storage right now and I have a cold and am too chicken to venture out in the snow for it. I'll share a picture another day. I bought my bed at a used furniture store for $200. It's b...

I used to try to override my intuition with non-logic, mostly because I didn't want to believe the things my intuition was telling me were true. In China, I learned to embrace intuition. It's a very large part of Chinese culture, to accept things that cannot be explained and reasoned and logically construed. Often this was frustrating for me; "This makes no sense!" came out of my mouth on maybe an hourly basis my first year there. Once I let go of everything having to make sense or be logical, I was much happier living there. Then it became another of our catchphrases, "TIC." This is China. That explains it. And that's enough. -That person approaching you across the parking lot in an unsafe manner? Yeah, it's good to be suspicious of that person and tell them to back off. You're not rude. Nice people don't approach girls alone in a parking lot. -That guy who tells you he is single, but so many clues point to him not being completely hones...

I've been sorting through old pictures from my travels; lots of pictures of bridges and buildings. You know those job/skill aptitude tests you can take? I always got my highest score in 'spatial relations', which I've thought is a pretty lame thing to have high skill in-- so I can figure out where things should go in space, big deal! Although it does probably explain my love of bridges, because bridges are inherently rather spatial, no? I found shots a friend had sent me of NYC bridges and other scenic shots; I won't post them here because they're not mine to post, but they still bring me so much joy. Maybe I'm austistic, y'all, and bridges are my thing? From looking at old pictures, I've noticed my perspective on what constitutes 'clean and nice and inviting' has drastically changed. For example, I took this photo in Manhattan because at the time I thought, "Wow, look at all that garbage on the street! And now I think, "Wow, ...

So, true story: when I was around 7-8 years old I thought stripping was the best thing ever. I wanted to be a stripper when I grew up, and I used to put on my dad's soundtrack to The Sting , crank up Hooker's Hooker , put on all the clean clothes from the laundry room and play stripper for hours in the living room. (I always stopped at my own clothes! I only took off the extra laundry!) My parents, being the laid-back parents they are, didn't freak out or chasten me for playing stripper. In fact, I don't remember them ever saying anything to me about it, ever. And one day, I just stopped thinking I wanted to be a stripper. Please note that at age 8, I had only a marginal idea of what strippers actually did; I thought it was just wearing pretty clothes and dancing, two things I still think are pretty awesome. As an adult, I asked my dad why he never told me to stop playing stripper or to stop saying that when I grew up, I wanted to be a stripper. And my dad told me, ...

March 2nd is my dad’s birthday. (I use the word ‘is’ not ‘was’ because I decided dying doesn’t cancel your birth.) When I was in the U.S., I stayed the night with my step-mom in their house. It was hard to be so reminded of him. The things I inherited from him are currently in storage. It reminded me it’s going to still be hard to go through all those things, even three years later. My step-sister made this photo collage of my dad with pictures of him and his grandchildren. I thought it was really beautiful and want to share it with those of you who knew my dad. Those of you who didn’t know him, maybe now you will “know” him a little. (Click to enlarge) March 11th is the anniversary of his death. It is hard not to think about all the days leading up to the day: the last meal, the last time he was coherent, the last words we said to each other. They've been on my mind a lot lately, as well as all of the repercussions of that day. I’m still trying to make sense of them. In som...

A few days ago I had a strange dream about my dad. We were, for lack of a better word, redoing some moments we'd had in "real life." In the dream I asked him, "Why are we doing this stuff? We've already done it." He didn't answer me. I woke up feeling like I had backslid in my progress of getting over my dad's death. At first after he died, I dreamt he was still alive. Then later I dreamt that he was missing, or that he had died but it had been a mistake. Later still, I dreamt he was dead, and I was strangely comforted by that, because I thought it meant my subconscious had accepted his death. But this? I don't know what this means. He wasn't dead, and he wasn't alive. It was just unsettling and sad and I've been blue ever since. I'll get over it, I just wanted to share it, in case this has happened to anyone else. You are not alone.

I love the notebooks in China. I don't know why, but almost all of them have some kind of Chinglish phrase on the cover. Here are a few I saw in a school supply shop near my campus: I love the 'My baby grows up in this way' tagline: For when you need to announce your life strategy: 'I never really try to be positive.' Nothing says 'Season's Greeting' like a stack of folded towels. Btw, a candle that close to the towels is a fire hazard. 'Goes the sound which the balcony listens to spend.' HUH? No really, I love these. But this one is still my all time favorite: In other news, I have to go out of town to this weekend for a medical test. I have two spots on my back that keep scabbing over and won't heal, so I have to get them checked out. Sunshine, I love you so much, why do you hurt me like this? And in still further news, I only have 9 months left in China. 9 months! Where has the time gone? I feel like I have survive...

The other day I was really wishing I could talk to my dad about something that happened here, because I thought he'd be interested in it. And a few days later, I had a dream I went to his office but he wasn't there; I left a note. I kinda like thinking that my dad knows when I want to talk to him. Maybe he gets the 'notes.' And since we both loved The Daily Show and Colbert Report , I still sometimes want to send him clips of funny moments like we used to do. I wonder if he misses that too. I don't get homesick too often here, but sometimes I do feel like I'm missing out on things back home. My awesome step-mom and step-siblings, who have been so supportive and are good friends. Their kids are  getting older, wiser and more fun, and I wonder if the little ones will remember me when I get back.  I miss my grandma, who has health problems. Every time I call her, she says, "I'm going to try to live until you come home again." I always tell her, ...

The short story is, I joined the Peace Corps because my dad died. I needed something to do. I thought helping others was a good way to find myself again. And, quite honestly, because I had no idea what else to do . I applied two months after my dad died, and later found out the Peace Corps will officially not consider you if you've experienced a close death within the past year. I guess they really needed to fill this position, though, because here I am. Because of grief, my self-esteem was very low. In some cases, I turned to the wrong things for comfort. I've had to deal with some tough dependencies. I made mistakes. Not legal or moral mistakes, but mistakes toward myself. One thing I did was offend my own self-worth by letting someone treat me badly. I realize now that whatever made it okay in his mind for him to treat me this way has nothing to do with me. If my self-esteem had been normal, things would have been different, but I was doing the best I could at the time. An...

I love how the mom is holding her daughter's head up. I wonder if that was comfortable?  Before I took this picture, her brother (on the left) kept trying to pat her face. She pitched a fit and his mom yelled at him to leave her alone. It's funny how kids are the same all over the world. I also love this pic because it reminds of me when I'd fall asleep next to my dad on the D.C. Metro and he'd carry me home. Sometimes I was just pretending to be asleep so I didn't have to walk. I think he knew.

I had a blog that I kept for my family when I lived in Texas, and my dad used to leave comments on it. After he died, I couldn't bear to delete the blog, but I couldn't bear to write on it anymore, either. Too many memories. I still have the blog, but it's set to private. Sometimes I still go and read his comments, even though reading them makes me sad. I really miss him. 

The hospital where my father was treated for cancer, Hunstman Cancer Institute, has an artwork donation program. A few weeks ago my stepmom and my sister picked out a painting to buy and donate to the hospital in my father's name. (The hospital pre-approves artwork; they chose one by artist Minerva Teichert.) While I was home, we were notified the painting had been hung in the Special Care Unit wing where my father had been treated. We stopped by to see it in its new home. My father loved the outdoors, so I'm glad they chose an outdoor scene. I think he'd really like it. A small plaque will be added below the painting identifying it as being in his memory. It was a little strange going back to the hospital after spending so much time there while he was being treated, but it was good, too. A bit of closure. 

Take a drinking glass, fill it with broken (not crushed) pieces of graham crackers, pour in cold milk and eat it with a spoon. (My dad taught me to make this long before Golden Grahams hijacked it.) One of my favorite treats, and an awesome bedtime snack. I also love graham crackers and cream cheese frosting sandwiches. Basically you can never go wrong with graham crackers. I think it tastes best with plain grahams, not the cinnamon or chocolate variety. Other yummy snacks my parents would make us: -a smashed banana, sugar and milk in a glass, eaten with a spoon -maple snow (fresh snow mixed with maple syrup and cream)

When I was a little kid, I loved my dad's old records. The Sting was a favorite, especially the track Hooker's Hooker , a classic striptease song. I would put on layers and layers of clothes and play "stripper" in the living room. ( NOTE: I was always fully dressed underneath and remained so .) I didn't understand what strippers did in a larger context, but I thought they were beautiful and got to dance to the best music! (It's funny to me now my parents never said anything to me about my "game.") I still love classic stripper music. My friend J. in Texas introduced me to this great compilation, Take It Off!. (J's house is decked out like a 60's Rat Pack martini bar, my favorite house to play at by far. Those of you who have seen the picture of me on the bed under the mirrored ceiling? J's bedroom.) It's a lot of fun to listen to, as well as a great dancing/workout CD. Try it! (Samples here as well. I especially like track 8.)