Life's a trip!

Such a Gift

2012-02-11T14:36:00.005-07:00

Happy birthday, Gabi!

If my memory is not totally cheating me, it was the spring of 1996. He was 17. I walked in our room, and my sister, then 18, introduced me to “her boyfriend”. As any good, overprotective older sister, I was always dubious of my baby sister’s choices. This was no exception.

He was as skinny as a rail, very tall (his skinny-ness made him even taller), with long, silky hair draping over his broad shoulders. He had an overly confident look about him, and despite his young age he seemed very, very serious – like he had already deciphered the mystery of life and he was not about to share the secret.

I told my sister almost immediately that she should dump him! I didn’t approve.

As a good younger sister, she, of course, rebelled against everything that older folks would try to advise her. This was no exception. And the rest of the story, is history – pretty much.

I watched Gabi grow up with my sister. They were high school sweethearts, as you might call them. They did everything together. He spent the nights at our house, and when my parents moved and remodeled, she spent the nights at his parents’ house. We spent holidays, and summer vacations and birthdays together. He was always there. Since they met, it was always “the two of them” in any function both of our families had.

After 4 years of dating, in 2000, they married. Then, they made together the long and painful journey of becoming Canadian citizens. They moved in North America in 2004. They had their first baby boy in 2008, and the second in 2011. Slowly, and quietly, Gabi become my family. Now, I cannot imagine our lives without him.

My relationship with him was not always easy. We are both stubborn and very, very strong personalities. Foolishly, I tried to correct him in everything he did, because I was older, and I thought, well, wiser, too. He steadfastly went about being who he was, bluntly showing me that he won’t change just because I could not “deal with it”. We both sulked. And then made up.

Not until recent years did I realize that we’re not agreeable to each other because we are way too much alike. My sister, in her infinite wisdom and love, discovered that. And she was right.

Also, not until recent years, did I realize what a gift he is to the world, and to our family. How his love and honesty has kept my sister together in her darkest, toughest moments, when I could not be there for her anymore. How his maturity and presence, but mostly his unbounded love, has helped her through. He is one of the most generous people I know. He gives everything to those that he loves– his time, his cash, his attention and if you’re smart enough to take it, his advice.

Romania, 2007

Other than mundane things, like music, technology and health tips, he has also taught me acceptance, respect and patience. For these, I will cherish him forever.

He is still serious. And stubborn. But I love his sense of giving and his loyalty to what he believes in. I love his incredible love for his family and for his children.

Today, I am ever so grateful that he has happened to us! Looking back at that spring 1996 day, I realize that I am not always right, that I cannot demand people to be what I consider “perfect”, and that it takes time to learn and respect and love someone. And I am so glad that my sister doesn't always listen to me!

Thank you, Gabi, for being patient with me over the years! Thank you for helping me grow up. Thank you for all the memories you have given me and my family – trips, holiday dinners, teaching me about class, style and staying hip. Thank you for encouraging me, when I was down. Mostly, thank you for being there, for the three of them! You are a gift.

Much love,

Your ever-so-stubbornly sister-in-law who loves you much.

One Year. One Life

2012-02-10T22:33:00.006-07:00

No one knows how long we live. We only know that we are here now. For all of us, here, now, however much we have lived so far has to be … our lifetime. It’s all relative, for each of us, of course.

My baby nephew, my baby sister’s little one, is one today. So far, this is his lifetime. A lifetime of being born, growing up and learning everything, every single second of every waking minute. There is nothing that fills me more with unbridled love than thinking of and seeing my nephews! They are so fresh, so pure, so full of life, they leave me breathless.

Just like his brother, the story of his birth is not an easy one to tell. Like any mother will tell you, every baby has their story, never easy, never painless, but always blessed! The story of his life, no doubt, will be more thrilling than that of his birth ever was. The journey has barely started.

He is one of the most precocious kids I have ever seen. Trying to always keep up with his older brother, he’s already saying words and walking by himself. His favorite toys (when they are not the ones he fights over with his brother) are fresh veggies in the bottom drawer of the fridge. He has a determination and a will hard to fathom for a body so small.

Although he doesn’t remember his life so far, us, around him, remember every moment of it. We thank him for every second he has given us, every piece of wisdom, every wonder, and most especially, every smile. Every inimitable and bright smile with which he has showered our lives in the past 365 days.

Even in his short one year life, he has given the world much needed light, and my family a feeling of completeness. We are forever grateful. I have only one regret – that of too short a time that we spend together.

Happy birthday, Happy Little Man! May you always be blissful. May you always be loved. May the world never spoil the beauty of your being and the clarity of your eyes. Thank you for all you have given us already. We can only hope we won’t disappoint.

Many hugs.

I am speechless in a moment of such loving celebration, and I believe no words I could possibly scramble for could do this big day justice. But my sister has put together this priceless movie of his first year of life, and, as always, pictures speak so much louder than words. So, I let her slideshow roll.

Enjoy, everyone:

Click here to watch his birthday video ...

Food so Good (and Much) It’s Stupid

2012-02-04T14:56:00.006-07:00

The gist of this entry ...

Why I do it, it’s beyond me! I have done it, probably since I was a kid, and I still learn no better as I grow older. I think, to some degree, the majority of us do it. We all eat at least one meal a year that we just let abuse us! We can’t and won’t and should stop eating it! Just one more mouthful, we say. Just one. After another. And yet another. Against our better judgments and our feeling of misery as we eat more …

Yesterday, I was craving “exotic” food. That, for me, means anything that I have not had in a long while, or anything that is not meat and potatoes. It means anything that has some foreign flavors (usually Asian). I was also craving lots and lots of it. So much, in fact, till my stomach would just expand! Don’t ask me why I was in such a destructive mood – I just was.

So, after a crappy week (yeah, I know – this was the cause of the mood, right?! - maybe), we headed to where else but the capital of all gourmand-ry of the world - the Japanese steakhouse. You know, one of those places where “they cook in front of you” and they feed you till you throw up. Literally.

The meals are overpriced, but the dishes keep coming, so how can you complain?! They come with a salad, and a soup, and rice and meats of your choice and veggies, and … after three changes of plates you feel how your pants are gonna explode and you’ll be left in public, butt naked and covered in chewed up rice and meat! And you loosen your belt and keep shoveling. Till you can hardly walk!

And it all is soooo tasty! All fresh, off the grill and hot, and how can you stop?! Why should you, right?! You’re paying your sh^tty week’s paycheck for it, after all? Eat up!

Some of the people around our table ordered “the house special” which included three meats, two appetizers and a dessert. We all needed stretchers after that, seriously! That is self-killing by eating!

I could hardly stand up after that. I drove home in pain, plopped myself on the couch, took a handful of Tums and felt like an idiot! Was the taste even worth feeling so miserable?! Who cares,when you have a craving! Will I stop half way before throwing up next time? Probably not.

Maybe this was just a practice run for the trip to Romania we have scheduled this year. Because eat-Tums-bathroom-repeat is what the 2 weeks in the motherland will be like.

I think the human body has an amazing ability to forget pain. So the stomach ache that ensued, the self loathe, the heavy feeling dragging me down, the sleepless night will be long forgotten by the time the next “let’s-eat-ourselves-silly-on-exotic-food” will strike again. I make no promises for the future. But right now, I am off to the treadmill, for a repentance run and an apology to my hips!

Small Lives. Big Lessons.

2012-01-28T16:29:00.004-07:00

One of my best friends posted this on Facebook last week:

One of my students: "Teacher, what is the meaning of life?"
Me (quite puzzled) : " I don't really think life has any meaning..."
The student: " Well, Siri from my I-Phone told me the same"
So this makes us two...

This reminded me that I have not asked myself this question in a really, really long time. Ever since John Lennon told me that “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”, I stopped making plans!

In the past couple of years, I have to say that I have just enjoyed what the moment brought, and I have mourned over what the moment took away. I virtually made no plans, and I sort of drifted. I just am, and pay attention. And that’s about how far it goes, lately.

In one of Al Pacino’s biographical books, he says that he got a lot more out of life when he stopped wishing for it. And I can say the same about my life lately! I put the comings and goings of every day happenings in someone else’s care, and I take what I am given as it comes. There is so much freedom in it. And so much peace. Took me about 34 years to get it, and I still try to steer, stubbornly, but I am learning to let go, and just float. And things have been rewarding, to say the least.

I have also piqued my ears more to what’s happening around me. I try to understand more of how my fellow humans spend their lives. I am learning so much from them, from just being mindful and attentive. And this is, to me, life, lately: just noticing how a day can be filled, by me or others, and learning about how to string 24 hours over and over and over again. Whatever fills every second of those hours, every day, cyclically, is what I have called life.

I noticed a conversation at the bookstore about a year ago and it stopped my day in the tracks, and made me so viscerally aware of the human beauty. I typically don’t think very highly of my species, in general. I talk a lot about the smallishness and pettiness of all around me – but there are rarely episodes that I notice that take my breath away in wonderment.

So, I was, as I have said, at the bookstore one day, and waiting for my turn in line to pay. The gentleman before me was Hispanic and in his, maybe, late 50’s. White hair and mustache and all, he approached the cashier, in broken English, and asked whether his books have come. She asked him the name. He said “Jesus” (you know, as in Spanish). She checked, and found them. Four books. She was starting to ring him up. He protested: “No, no! No money today! Payday tomorrow. Jesus (pointing to himself) come tomorrow and pick up books”. She smiled and, confused, said: “But, they are YOUR books. And they are right here. Today!”. He said: “Yes, my books”. (pointing to his chest). “But tomorrow. Pay day, tomorrow. Books today. Ok! Thank you. Please keep.” – and he left, waiving at her, and assuring her that he will be back “tomorrow”.

I smiled and knew what he was thinking: you see, in small cultures, we don’t believe in credit cards. He has no money today. He will have “real” money tomorrow and will come back for his books. He just wanted to make sure the shipment came in, as promised. There was no iota of Western instant gratification whatsoever in someone who probably didn’t “grow up this way”. I related to him, from an earlier stage of my life, when, I, too, didn’t believe in “plastic”. It was like coming home to see that, for me.

But things were going to get even more interesting. It was my turn. I approached the cashier who was still smiling. She said: “He is our best customer. He is SO polite. He always orders books online and picks them up here. He always orders two copies of each. One in English and one in Spanish. Same book – two languages. I guess that’s how he learns.”

I was breathless! In the world of Rosetta Stone, books on tape and computer software, people still buy books (you know: like in paper and ink!) and learn a new language from comparing the two – the old fashioned way. And at 50 something, when you’re old and gray, you still want to learn. You still wait, feverishly, for that paycheck at the end of the month, to buy, not food, not clothes on your back, but books, to learn. Flashbacks of “The Reader” went through my head. And of me, in college, when I’d rather spend my scholarship on books and cd’s than clothes and shoes.

I felt so humble. So small. And so grateful to witness this. In this world where everything seems so shallow and so ephemeral every day, there is something deeper than what my mind can fathom. I will remember this story, of learning, and waiting, and reading, and life for as long as I live.

Another day, I went to lunch by myself. Another gentleman, also older, was, again, in front of me. The hostess wanted to seat him, in the almost empty restaurant. She asked him (and his lady friend) to pick a spot, as they were many open. He confidently stepped in one of the dining rooms, and then stopped. He turned towards the hostess and said: “Oh, never mind. My table is taken.” – and pointed towards the table that, I guess, he always, occupies. The hostess said: “The one right next to it is open, Sir. Would you like that one?” He motioned his hands in denial: “No, no! We will wait”. And sat down in the waiting area, as the people at “his table” were JUST starting to order.

I thought: wow! In this ever rushed world, where we think emails are too slow anymore, there is someone that has nowhere to be, nowhere to rush to. He is content to just wait, for “his” table, at “his” usual diner. Flashbacks of “Something’s Gotta Give” went through my head this time. And I smiled, pleased to see that patience is not dead, after all.

Slices of life, like these, go before my eyes daily. And make me contemplate my own. And, more importantly, make me slow down and smell the books, and the coffee at some regular, small town, diner. I don’t have a regular table. Not even a regular restaurant. I am not learning a new language. But I bow my head to people who do, and keep this world alive, different, and deep. People who give this world, and life, in general, meaning.

The Hibernation

2012-01-07T20:31:00.004-07:00

“There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you... In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself. ” ~Ruth Stout

It’s finally started. The hibernation, that is. There is pretty much a lot going on in our lives any other time during a year, but the time between New Year’s and say, the first true sign of spring, when we can eat on the back patio and start planting tomatoes is pretty much dead.

We plan no trips, we have no yard to tend to, there is not much to take pictures of, as everything is also sleeping, and our hands would freeze on the cameras, friends and family are staying put, and in their own dungeons – the weather, you see – and there is not much else we do inside the house either, once the Christmas decorations are tucked away, and the cards have made it to the memory box.

We’re not sports people, so the Super Bowl and Spring Training mean little to us. So, we close the door, tuck in, read and make lots of chili!

This is the time when the knitting needles come out, and the really thick books get read. The time when the Crockpot is finally coming out of the pantry. The time when Gypsy and I snuggle on our “magic blanket” made of fleece and fake fur, and we nap.

I watched the snow fall outside today, and it finally felt like winter! Like true winter, where there is no good reason in the world why you should stick your nose outside the front door! It was so peaceful, so quiet, so settled. You eat what you find in the pantry and freezer, and you are lazy. That’s that this is all about.

Right now, I am looking forward to it, with a mix of pleasure, peace and freakish anxiety at the thought that this might just last forever! By March, I am all but done and ready to come out of this state, but unfortunately, here, in Utah, it won’t let up till probably May. Sigh.

Till then, I have another fresh, warm biscuit to eat, and another Hallmark movie to see - so if you’ll excuse me.

A Year's Wrap

2011-12-24T23:46:00.006-07:00

Everybody needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door. ~Saul Bellow

As the curtain is getting ready to close for 2011, I take some time to reflect on what’s passed.

It’s been a good and unexpected year … We started out by saying there is not much we have planned, and we ended up with a full year, to say the least. Life has a way of throwing “plans” at us, when we make none, you know.

It was another year of “firsts”: first Valentine’s Day together, first nephew we welcomed into the world as a couple, first concert together (first ever for Aa.), first trips to Zion and Yellowstone for both of us, first trip together to Seattle and Canada … and so much more. After almost two years of marriage, I am still enjoying all this newness, and welcome more! It’s such a blessing to build memories in togetherness …

What a change a year can make! I didn’t have a job on January 1st, 2011, and I had no hope, nor prospect of one. I have a very good job now, and one that allows me to shine, and sleep at night, at the same time, without defining who I am, either. What more can anyone possibly want?

We were poorer by one member of our family, and now, we are so blessed with our little Kevin who is now almost walking all around the house.

We were also so much poorer in trips and wonderful new pictures – we made up for it with 365 opportunities to refresh our archives. Some of the trips we were fortunate to take were simply to disconnect and enrich our world perspective. Some of them were to visit friends and family. Both of these were rewarding in their own right.

On the home front, here in Utah, we had no yard, and no prospect of a yard, either! We have a new fence, a new yard, we cooked our first bbq meals, and we had our first outdoor parties this year, as well. We harvested our first tomatoes and herbs. We are home. Finally.

As a family, all over the world, we are all still here, and although not all healthy, we are grateful for all of us to see a new Christmas and a new year in a few days, as well.

We are grateful for a lot of things: this wonderful year that has passed, for our united and happy families, for having each other, for our health, for our food, for our jobs, and our homes, and for our friends.

The house in NC has not sold yet, but we are so grateful to be able to afford to pay the mortgage on it! We can still keep our good credit in this crazy world, and we pray and hope that one day, it’ll be behind us!

We are looking forward to a new year. A brand new, wide open, blank slate for new trips and new memories to shape up! Once again, we have small plans for 2012, but we hope for health and opportunities, and we shall make it into a great one, again!

Happy New Year, everyone, and may you never run out of possibilities …

Enjoy a peek at our wonderful 2011:

A City Alive - Postcards from Seattle

2011-12-03T15:30:00.007-07:00

Greetings from Seattle! I am not sure if all of the people who read here remember postcards. But I do. Even as a child, I was the only one in my family who always sent them to our friends from our family trips. Everyone could count on me letting them know where the family went that summer. I still browse the postcards stands in gift stores, and I dream about the days when I would pick just the best ones that would summarize the vacation spot just perfectly.

Nowadays, of course, we have Facebook. And phones with cameras and web connections, to post that telling shot of where we are and what it’s like to be there to let all of our friends know. Nowadays, I have my own camera, too. And instead of one postcard, I come home with 1000+ shots of the place. I send the link to my friends, and boom!, they are there, too: they can even feel the heat or the cold, they can almost taste the food, and hear the street noises or the quiet of the surrounding areas.

The recent trip we took to Seattle over Thanksgiving was no exception. Looking back through the pictures, I see just what my first trip to Seattle means. It means gray, of course. When we got there, there was a misty rain in the air, for which an umbrella would do little. We were told by one of our guides that umbrellas are not popular in Seattle. The rain never pours, but it usually feels more like that mist the hair dresser uses to spray your hair before she cuts it: “poof-poof” and you’re wet! The sky was gray and the roads were shiny. It was cold – bitter cold and wet. After all, this is the Pacific North West, right?!

Another snapshot in my mind is Seattle inside Pike Place Market on Black Friday. I know, sounds suicidal, but it’s actually pretty fun. So much life. Everyone’s coming or going. You feel the pulse of a big city and it’s pounding! For the most part, Seattle has a slower pace than most large cities I have seen, except for its Market. Despite the fact that the vendors are there year round and the market is probably hopping year round, too, they are always friendly and actively selling their stuff. They talk to everyone who stops by, and describe their products in detail. They are nice and never look bored, tired, or just indifferent, like most trinket sellers in touristy places. Their active involvement is really an attractive marketing tool.

My favorite thing in The Market, was not the fish throwing, as everyone would think. It was not even the overcrowded original Starbucks store, either – although that one did make my heart stop for a minute: it was that feeling of “wow! This is where everything started”. But my favorite market place was this corner stand where a woman was selling things made of lavender. The place smelled beautifully, and she had a “culinary wreath”, made of all sorts (I think 10) of herbs, that you just hang in your kitchen and peel from year round, to use in your foods. The wreath was as gorgeous as it was practical and for some reason it spelled "Seattle" to me: green, fresh, clean, delicious, unique and hippie-sh.

On the second day we were there, there was not a cloud in the sky! I thought I died and woke up in Atlanta! Blue skies and blinding light – perfect for pictures, and a boat ride. The view from Elliott Bay towards Seattle is much similar to all the skyline views you’re familiar with. Of course, not two skylines are alike. They each have their trademark that makes them recognizable – whether tall or interesting in architecture, these one building compounds put them on the map: New York has the Empire State building. San Francisco has the TransAmerica Pyramid. Toronto, the CN Tower, and Seattle – the shipyard and … the Space Needle.

The Space Needle is not the tallest, but it definitely is one of the strangest buildings I have climbed (along with Montreal’s Olympic Stadium leaning tower) to get a bird’s eye view of the city. It looks like a flying saucer landed on a skinny pole and it’s balancing just so. It’s one of those miracles of human dreaming and ingenuity.

The architecture of the town is a mix of old and new. I was shocked of how old Seattle really feels, although it’s a very few years over 100 years old! There are skyscrapers and cobble stone streets right next to each other. Horse drawn carriages and the airlifted Monorail train, side by side. The trip in the Underground will make you feel like it’s thousands years old. It’s a clean city, and although it feels like a metropolis, it’s not crushing you under its fastness, or clutter. It’s busy, but with breathing room. Not as oppressive as NYC, nor even Boston, for instance.

I think the most unexpected thing about the Seattle landscape for me was the fact that all the streets are incredibly steep! OK, they are not quite San Francisco steep, but they are a breath stopper, after you have climbed about 10 of them in a row! And that’s the good thing – you can really walk or take public transport to pretty much anywhere. I don’t think you must have a car to live in Seattle!

Another thing that will stay with me from this trip is all the restaurants – great, fresh food, incredible service, and good beer and wine! It’s a miracle to find a Riesling on most of the restaurants I visit, anywhere in the country. Seattle always had a Riesling and a moscato at all times! Even moscato champagne! The beers might not be as diverse, I suppose, as Portland’s, but they surely are plenty of choices and they are tasty! I am not a microbrew fan, but I did find some microbrews that were not too offending at all for my very soft palate. The foods are always fresh and just enough with a twist to make them unforgettable, but not too strange.

The town feels like a river of coffee flows through it. There is a fast food restaurant at every street corner in America, but not in Seattle. There is a coffee shop at every street corner here! Tully’s, Seattle’s Best and of course lots of Starbucks. Also, stand alone, independent ones, too. And when you are finished with your meal, you’re asked: “would you like a cup of hot latte to go, by chance? I’ll double cup it for you. It’s really hot!” They have invented their own language for coffee drinks here. A language that everyone speaks, of course. People walking down the street and holding cups of hot drinks from 7 AM to midnight! It might be what keeps them smiling?!

One thing that blew my mind was the fact that all the wait staff everywhere was so helpful, fast and so polite and just happy. Yes, Seattle has happy people, I would say! I have always thought that with that much rain, you must be a nature prone to depression to be able to live in Seattle. And yet, I have never seen so many smiley and cordial people and just plain content as Seattle folks! It was always a treat to sit down for a meal or just drinks. Just like visiting with old friends, we felt totally welcome.

The ultra-modern hotel. The picture book would not be complete if I didn’t talk about our very unique hotel room! We stayed at Hotel 1000, about two blocks from Pike Place Market and one block from Pier 56. Our suspended, flat screen tv was turned on when we entered the room, and there was a welcome message on the screen in our names. We had a fixture free (well, except for the drain) tub that had the downspout mounted in the ceiling above it. Instead of a solid wall between the bedroom and bath, you had an all glass wall, with a shade operated by three buttons in the wall – like a light switch. You could sit in the tub, and have a view to the harbor, across the room. The toilet and shower were in their separate all glass enclosures. The sink and fixtures were Kohler and counters solid granite. For those of you that think that granite is so overrated, I disagree! It’s clean and elegant. Period.

The décor of the room was modern minimalist, but intricate, too, without being uncomfortable. Some pieces looked like they were chosen from an art gallery from the Seattle Museum of Art, down the street. Molton Brown smellies gave the air a lavish and fresh aroma. Nothing was random. Everything was pieced together just so, to make it classy and comfortable at the same time. We also had a light switch by the entrance door, that we turned on – this put a “do not disturb” light on on the other side of the wall, next to our doorbell. Very discreet.

And because Seattle is Microsoft, our hotel lounge had a virtual game room, with Microsoft game tables. Chess, checkers and many other virtual boards were the centerpiece of many seating areas in our lounge.

The Boka Restaurant downstairs kept in line with this feeling of modern and chic. We ate on burl tables and sat near towers of sculpted glass. The food, again, was good without being too pretentious.

Yeah, we ate and drank a lot on this trip! I have not done this since probably my last trip to New Orleans, another feasting town!

The feeling that people are environmentally conscious in this town meets you at every pace. There are typically anywhere between three and five trashcans in every public establishment. You need about 10 minutes of deliberation of where your waste needs to go before you (hopefully not!) give up and just chuck it in the one that’s fullest, labeled “trash”. You can order almost everything free of … whatever… milk free, fat free, gluten free, meat free – you name it. I think even without our cameras in hand, we would still have stood out to restaurant staff as out-of-town-ers, for always ordering the “real” things.

That’s Seattle for you: fresh salmon, good coffee, sweet wine, steep streets (bring good, comfy shoes), full body beers, health conscious freakishness, history, rushed people that smile a lot, wine and coffee shops in one, sometimes with a bookstore thrown in, clean and safe-feeling, calm waters, gorgeous mountain ranges, tasteful art, all spinning around the Space Needle, under a mostly gray sky with occasional rays of sunshine. It has a heart, a mind and a style all its own.

Till next time, Seattle, I greet you ‘stay awesome’!

A deconstructed image of Seattle, from the Monorail - courtesy of my husband.
Click on it to experience the whole adventure. I hope you can see, feel, touch, breathe and taste Seattle, even if just virtually.

Thanksgiving. It’s All in the Food.

2011-11-23T21:54:00.003-07:00

If I hear one more preachy conversation on the radio or open one more magazine or newspaper and read about how we all should watch what we eat for Thanksgiving and we need to all dig into the all vegan recipes, that are oh, so yummy, I think I am going to have a conniption fit!

Seriously, folks?! What has America become? The rest of the year, we don’t seem to worry about how fat we get, all of a sudden, we want to be more Catholic than the Pope and pretend we’re on a diet on Thanksgiving?! Isn’t this just anti-American, or something?!

On my first Thanksgiving here, I didn’t know what to expect. I was honestly looking forward to some (odd) family time, to the much anticipated “you never want to talk politics and religion at the Thanksgiving table and you never want to ask anyone what they’ve accomplished this year. Families talk about everything else but the important stuff. Not on Thanksgiving, anyway!” that you hear about from folklore.

I ended up with good memories, with good family conversation, albeit polite and guarded, but I ended up also with great food memories. A foodie by upbringing, I cannot have a good time unless the food is plenty and enjoyed by all.

On that first Thanksgiving, I kept wondering why do Americans think they eat so much for this holiday?! I was raised at my dad’s school of “Let’s be gluttons!”, and if his weekly parties have less than 15 courses he considers them failures. So, a five dish dinner to me was lame. But I loved the food itself – just the traditionalism of it. The “must haves” to celebrate this particular holiday. It was a celebration and a bonding experience. One thing everyone could not only relate to but also talk about, freely. The only non-taboo topic at the dinner table.

Over the years, I have enjoyed many a yummy Thanksgiving dinners and I have learned that the celebration is centered around food! Whether you think it’s a lot or a little food, there is going to be enjoyment and love in making it. After all, the holiday comes after the Harvest season. Many a peoples have celebrated the fruits of a new bountiful year through a feast. It’s one primordial tradition that traveled across all generations and virtually all cultures all over the world!

And bounty means eating lots of foods that give you pleasure. Sure, if you are a vegetarian the rest of the year, eat what gives you pleasure! But if you eat a steak every week, you really want to dig into that tofurky just ‘cause the Food Channel, and the city magazine and the local radio station have jumped on the wagon of “let’s be healthy”? And it’s not even healthy, unless it’s a lifestyle – so one meal of oh “being different for the sake of being different” won’t make your hips notice. Trust you me!

I am not quite sure whether America is bored with tradition, themselves, or just bored period. I am all for healthy eating, don’t get me wrong, but Thanksgiving is not a time to start, I don’t think, or – worse - a time to pretend you’re doing your body a favor because for one night you’re going to eat carrot sticks! It’s a bit too much pretentiousness for my taste.

I am taking a leave of absence from the roasting of the turkey this year, as we are headed to Seattle for the weekend. But as excited as I am about the trip, I am also sad because my house won’t be filled with the smells of the season this November! I miss the foods, already, and I miss the whole spirit of the Holiday. The pause, at the end of the day, for being thankful to another year gone well. The Macy’s parade. The Food TV with Paula Deen buried in butter, “o’l” and molasses. The fireplace - turned on for the first time for the season.

But mostly I will miss my food. The fresh one and the leftovers! So, dear friends, have some crispy turkey skin for me, some mashed potatoes, some gravy and warm rolls! I will be drowning in fresh seafood and good North Western beers this weekend, and dreaming of my perfect Thanksgiving, which, this year, will only be a memory.

May this Thanksgiving find you with a full fridge and a heart filled with gratitude! And whatever you cook, make sure it’s the true you. Make it a good one, everyone!

Disrespectful Thoughts on Flying Respectfully

2011-11-13T16:39:00.013-07:00

I still remember one of the teachings in one of my first yoga classes, from this instructor that I absolutely loved, back in Greensboro. Because he was so amazing, he used to pack a crowd in his classes, and there was never a comfortable space between two students’ mats. We were crammed in there, like sardines, mat near mat, or sometimes mat on top of mat.

When we stretched, or when we were doing the reclining big toe pose, we would accidentally touch our neighbor, with our hands or, oh, joy, our feet! And you would hear people shriek and cringe. He always reminded us that that is OK! It’s just our bodies.

He reminded us how enclosed within ourselves we have become to repudiate everything that’s not our own bodies and to consider it strange and even gross, when, in fact, we should welcome closeness, as an ultimate sign of humanity, and be respectful of one another, mind, soul and body, as we are all sacred entities.

I always think of this closeness and try really hard to make peace with it and not cringe when I am on a plane. Never, in our daily journeys, are we ever so close to another strange human (and so helplessly so) than when we are forced to spend hours strapped next to a couple of people on a plane. And as wonderful as the teachings of my yoga teacher sound, even today, after many years of trying to come to terms with my neighbor human being, I still wince and notice, in pain, all the unpleasantness that we are capable of! All the inconsiderate things we do! All the self-entitled-ness and complete ignorance for our own physical and emotional space and how that affects others.

So, on my last flying trip, I came up with a list of things that absolutely drive me up a wall (or out on a wing!) when I notice them in the 100 square feet of space I am forced to share with the human specimen while flying between Minneapolis and Salt Lake City, let’s say.

I gladly (and unasked) share, in no particular order:

1.0 I figured that babies are not the worst travelers on the plane! The worst travelers, I think, are impatient, really old people! Apart from the distinct odor of “depends”, they are restless, they chew constantly, and crackle numerous wrappers of their candies, they spit their ice back in the cups, out of sheer boredom, they move, they sigh, they snore, when they do sleep, they talk too loud on the phone, when they are allowed, and they don’t seem to give a rip, because they have lived long enough to earn their right to be oblivious!

2.0 Does the flight attendant really have to say “cookies, pretzels or peanuts?!” for every single passenger on the flight? Seriously? By row 20, have you not gotten a GOOD picture of what the options are?! Everyone kind of waits their turn, and they they wait for the options, and then they act surprise, as "wow! didn't know about these three options! How generous!"; and then they take a couple of seconds to "decide". What is there to decide?! Does it make them feel more special that these are their own, specific choices they are being offered, or what?! Just get with it, people! Don’t wait for the menu. It's not going to be steak! Not now, not ever!

3.0 If they say on the little speaker that the phones “must be turned off” or “must be in the off position”, it means that no, you cannot read the book you downloaded on your Iphone, idiot! The phone “off” means the screen is black and you can only look and admire its sexy Apple design - and that's about all you can do with it! No data is being presented on the screen! There is no such thing as “a little off” or “somewhat off”. Off is OFF!

4.0 A bag that won’t fit through the aisle, most likely won’t fit in the overhead bin, nor under the seat in front of you. Figure that out before you reach your assigned seat, at the very back of the plane!

5.0 When they are “ready for boarding”, they mean pick up your 3 carryons and move it, pal! Line up, and be a sheep! Follow the line! They don’t mean, pull up your phone and dial your spouse to tell them that oopsy-doopsy-doop, you’re getting ready to jump in the biggest adventure of your boring life, and you’re boarding your plane! Don’t stop in the tracks to text your boyfriend, telling him the same thing. Boarding means there is a line, people are waiting behind you, it’s not a phone booth. Put that sucker away, and move along! No phone checking, texting, answering in the aisle, on the breezeways, anywhere where people are waiting for just your feet to move!

6.0 And speaking of “respect”: everyone in the airline business seems to be disrespecting the simplest notion of everyone's time. I figured out a while back that schedules are just suggestions, far from strict timetables anyone is sticking to: when you’re there, there is no regard, from anyone in the business, to your personal time, to when you actually need to make it to the destination and how long they can trap you in there for: when the pilot says “we’ll leave the gate in 2 minutes, as we still have a final check of luggage (or equipment) to perform”, read ’20 minutes’ at least in this spiel. It will save you a lot of heartache! Just let it go! You won’t be able to control it!

7.0 I heard on the radio the other month that Delta is “bringing back the red jackets” as part of their reinventing themselves as the “best and most admired airline in the world”. I somewhat like the formality of the staff’s clothes on a plane – makes it all official and like I can really listen to them, and entrust my life in their hands, of sorts. The last flight with Delta had the stewardesses dressed up in jeans, long sleeve white undershirts with pink t-shirts over them, in support of breast cancer awareness month. I felt like getting food from a soccer mom. I guess a discreet pink pin in the shape of a ribbon would have been “too” formal for Delta and not enough to support the cause?! I sure as heck am not “admiring” the white undershirts!

8.0 This is not flight related, but it did happen in an airport: when the car rental agent tells me I am getting the best deal, and the one car on the lot with “all the bells and whistles” and then she offers to “sell” me the rental of a GPS on top of my rental price … it makes me wonder what other bells and whistles I will be missing. Makes me doubt her truthfulness, just a tad!

9.0 and 10.0 – add your own here. I am sure you have some of your own…

Does this make us bad humans? Super sensitive? Spoiled? Self-absorbed? Or just super observant? I am not sure. But I am sure that I, for one, am more mindful about my own space and bearings when I am around that many strangers, that close. And that all comes from simply respecting my own self.

The Good and the Bad on a Not so Bad Trip

2011-11-03T20:51:00.013-06:00

As most of you know, my only sister lives in Montreal. Most of my family and her in-laws usually travel to Niagara Falls every time they visit her. It’s sort of a ritual, sort of a “must see”. Although I have visited her plenty of times, in the past seven years since she’s lived there, I have never had the privilege to see The Falls. In a way, from all the pictures I have of my family under the falling water, I have always felt I have been there before. But nothing is quite the same as when you see it for yourself.

My husband and I decided to take my mother-in-law to Niagara Falls for her 70th birthday. She lives in Michigan, so we were to fly into the Mitten State, and then drive to Niagara Falls, ON, “the Canadian side”. We knew, from family and friends stories, from The Wiki and google images, that the Canadian side is more majestic than the US side. Sorry, US, ya have to let them have that!

And so we did: flew into Michigan and drove Northward the day after getting there. This was maybe not the ideal time of the year to visit The Great North, I’d have to say. The weather was cold (low 40’s and high 30’s for the most part), rainy, and foggy. We had a room with a view of the Niagara river, but we could only see the mist from the falls from our window. It was, however, beautiful!

The first day we went sightseeing was so foggy we could not see even the river from our window. We could not see the river, even from the park right above it! It was pure milk! And rain, and wetness. And cold. A lot of cold. We had breakfast at Coco’s and then we started the walk towards the Niagara Falls park. We could very much hear the falls, loud and roaring, angry, and we were almost drenched in a mist, we could feel the wind pulling us in, but we could not see it very much.

The first day: fog and water. Mostly fog. Looked like Ireland (I think)

Another reason why this was not an ideal time to visit was that a lot of things were closed for the season. Some restaurants were closed, and even the boat that takes you to the bottom of the falls was retired for this year.

I guess this is what Jim Cantore must feel like!

We visited the Visitors’ Center and the shops (just to shelter ourselves from the big wet nature out there), and then we did the “Journey Behind the Falls”. They take you down on this elevator to the bottom of the Canadian Falls and you get windows into the waterfalls, and you get to see the outpouring of water from behind the rocks. The noise it makes is unreal! It feels a bit claustrophobic, dark and menacing down there, but it is a unique experience. How much can you really let go in order to observe a miracle of nature?! Test yourself! Your stomach might be in knots, but at the end it’s so worth it!

The elevator assistant was very dry (pun not intended). She looked serious and bored. One tourist asked her “how many times do you go up and down in this elevator, a day?”. She answered promptly with a shrug and a half look: “I don’t know, Sir. I never counted. I have more important things to worry about. The only one worrying about such things is you”. No one laughed.

After seeing the falls, or, again, hearing them from underneath and behind, we came up for air again, and started driving along the Niagara river, North bound, towards the Botanical Gardens. They were, once again, closed for the season. But the jewel of the gardens, the butterfly conservatory, was open. So, we strolled in.

60 species of butterflies, from all over the world, and 30,000 individual insects greeted us, literally. Some of them as large as a humming bird, and all of them dressed up in their Sunday best! They would fly everywhere, land on your hair or clothes, and just offer the most beautiful spectacle for the eye that I have ever seen. The conservatory is landscaped beautifully, as a tropical paradise, with palm trees, coconut trees, a waterfall in the middle and various exotic plants. It’s like a giant green house, full of life and freshness. This stood in stark contrast to the dreary world of the outside. It was alive and warm.

After this, we continued to drive North, along the river. What I always adore about any town in Canada is their parks! Even in the most humble neighborhoods, the parks have wide and clean alleys, with lawns that are impeccable and always lush! We drove through parks and high end neighborhoods, through vineyards and along stone walls, protecting the pedestrians from falling into the rapid river below. Oh, the view one would have from their sunroom along this path!

The glitz and glamor of Niagara Falls, Ontario

After a short drive, we reached the small town of Niagara-on-the-Lake. If Niagara Falls struck us as touristy and extra loaded with unnecessary cheese (like Ripley’s Believe it or Not, and The Frankenstein House), Niagara-on-the-Lake is a quiet, beautifully architected old town! Reminded me in parts of Quebec City, and in some others of England. It is quaint and classy, with lots of brick and stone houses, large trees and quiet roadways. Although it rained the entire time we were there, we walked the streets for a couple of hours, in ponchos and umbrellas, visited boutiques we never get a chance to visit anywhere else, bought local foods, jewelry, presents for friends, and compared wine prices with the rest of the world.

The quaint charm of Niagara-on-the-Lake

I almost forgot how important the wine industry is for the Niagara region, so we enjoyed visiting the various wine shops. We never bought even one bottle though, and I am not quite sure why! The rain got us in a damp mood, I guess. I did have Canada ice wine before, and it’s delicious, and it appeared, from it being showcased everywhere, that it’s one of their specialties, here, as well. I do, wholeheartedly, recommend it to anyone who likes wine. It’s delicious, and worth the $30 price tag for even a small, skinny bottle!

The second day we were there, we took the elevator up The Skylon Tower, as the fog had lifted and we could now see the falls. I always love views from up high, and this one was as impressive as any I have seen. You can clearly see both the American and the Canadian Falls, in all their splendor and they are correct – the Canadian ones, with their horseshoe shape, look much more interesting. Although, if you only had the American ones to look at you’d be as impressed, too, I am sure. The quantity of water they put out and the speed with which they flow are breathtaking – overwhelming and humbling all at the same time.

Looking across the border into the US was an opportunity for me to stop and think about the relativity of life, in general and of people-made things, in particular. What’s a border, after all? Just a very relative, and almost imaginary line separating two worlds. And people often forget that “relative” is the key word here. No one is more special than the other person, intrinsically, just because they happen to have been born on either side. But, oh, how people forget that!

Apart from the weather not giving us our best shot at seeing the sights and the rainbows, we have enjoyed just being away, and seeing a piece of the planet that was new to us. If I were to go back, I would probably try to sleep and eat in Niagara-on-the-Lake.

The touristy violence of Niagara Falls was sort of disappointing. That, and the very high prices, for not so much of quality as you might think. In one of the restaurants, I ordered poutine, a very Canadian dish, but it was nothing like the Quebecois poutine I fell in love with in Montreal! No curd fresh cheese, and thick gravy, no sautéed potatoes! Just gravy from a pack, plain tasting, and shredded cheese from a bag. And probably bagged fries, too … The prices are huge everywhere, for frozen meals reheated sometimes – or maybe we didn’t pick the places right! I did enjoy the tomato bisque at Kelsey’s, the first night we were there. And be prepared to pay for parking anything from $2 and hour to $10 a day! And we needed to move the car a lot, since it was raining the whole time and we could not walk anywhere, really.

The American Falls, with Niagara Falls, NY in the background

The Canadian Falls, ON

But the beauty of nature, and even of man, when he’s thinking before building, was refreshing and warm. And now I, too, can say, like the rest of my family, that I have been to The Falls. The Canadian ones, you know – the only ones that matter!

This was one of the plainest butterflies, but one of my favorites! Click on it to see all the pictures from this very beautiful trip.

Biggest Halloween Ever!

2011-10-31T20:43:00.006-06:00

Some of my friends from far away have been asking me lately whether people around Utah, being as pious as they are known to be,“ do Halloween”. And let me tell you, my friends, a story about Halloween in Utah County!

This is my second year here, and I don’t remember quite a busy night from last year, but oh my word, my doorbell is probably numb at the moment from all the small and big pilgrims ringing it since 5 PM. I think I stopped counting at 20. And we don't even have the light on the porch on, which was, I thought, a sure sign they would "know".

I personally don’t like Halloween – nothing to judge, just a matter of personal taste – and I never buy candy, so I never open the door on this night. But tonight might have changed my mind forever! I’d rather open the door and share in the fun costumes and eager eyes than be behind closed shutters and looking like the wicked witch of the west to all my neighbors’ kids.

But even before tonight! A friend of mine came to visit us in early October – and the whole town was dressed up for Halloween. She even noticed how, driving along the mountains, outside the Provo city limits, there was Halloween décor out in the middle of nothing, on a hill. The Spanish Fork downtown was also dressed up to the occasion, as early as October 8th!

As my friend put it: "Look! Crazy Halloween decorations in the middle of nowhere!"

From years past, I have been used to people coming dressed up in costumes at work on this day, maybe sharing candy with co-workers and decorating the cubes in dollar store garb. This was Halloween at work to me in the rest of America. Today, at my new job in the midst of Utah County, home of the BYU, things were much, much more different!

Practically every aisle was decorated, and one whole area was enclosed from floor to ceiling in black tarp, with the lights out – as if in a haunted house. Around 3 PM, the entire company stopped working, practically, and every department started playing loud music, according to the theme they all picked for the department: my area had big band, pirate ship music, and the area adjacent to ours had bluegrass music, as everyone there was dressed up as “swamp”, redneck folk.

And then, the spouses (mostly wives) came in with the kids – every family had anywhere between two and five kids, and every other family had one on the way, too. Everyone was wearing a costume, even kids as small as a few months, and some of the clothes were very intricate and home tailored – nothing you can get at WalMart, I am sure. These things were involved! The makeup, too. The kids went by all the departments, and greeted everyone, picking up one piece of candy from each offering bowl, under the close policing of the parents. It was quite a disciplined affair.

Everyone, kids and parents alike, seemed to have a ton of fun! So, yeah, I think I would conclude that they do do Halloween in Utah. And even are serious about it! Well, as serious as you can be about grown men in tights, that is!

The company I work for not only afforded to let everyone play for a couple of hours, but they also paid for all the candy we gave away to folks and they bought treats for everyone, too, in the form of festive donuts, crullers, lemonade and soft drinks.

Now, what all those parents can possibly do with 5 pieces of candy (per department) x 5 kids x 10 departments + candy from all the neighborhood houses + relatives’ houses is absolutely mind numbing to me! But they surely do prepare a lot for this one night of ghoulish fun! I could almost say they could give lessons to the rest of the nation, or at least the parts I have been familiar with till now.

Spanish Fork downtown, decorated for Halloween. We noticed this on October 8th, but I am sure it had been there for a while.

An Autumn Drive. A Random Thought.

2011-10-12T21:14:00.002-06:00

My car needed some repairs this week. So, I dropped it off overnight to the dealership and I picked it up this morning, when then sun was not all the way up, yet. They parked it in the parking lot, so it was cool and all covered in autumn dew when I drove it off the lot. When I climbed into the driver’s seat and drove away (forgetting to use my scraper to clear up the windows), I kept cringing at the touch of the cold wheel and I kept pulling my windows down, so I can see if it’s clear to turn. And then I remembered – all this cold and dewy window business felt awfully familiar.

Until May of last year, I never had a garage. Cleaning up the windows in the morning, during fall and winter was second nature before. Waiting for the car to warm up a little before I drove off was, too. All of a sudden all these things that were “normal”, routine, till a year ago were such a huge inconvenience this morning. All because for the past year my car has been sheltered in a garage, away from the elements.

And this is the trouble with life: we forget! We forget where we started. How low we started, and how hard. We get used to the “easy” and we forget we can handle harder times. I have a friend who says “the human body has an amazing ability to forget pain”. And worst of all, we take for granted, like I do the garage and the clean windows in the morning. And the (relatively) warm seats at 7 AM in October.

The past few weeks have been especially hard, with just little bombs blowing up here and there … And I have found myself sighing and telling myself how I’ve had enough and how I want some good news, for God’s sake. But I forget how much good news there is in the span of my every 24 hours. How I still walk and talk on my own, and I am no burden to anyone, how I still have my mind. How I can have a great job with benefits, that allows me freedom to eat and drink and play, when so many people are counting days till the unemployment will run out. How I have a shelter, and a beautiful family, how I love my husband and how he loves me back. How I am greeted every day by three beautiful, healthy, purring cats that never once fail to make me smile. How I still have sight to see the sun and the moon, and the beautiful mountains and the leaves turning. How I have beautiful friends who have not forgotten about me, even after over a year of physical absence! How … I can go on forever now, but you get the idea.

We forget. Way too easily, we do. And I thought to stop for a second and acknowledge some of the things that I am grateful for, even during these hard times.

This morning’s ride was a great reminder of the bigger things in my life – a reminder that I can always handle harder, that I have handled more (even as trivial as this simple ride may sound), and that I am still here, through it all. Today, I am grateful for even the harder things that came our way lately – because I know they will make us stronger and make us happier when things do get straightened out.

But I am not holding my breath. Life will do whatever life will do – hard or easy, its course is its own. In the meantime, I am just grateful for a garage, in the winter.

A Burning Issue

2011-09-26T22:21:00.003-06:00

Warning: a couple of times a year, I write about something totally trivial and personal. This is one of those times.

I have never been into clothes. Never been into fashion. I do know how to spell “style”, but that’s about how far it goes with me. I remember my dad telling me all throughout high school and college that no boy will even notice me because I dress like a “golanca” – which means … “rogue”, in a way. Back then, I used to wear his (torn, bell-bottom) jeans from when he went to college, so, go figure!

I could not tell you what goes through my head as I pick a shirt or a skirt or a pair of jeans. Well, my first thought is always: “Holy cow! Is that what people pay for cheese cloth?!” But my second thought is: “It won’t fit”! Unlike the majority of women out there, I hate shopping for clothes and shoes, because nothing ever fits. I have no set size. I can wear a 0, a 1, a 3 or a 4, a 5 or a 7, even a 14 or a 16 – depending on what department I shop in: women, petites, juniors, children, etc… I never know!

Unlike my beautiful sister, who knows exactly what’s in fashion now, in Montreal and Paris, and New York and what is a has been already … I have no clue whether denim is in or “so out”, same thing for chenille, velure or polyester. I have people tell me “oh, purple is the color of the summer” (that’s my favorite color), and I smile, thinking: “well, then, this one year I must be in style, ‘cause I have plenty of purple clothes, thank you very much”. But I never know, and fashion has never, ever preoccupied me!

As long as it’s covered and I am comfortable, I am good!

And that’s one of my criteria: money is first – it has to be cheap to buy it; I feel silly investing a lot in clothes and even shoes; comfort is a close second; if I don’t feel comfortable in something, there is no way I’ll buy it. And fashion can wait.

But lately, I have experienced some strange new feeling. I wake up every morning hating my clothes. All of them! They look like solitary little strange soldiers, lined up to torture me every day! I hate them all! Some don’t fit anymore, some are faded, some are so old I am simply bored by them! But for the first time in my life, I actually have some kind of feeling about my clothes!

I asked my husband if people who buy an expensive car for their midlife crisis have always been into cars, or just one day wake up that they want to buy an expensive car, and they just buy it, outta crazy impulse. I feel the same way: I have never been preoccupied by clothes, but all of a sudden, I want to burn all of mine and spend $5000 on a whole new wardrobe and a whole new ‘style’. Well, a style at all, from the previously non existent one!

Yes, ladies and gents, I am having my midlife crisis and mine is about clothes! True to form, as always – I am a late bloomer (to be noticing clothes just now – people usually have these dilemmas when they are teens!) and a precocious one, too (to be having my midlife crisis at 36, I guess) – but here we go … I am a mess! It still doesn’t excite me to go shopping for them, but I actually notice what women wear around me, to get ideas and figure out what in the world to do with myself next. I have no clue where to start. How do people learn about what looks good on them? How do people buy clothes? Really ...

I have not actually burned my clothes as of yet. I have not even thrown at least one t-shirt in a Good Will basket … I am not sure what will happen, really, but I do know I will have to do something soon! Spending 20 minutes in front of my shelves in the closet every morning trying to decide what to wear needs to stop! That time is for snoozing, not for styling! One is so much more becoming of me than the other.

And for my friends and family who read this and are now thinking “oh, I’ll take her shopping and I’ll show her a few things that’ll look cute on her” – STOP! You know me well enough to know the last thing I could be is a puppet! I am pretty lost, but I still can’t take advice benevolently.

This too shall have to be a self-discovery journey. I just hope I remember to burn only after I have gotten some new outfits to replace the old. It, after all, still needs to be covered first!

I know … I am trifling.

Be Quiet. The Earth Is Awake

2011-09-10T00:16:00.006-06:00

“Take a look into a few of the … volumes of the grand geological library of the park … no technical knowledge is required; only a calm day and a calm mind.” (John Muir, about Yellowstone)

Going to Yellowstone National Park this past Labor Day was mostly an accident. One of those trips we planned because, at the very last minute, we realized the summer was going to be over and oops! We didn’t make any plans for the summer’s last hurrah, the Labor Day Weekend. With three days to burn and with so much beauty all around us, it was not hard to pick. Actually, it was hard to pick, because we can never narrow it down to one destination – we have so much to see just within driving distance, we can never pick one thing.

But Yellowstone it was. And, at the advice of one of our friends, we decided to come back to Utah through The Grand Tetons, another amazing work of nature.

We drove up through Utah and Idaho to make it to West Yellowstone, MT on Saturday. The drive is mostly through a “mild” desert, not quite as arid as Southern Utah or Arizona, but still yellow enough to not call it a pasture. Idaho had no potatoes to be seen from the haste of the car! Kind of shocking, really. We stopped for fast food on the way up, just because we wanted to make it to Montana before dark, and get to see some of the sights around town. The KFC in Pocatello, ID had the worst mashed potatoes I have ever had. Ever. Hands down. In Idaho, mind you! And also, KFC was out of … chicken! Yep! No white meat left.

Once you cross the Montana border, everything reminds you of Twin Peaks (its creator, David Lynch is from Montana, of course) or Brokeback Mountain. (Where would we be without our pop culture, right?). The mountains are rolling and green, the pine tree woods are lush and majestic, the streams are cold and crystal clear. The air is clearer. Everything is lush! The grass is soft and green. Log cabins and river stone walls abound. Montana is like coming home, to me. Everything I ever wanted when I am thinking of peace.

Seeing Montana is another dream come true for me. Always dreamed of the tall mountains, the untouched territory, the bison roaming free, the Last Frontier, the Big Sky … It’s all that and more … You just need to explore it – there is no way to do it justice by enunciating what it looked like to my own, biased, naked eye.

The second day, Sunday, we planned to just drive through as much of Yellowstone National Park as we could! As much as daylight would allow, that is. After an “interesting” breakfast (more on the “people” and food of this trip later), we headed west, towards the border with Wyoming. Wyoming, or as much of it as I have seen, is much like Western Montana, relief-wise. Lots of very well taken care of farms, too.

Now, as far as I am concerned, Yellowstone was a total mystery to me. I had no idea what to expect. Every time I would google images of Yellowstone, I would get pictures of wildlife. So, I was not expecting one kind of landscape over another. I had no clue what kind of land I’d be in: woodsy? Desert? Rivers? Falls? Lakes? Prairie grass? No idea!

Coming from Utah, I am always amazed at how diverse this land out here is geologically. How many different colors of rock, and how boulders and sand and everything in between are part of the same cohesive landscape … But Yellowstone is diversity raised to the rank of art. Not only the colors of various soil, or the juxtaposition of rock and grass and woods and clear rivers and deep, cold, serene lakes is breathtaking, but the consistency of every surface is amazing: from sand to crumbling rocks, from mud to clay, from bubbling hot waters to bitter cold mountain rapids – it’s all an explosion of color, substance and movement mixed in with stillness.

Everyone in the park was there to see “creatures”. At every stop, we heard people looking for some kind of animal or bird. I guess those google searches influenced everyone’s expectations after all. I didn’t want to miss out on the beauty of it all, so I took everything in – whether it was a creature (and they were plenty!) or a milky white puddle of boiling clay - I let my senses drown in the richness of it all.

Of course, Yellowstone is famous for the geysers, and mostly for its “Old Faithful” one, which erupts every day, almost every 90 minutes. As we have found out, it’s not all “that” faithful after all – 90 minutes is really an average – it can be 30 minutes or 2 hours … I won’t talk about all the geology behind it all, because you can easily research that for yourself … The geysers were indeed amazing. I have seen hot springs before, but never so active. And so present, and so … noisy.

The Yellowstone Movie

Being that close to an active puddle of sulfuric acid is surreal – you feel like a volcano will erupt in your face any second, but at the same time you feel humble, that the earth shares its life with you so viscerally.

It’s so amazing that these geysers which feel like they kill everything they touch are actually full of life – the signs explain all about the bacteria which lives in them. And there are trees around which are still green, and dragon flies landing on hot rocks. In the middle of so much apparent death – a glimpse that life is perpetual and stubborn.

I loved the geysers, but I also loved everything else about the Park – the Madison river, with its winding banks, full of fly fishers and trout and rapids was my second favorite, I guess. The way wild creatures share their presence with us, humans, also rendered me grateful. We didn’t see the much talked about and warned against grizzlies, but we saw elk, and bison, innumerable crowds of ravens, lots of dragon flies, ducks and geese.

On the third day, we started off towards the South Entrance of Yellowstone, again through Wyoming, and onto The Grand Tetons National Park. They are by far the most amazing and awe inspiring mountains I have ever seen. I have seen mountains taller than the Tetons, but there is something surprising about them! They rise completely straight up, at an 90 degree angle almost, against this clear blue set of lakes (Jackson, Jenn) – and the contrast between one’s tallness and other’s flatness is what makes them stand out. Plus, they are almost completely rocky. There is some pine-y vegetation towards the bottom half of The Tetons, but they are almost completely rock otherwise.

The town of Jackson, WY is the kind of town, at first glance, that I would love to retire to, one day, if it were close to a major airport. It’s definitely a mountain town, a cowboy land, and Western town, all in one. Art stores at every corner, and the architecture is crafted in such a way to not insult or disturb the beautiful landscape around. I also had the best nachos in the whole wide world at The Town Square Tavern, in downtown Jackson, across the central park of the city! Best guacamole and best seasoned ground beef –and I don’t even like beef!

And speaking of food. And of people. In stark contrast to the amazing beauty of this land was the relative ugliness of the people in these parts. I am not sure what it was, maybe it’s such a heavy trafficked area that people in customer service are just so tired of pleasing cranky tourists all day long they are just plain rude! The (dis)service we received was pretty appalling.

On our first night in West Yellowstone, we had dinner at the Bullwinkle’s Saloon and Eatery. The whole service was a train wreck! I asked for a straw three times, till she finally came up with not one, but three of them. Not sure why 3, but … I guess she showed me, huh?! She forgot to put our beer order in the computer. About 20 minutes later, after we asked about them, she said “someone didn’t bring them to you?!” in surprise. After another 10 minutes, she came back to admit she forgot what beers we ordered and to say she will put them in “right now”. She warned us that if Aa. wanted to replace his mashed potatoes with fries “there will be an extra charge because, you see, we need to make the kitchen think. So, they get paid extra for that”. OK! But then, when the food came out, she brought mashed potatoes, still. So, since they “didn’t think”, can we get the surcharge withdrawn? Don’t think so!

I ordered Idaho trout, and I got… a fish, but when I tasted it, it had the most foul taste ever. I have always said I have never met a fish I didn’t like before that night. And what was worst of all – trout is my absolute favorite fish! There was no way you can have a bad trout. Ever. After trying to talk myself that it’s probably my taste buds that got screwed up and the fish is fine, the waitress came back with yet another plate – of another fish but the same sides I had with my first dish: she admitted they gave me the walleye, and not the trout. So, she yanked my “wrong” fish from in front of me, and placed the trout down instead. And yes, the trout was delicious! At the very end, she “apologized” by giving us a free dessert absolutely drenched in chocolate, with the comment: “Well, I figured, everyone loves chocolate, so here you go”. Umm… yeah, everyone but this one (me!). No, they didn’t subtract the charge for the fries! $60 later we wondered where in the world is courtesy and common sense in today’s service world.

The next morning, at The Three Bear Lodge restaurant (we also stayed at Three Bear Lodge, which was beautiful!), my husband ordered the bacon and American cheese omelet. He got bacon and mushrooms. No cheese. The drinks were served by Grumpy (as in the dwarf). I have never seen a person so unfit for working with people. He acted like we woke him up from his nap and if we asked for one more thing, he’d pull his Colt 45 at us right away and then requests would perish! He never did come back with a straw, either. He didn’t talk. He just puffed and threw things … Pretty scary, actually.

People were overall cold up there, and pretty much unapologetic! The nicest man we encountered was the guy who sold us the entrance tickets for The Park – an elderly gentleman who sits in a lonely booth all day, waving people by at Yellowstone Park. Just sweetest man, who “thank you, Sir”-ed us and “have a nice day, Sir”-ed us, and smiled and just loved life! He was not working for tips, either!

As enchanted as we were by nature, we were equally put off by the humankind! Till we got to Jackson, WY, the very last day. In the middle of a strip mall, there was a box with these words on it ”Free Poems Weekly. Take One”. And we did. A small touch of humanity and unconditional kindness.

So, maybe … there is hope. Just like the small amounts of life in the death of the sulfur in the geysers. Maybe, just maybe, kindness and life will exist, albeit in small amounts. It’s worth searching for it, anyway.

From “The Poetry Box” - thank you, Chandler:

“But a single rose
Every petal every thorn
The rain pouring down
The sweet smell tingles my nose
Like the smell of that sweet rose
Raindrops run down my face
Like the tears I cry
Hidden among the cold drops
Tears only visible to your eye
Only you can see through the rain
Helping to relieve some of the pain”

(“You’re a Fallen Petal” – Chandler MyRick – 11th grade student at Summit High School)

"Pandora's Box", in Jackson, WY - please click on the box for pictures from this trip. And enjoy roaming ...

Tomato Jackpot

2011-08-29T21:47:00.006-06:00

This time last year, if you remember (I certainly do!!!), I was strolling all the Farmers’ Markets a couple of counties over in search for home grown tomatoes. And almost every time, I would come home either empty handed, or disappointed, with tomatoes that tasted so-and-so, but cost more than the grocery ones.

I love fresh tomatoes! My poor old grandma, God rest her in peace, is probably smiling down on me (I have said this before, too) knowing I love them so much – I used to hate them as a kid and she used to make me eat them every morning. Now, I can’t get enough of them. But not literally!

So, after last year’s tomato drought, I decided to put a few tomato plants in my new veggie garden. I bought about 10 or so, thinking, juuuussst maybe one or two will bear fruit. And holy Christmas! They all did! Don’t even ask me what kind I bought, ‘cause I think I bought one of each kind, telling myself that “well, we’re experimenting and there is no way they’re all going to come out, anyway”. They all bore fruit, and they are all deliciousness in a bowl! Sweet, and ripe, and firm. They are so heavy with fruit, they break the stakes! They are all laying on one side right now, and I have given up trying to tie them up them properly.

My heavy with fruit tomato plants

I have made tons of tomato salads, and cooked with them so far: just put them over pasta, with herbs and such, made omelet with them, soups, put them on the grill, even! Let me tell you, my Southern friends would tell me there is nothing like a fresh tomato sandwich, and that is the pure truth! But skip the sandwich – just slice them up, put some salt and pepper on them and eat them on the side of your favorite … whatever …

My wild cherry tomatoes

I am not tomatoed out yet! I am so greedy, I am not even sharing them! And they keep coming, too! Now, I am looking for recipes on how to preserve them for the winter – who would have thought that in a state where the farmers had trouble growing them last year, I could get such a harvest?!

Till I find just the perfect way to can them or the perfect recipe for a canned sauce, I just bagged several portions of freshly chopped tomatoes for winter chili and I am planning my next salad meal. Cannot wait! Hmmm… the smell of tomatoes on your hands …

Remember Bubba in Forrest Gump telling Forrest about however many ways you can cook shrimp?! Well, that’s how I feel right about now with tomatoes! What else can I do with them?! Good thing we have google for that, and allrecipes.com.

And as for sharing them. Maybe next year. Hopefully.

And in case you forgot Bubba - a reminder

Torn by Contradictions

2011-08-27T18:14:00.009-06:00

“God has cared for these trees, saved them from drought, disease, avalanches, and a thousand tempests and floods. But he cannot save them from fools.” ~ John Muir

They were apple trees. I think. I drive to work every morning through this neighborhood. It’s a mixed bag of old and new houses, some well kept, some not so. Not a cookie cutter business, but sort of a compact but eclectic mix of this and that – all sizes, all sidings, all sorts of landscape, green and desert. In the middle of this small city world, there is a beautiful green and fresh orchard that stretches for a couple of blocks, behind a well kept split rail, white fence, where horses graze in the heat. A fresh, green spot in the middle of asphalt, giving your eye a break in today’s overgrown urban jungle. Or should I say … there was an orchard.

The orchard is sort of a big deal, perhaps, been there longer than the mix-and-match houses, because the neighborhood elementary school adjacent to it is called Orchard Elementary. Judging by the 70’s looking architecture of the school, it looks like it’s been there a while. This week, I drove past the orchard as usual, only to see all the trees cut down to the ground, and a big sign in front of the fence announcing custom homes coming up soon.

My heart sank! I keep trying to forget about it, to not think about it too long, but the poor, beautiful trees laying down and withering – dying - under the desert sun have been haunting me like a bad deed trying to scream out from cover! What a shame! In a place where it’s so hard to grow anything, because of long winters, too much rock and not enough rich soil, too much scorching sun and not a lick of shade, a whole entire orchard that somehow weathered it all is now gone. And for what?!

A page of Americana - with this old truck driving by the "Orchard Elementary" sign

My first impulse was: “Great! We have thousands of empty houses people (me, included) can’t sell in today’s market, all we need is more homes?!” I hated the person who came up with the idea and hated those who cut the trees down. But then my husband reminded me – maybe the farmer is just trying to get out of debt and the money he got from the developer will pay for all his troubles and allow him to live comfortably, or maybe he has a huge loan due to health trouble to pay off, and this will allow him to do that. Maybe his kids need to go to college? And everyone wants new homes nowadays – some families will be happy there.

I don’t know what to think. Sure, those are all good points. But the trees, somehow, to me, have to have a say in all this too. Years and years of fighting drought and wind. Years of trying to be fruitful, despite all adversities. The assiduous care of the farmer, who had to water them, fertilize the soil, prune, mow around them, weed, protect them from pests! All that – gone. In half of a day, all that work, and sweat, and green – gone. Then, the name "orchard" which established a neighborhood (the neighborhood grocery store shopping center is called "Orchards", too), a page of the history of the city, maybe - elbowed aside by "civilization".

Behind the pretty fence, the fruit trees cut down to the ground
(click on the picture for a larger view)

All good reasons for it set a side, I can’t help but feel a big, deep hole in my heart. There is something sad about trees being killed. A little spot of heaven on earth goes away. A huge disappointment in humanity. A feeling of emptiness and loss like that of missing a good ol’ friend only now, they’re gone forever.

“Who leaves the pine-tree, leaves his friend,
Unnerves his strength, invites his end.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson ~ "Woodnotes"

I Love America, the Past

2011-08-21T13:23:00.003-06:00

A personal quest kind of blog

“At some point … we became a nation of whining, sniveling, complaining, suing, Prozac-gobbling, label-warning, non-spanking, airbag-surrounded, water-conserving, designated-driving, emailing geeks.” (Prioleau Alexander – “You Want Fries with That?”)

I come from a long line of very hard workers – as I am sure most of you are. They raised me believing that nothing is ever achieved without sweat, blood and tears. And most often than not, the government, your company, your rich brother, or just life in general, good ol’ Karma, will rob you of everything you’ve got. And that’s just normal. But no matter the hardships, you worry about yourself, and keep going.

I moved to America, leaving everything I had and knew behind, because I was also raised that in America, things are different. You work hard, and you get to keep most of it (except for the taxes, of course, but they have laws for that!). Injustices are punished and fairness is restored. People are respectful and own their actions.

I was raised to believe that in America all things are possible. I grew up reading the stories of the making of this beautiful nation, stories of freeing of the Old South and of shaping up of the great, big Wild West where people started with nothing but their own bodies and own two hands, and slowly and assiduously, made a life. For them, and their followers.

Back in the day where there was no law, no boundaries, and nothing but willing, hardworking people with a vision. And thus America was built. No complaining about hardships, just a big, wonderful dream of making it. They crossed an ocean, they fought persecution and extreme poverty, diseases unknown, and they made a country. They had will. They had hope. They had drive. They had grit! And amazing things did happen – the civilization we enjoy today is proof of that. That’s the America of my childhood stories. The sense of adventure, and freedom to achieve something lured me in like an iris does a bee!

As they often tell you, once you get closer, the shine seems to fade, however. I sometimes wonder, in my day to day life, when and where did that shine disappear? I am wondering are we truly the followers of such wonderfully driven and resolute people that built this unequal under the sun nation, of freedom, equality and hope?! Where are today’s whiners, and complainers, and weaklings truly coming from? When did apathy replace fortitude?!

Our world today is full of people who are mostly ungrateful, self-entitled, self-absorbed, over-consuming, space-hogging, comfort seekers, who need buttons and “apps” for everything to avoid using a minimum effort for anything. The pride is still there, however, but its roots are gone!

I am still to find the true passion that built this country in our every day life, especially in days like today where this passion is needed. It’s so sad, some days, to watch this! A myth busted is always disappointing, but even more so when that myth was the Bible of your own life. We all complain about too much work and not enough pay, and we too often forget about people who just a couple of hundred of years ago were still tracking across an empty and beautiful land full of nothing but dust, starting farms and building roads with nothing but their own backs! Too much work?!

I hear people every day that that “have to have” comfort, and recognition, and respect, but they show little effort to earn those. The sense of expectation is far bigger than the sense of deserving.

We criticize that the waitress is rude, the internet is too slow, the burger is too dry, the a/c is not cold enough, there is no customer service anymore – and these are all unacceptable, unless – unless – unless – we are in the business of providing these! If we are supposed to provide these for others, all of a sudden, things change. Then we want amendments! “Well, yeah, I talked bad to my customer but my five year old is sick with the flu so I didn’t get much sleep last night” or “I showed up for work every day last month – why didn’t I get a bonus?!”. Or “Oh, yeah, Sir, your internet is slow, but you can’t stream a movie, have 100 tabs open, upload pictures and a movie all at the same time. Sorry.” But this shall not apply to us.

We find such easy excuses when we forget how people before us could not afford them, as their lives depended on their own drive and resolution. They were meant to follow those or perish! How and when did we forget that we actually have to participate in order to reap rewards? That we have to care? That life is hard, but then the pay is grand? We have technology, but the rules of common sense should still apply, don’t you think?!

I think when Bush II got elected, and even worse, re-elected, mediocrity was accepted as the new law of the land. All of a sudden, “life was not that bad for a C grade student” and we could not leave anyone behind! Striving for excellence and trying harder, staples that built America, were never to return as part of the equation of making an American. Excuses flourished. “Good try” replaced “good job” at every level of society. And “good try” was good enough.

There is no accountability anymore. We sue the city because they don’t build fences around rivers, so our kids won’t drown. We come on the radio and declare: “Well, if society wants me to be skinny, they need to provide me with the tools to know what I am eating (about putting calories and fat content on menus nationwide) so I can be skinny”. Really? Seriously? You should have called us first, before your first bite – we would have clued you in! But would you have listened? There are always choices – and today, it’s hip to make the wrong ones and then find a scapegoat to sue.

The decay you see in this society is visible, to me at any level. Our teens might not know who Dostoyevsky, or Cezanne were. Or even Fitzgerald or Frost. But virtually every one of them misses life going by because their heads are buried in a smart phone with a thousand apps doing absolutely nothing, at all times. If I thought finding humor in Jackass was bad, more recently, our society started finding humor in “the human centipede” – and that says enough!

Where I come from we say that one can become weary of “too much good”, and I think that’s what happened to our country. Except for the blue collar worker, or the under minimum wage worker at WalMart, we are all becoming weary of too much good – and the things that “matter” to today’s world are frightening and embarrassing.

Whatever happened to the dream I had of America? A land where everyone was free, happy, resourceful, intelligent, with endurance and drive and worked towards something bigger and better than just shining their navel?!

I talk with friends and family from other cultures and this new era of America is a laughing stock for everyone out there. We boast loud and clear that we don’t need to fix out health system, because we don’t want to lose access to our medicine which is the “best in the world”, and yet I was given the wrong treatment for a sinus infection! And the misdiagnoses, inflated prices, poor paperwork, unresponsiveness, lack of care abound in every family I know!

We have no interest in culture, no manners, our political system is just as bad as everyone else’s out there, and yet we not only don’t think we should be the ones to fix it, but we emptily demand the respect of everyone else in the world, forgetting that respect is earned and there is no kind of real, worthwhile leadership other than that by example. We still clench our fist across our heart and declare ourselves patriots on July 4th. Our pride grows inversely proportional to our resourcefulness and involvement.

I fear some days that all this Americanism is contagious and I am becoming more American than I ever wanted to be. But the choice is to be a cynic – and I am not sure what’s worse.

I still love America, and I am still happy and grateful that I am one of her citizens. But, as a true Romanian passeiste, I love the past more. I also love it because it still allows the freedom for every one of us to be whoever we are, regardless of what’s going on around us. For now. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a chance not to forget my own past.

I stepped off the box, but if I could make one more suggestion: grab a copy of the “Fries” book quoted above! It will open your eyes to a whole new world. The world you are living in today.

From "Family Town" to "Everything Town"

2011-08-16T22:51:00.008-06:00

Interesting fact: Did you know that tiramisu is made with … lemons instead of coffee in some Utah County restaurants?! For those who don’t get it, just google “coffee forbidden Utah” and find out.

We are so lucky to be so close to Park City for so many reasons. Not just because it’s a picturesque place to visit, with breathtaking mountains and beautiful architecture, but it’s our breath of fresh air. Literally and figuratively!

We go to Park City for The World Market. We go there for the Whole Foods store. We go there for The Eating Establishment restaurant and Squatters' IPA. We go there for good bagels. We go every summer for Park Silly Sunday Market, and every fall for The Parade of (vacation) Homes.

But most of all, we go there to escape into a sense of normalcy! It’s our chance to remind ourselves we still live in the US of A, and not on a patriarchal estate, somewhere, on a remote island where God locked us up and threw the key away.

In our very guarded, very securely, ever so carefully and morally tightly packed ‘Family County’ we feel like suffocating some days. After tripping on strollers everywhere in our town, after dining next to “The Smiths, family of 23”, of which adults are always outnumbered, every Friday night, no matter what restaurant we pick, after weeks and months of frowns when we order wine in a restaurant and a parade of several waiters in one order because the 16 year old, nor the 18 year old, nor their parent waiters know how to make a ‘non-virgin’ margarita, it’s nice to go “out” (literally) and … have choices!

Funny how our lives change. As the old cliché goes, you don’t know what we’ve got till it’s gone. Ordering a drink, being in an adult place, like a bar, and feeling that comfortable unwinding kind of feeling at the end of a long week, where you congregate with other adults and hash out the stress gone by, used to be commonplace a year and a half ago, in another state. Not anymore. Now, it’s a treat that you have to travel to the next city to get.

This past weekend, we got away for an impromptu couple of hours to the said Mecca of Park City. We ate at Bandit’s Barbecue and I re-discovered another long time culinary love of mine that I don’t order but maybe once a year: fried pickles, baby! And here I was thinking that I left them buried into the Ol’ South! Not so.

We also took the chairlift across Main Street and beyond – more than an hour of peace, quiet, fresh pine and sap fragrances, and lots of fresh air. That was such a recharging experience, too! There is something overwhelmingly serene and therapeutic about being forced to just sit, with nowhere to go, and just be. Just breathe and watch and listen. And wonder. That’s what a chairlift does.

But as beautiful as the nature was, and always is, our most favorite part was just to connect with “other” kinds of people. Less judgy, perhaps, and more accepting (or completely ignorant!) of their neighbors. We enjoyed seeing the big, wide, crazy world out there, first hand, past the borders of our subdivision and small city life: colorful people and street décor, no reservations young artists of all sorts of media, we loved enjoying the exotic smells of street foods, like Thai and Peruvian, loved even seeing the oddities, like super fancy mobile restrooms (not the kind you think!), funky art like necklaces made of bent spoons and forks, and spoiled rotten puppies, as well as people eating out on the sidewalks on small patios and decks, taking in the mountain dim sun!

Most importantly, we loved just feeling like ourselves again. With freedom to talk however we want, and order without any nervousness that they might be out of … adult beverages on a weekend, freedom to even shop, on a Sunday …Freedom to move about without tripping on 2 year olds. We forgot there for a minute we’re in the same state. We forgot we’re not on vacation yet. And the ever so joyful and acute feeling of letting go and enjoying the moment was one last plus for which Park City will always be our get-out-and-breathe little getaway! Till next time, world …we’re back on the estate. *Sigh*

For pictures from this midday adventure, click the “last chair”.

Coming back from the mountain on the chairlift - last chair floating by us ...

The Parade

2011-08-04T21:38:00.011-06:00

So, my husband and I are home improvement junkies. We watch everything there is to watch on HGTV and DYI Network, and we parade all of the homes there are to parade in a season, three counties over. We like to learn about what’s possible in a home, just because we’re both, at core, really, home bodies. We need to make it as comfortable as we can, right?! And what are you gonna do when you make less money than your heart desires to spend? You dream, and you snoop on others who can afford it, right?!

And you can surely dream while visiting these places – for as many great ideas as we have gotten from these tours, we have gotten that many crazy ones, too. And the people watching is priceless!

Great ideas we have seen. And I am not talking about the really “crazy”, extravagant ones, like golf courses in the basement, and skate boarding half pipes, and mini movie theaters with 20 recliners on premises. Or basement bars with 4-5 suspended television sets above your head. Or indoor pools and bedroom balconies complete with hot tubs and water slides into the waterfall pool down below … I am also talking about the practical, new ideas that we can actually use in real life, for better insulation, cost saving siding and roofing, creative and economical ways to build heating and cooling systems, using solar and wind energy. The list goes on and on. These latter features are really the lessons we learn, constructively, for when we might be ready, one day, to build our own humble abode. One day!

With every house we see, we become more and more fascinated by what’s deemed “comfortable” and “needed” in today’s world. And what is a home anymore? Is it just a place to shelter you from the seasons and offer you comfort at the end of a long week? Or very much a showcase of how much money you have and how wild your architect and interior designer get? Do these people really need all the 10 bedrooms and 12 baths? Really? I know Utah people have large families, but seriously? Most of these mansions have so many “toys” they would never be fit for kids anyway. A horse barn and a waterfall? And a vintage kitchen as if peeled from a French magazine?! Sometimes I wonder how they even have time to cover by foot all the square footage in their own home, in a whole year! I bet you they stash stuff in closets and forget about it, and end up with 10 of the same thing when they eventually move out.

View of the Salt Lake Valley from the living room of one of the homes on Capitol Hill

The size of the homes is not the only thing that amazes me, though. The materials sometimes are unreal, as well as the facilities. You can see everything from elevators to complicated intercom and surround sound systems, from wrap around porches on the second floor to mini play rooms tucked under staircases for the really little ones.

Sinks, in various shapes and colors, made of anything from Murano to recycled glass, the quiet, infinity bathtubs, the efficient (and also quiet) toilets, the 2 toilet master baths, each with its own little room, the views of some of these homes … oh, my! And some homes are built just purely for fun – like the replica of the “Up” house – yes, a real life, very much in-livable copy of the house you saw in Pixar’s “Up” cartoon. Tell me that’s not done purely for experiment and show?!

The "Up" House - complete with the balloons and a hired (or volunteer?!) "actor". The living room has a mural of 'Paradise Falls' above the fireplace and many other movie details

They had on the radio today that the majority of people in Haiti don’t have “permanent homes:”, they live in tents, under tarps and cardboard roofs, in these temporary shelters, since last year’s earthquake, but in America, we can afford to spend a minimum of $100,000 for a “simple home” just for the sake of building.

But it’s fun to snoop. Except for the low points.

The visits are usually fun, except for some “snags” that cramp our picky styles. Like, the infamous “surgeon’s booties”. Man, whoever invented the system was not very bright! I mean – the use of these booties at the home shows: they ask you to slip them over your shoes, not to step on the rugs/ carpet/ hardwoods with your muddy shoes (no mud in the desert, mind you, but …). The worst part is not the wearing of them, but the fact that they reuse them over and over and over again for three weeks straight. And since it’s summer time, most everyone wears sandals – and the booties are wet and smelly from likewise feet! Some homes ask you to put the booties on over you bare feet – again, reusing them forever … and then … it gets really juicy! Some parades, however, forgo the booties, and those are our favorite, no matter what homes they have on display!

Then, it’s the mandatory “chat”. There is usually a representative from the builder’s business or the realtor who’s listing the house – and they must talk to you, about their business, and about your needs, and how the two might meet. And we're not talkers.

I must say, though, other than their normal "business curiosity" – they’re in this business to make money, right?! – they are not too bad. They don’t require you to sign anything, at any time. Some of them might offer a drawing for home décor or other home services, but they are not forcing anyone to sign up – which is pretty nice.

But then, there is the painter guy who makes all the art and murals in the house. And the stay-at-home mom jewelry maker, and the Blazer scooter salesman, and … the trust fund guy – all waiting for you to exit through the garage and while you’re helplessly and embarrassingly and disgustedly peeling off your booties, they jump on your back like a flock of hungry vultures – even with nothing but dirty looks at times - making you feel even smaller than wearing the booties does and answer their lame questions about when was the last time you thought of a will or a trust fund?! I guess they make money at this – but, again: seriously?! Is that a place to “hit people up” for stuff like that?! Credit card offers are next, I am sure!

As for the other visitors, they are usually polite and courteous. Except for the high maintenance wife who insists on yelling out how cheap everything looks compared to her own house, while she snaps shots with her Iphone and sends them over to her rich husband, on business in Shanghai, I am sure. Or except for the parents who think the open house is a new playground that just opened for their 5 kids, and who are letting them behave likewise … But then … they never offer lessons in behaving in public at these joints, so what are you going to do?! All are welcome, and as we know: “all” is a pretty wide range.

Overall, it’s a fun experience. Educational, in many ways, enlightening in more of others, and never boring – by any stretch of the imagination. If you think it’s boring, just ask my husband for the cure: open a cupboard or a closet, and you’ll find a reason for a chuckle. Almost always!

We were so shocked that someone had the guts to display this at the entrance. We had to emigrate to Salt Lake County for this, but ... it was a treat!

Forever

2011-07-25T21:58:00.003-06:00

He would have been 40 today. In a strange, prophetic way, he always knew he won’t make it, though. And that, I think, makes it even sadder.

For over three years now, I have been thinking about him every day. And praying, as promised, for his strength, wherever he may be. I hope he has that … What we have here, after 3 years, is still less light, less spirit, a black cloud when we watch The Phillies win, or the Cavaliers lose, or …

I have thought of writing about today all day long, and I am still at a loss for words. A sense of deeper than deep unfairness that he didn't live to see today chokes me up! And how could it not?!

He is still very much alive, and very much, painfully gone, every day … It never gets easier. What they say about time healing wounds doesn’t work when someone slashes your throat to its core with pain, unfairness, helplessness …

The lessons he taught me in strength, friendship, forgiveness, courage allow me to move on, somewhat – but his loss is still crippling. Taking our loved ones for granted is not excusable anymore …

It’s hard to find the right words, because for a person like he was there will never be words big enough. The void left, too deep of a crater to fill … even with sentences …

The only things I could say have been said before – some of them in this song that one of his best friends sent me after the funeral. This song, and its lyrics “carried me through” the past years. Thank you, R.D. – you, as always, came through!

Rest in peace, my dear friend, and I hope you make another world out there brighter and happier just like you did ours …

All of my dreams
Seem to fall by the side
Like a discarded thought
Or the day's fading light
But I know that if I could just
See you tonight
Forever!

At times we may fall,
Like we all tend to do
But I'll reach out and find
That I've run into you
your strength is the power
That carried me through
Forever!

Your kindness for weakness
I never mistook
I worried you often,
Yet you understood
That life is so fleeting,
These troubles won't last
Forever!

Inspired me truly
You did from the start
To not be afraid
And to follow my heart
There's a piece of you with me
They can't tear apart
Forever!

In times we may fall
Like we all tend to do
Your strength is the power
That carried me through

Forever …

Forever I'll find you, forever we'll be
Forever your power and strength stays with me

(Dropkick Murphys – Forever)

It’s Summer

2011-07-21T07:23:00.001-06:00

No school buses to dodge on the way to work … No school news on the radio … Waking up in blinding sunlight even before 6 AM … Sound of fresh, full green leaves in the wind at the window … Cats are perky. Finally.

We hunt for fresh, local tomatoes and home made cheeses and pepper jellies at the Farmers’ Market, every chance we get. We go to “music in the park”. Parade of homes just happened.

We bought a grill and used it. Meat tastes different cooked in the heat. You absorb it through your pores, too, not just your taste buds. The smell of fresh peppers on a flame – like no other.

We got sunburned. We talk about camping and fireworks. We plan the next ball game – soon. Snow is still on the peaks. Still. We plan for street festivals. We ride the motorcycle. Finally.

We eat fresh strawberries and blueberries out of the yard. We watch our roses bloom, again and again. We have a garden! We put down mulch. We mow. We water every night. We’re waiting, patiently, for our first tomato harvest. It’s all about tomatoes, all of a sudden.

Neighbor’s kids are running through sprinklers screaming like it’s their last day on earth. Parents are happy to see them out of the house, and don’t care. Dogs are lazy.

We get the gnawing feeling that all this is but a dream or a blink in time ...

The a/c running in overdrive. Gas bill goes down. We drive to the ice cream parlor in the middle of the week, just because … it’s hot.

“Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.” ~ Russel Baker

An Unplanned Weekend

2011-06-19T21:52:00.015-06:00

The rhythm of the weekend, with its birth, its planned gaieties, and its announced end, followed the rhythm of life and was a substitute for it.
(F. Scott Fitzgerald)

One thing I found funny about America back in my first days here, was that everyone would ask you at the office on a Friday “what are your plans for the weekend?”, and on Monday: “How was your weekend? What did you do?”. I guess this is a cultural thing – Americans don’t get a lot of time off, so they try to make it worth their while when they do get it – like during the weekend .

This is what the world around us looks like from the motorcycle ... And the dashboard, too ...

Although my husband and I try to do fun things during our time together, on most weekends, sometimes, we just plan nothing and let the days unfold as they may … and we end up doing a combination of (planned) chores, things that need to get done, and … surprises on the way …

This was such a weekend …

We walked into a public garden after sitting on a bench and eating sandwiches for Friday dinner … We went for a motorcycle ride to a local diner and for a ride in the countryside around us on Saturday. I also had the best sausage omelet and best hash browns I have had in a long while, too at this place! Yum!

Our breakfast destination: Model A Cafe, Mapleton, UT

We shopped for gifts for friends and shopped some for us, too, the same day, as well.
I gardened and he made wood things, too … just to keep our creative juices going, and our energy engaged.

Our very first strawberry, in our very new garden! It's working!!

Shopping for plants this weekend, we got this "money tree" at Lowes. Let the cash flow flood! We hope ...

We cooked and read and caught up with friends online on Sunday …
And that was about it …

Still experimenting with my "baby Canon", I had to take a close-up of my beautiful hibiscus plant - still amazed at the resolution!

We bought these bagged "sticks" in the spring, labeled "roses" at some garden store and put them in the ground. Now, we have this!

My favorite thing was probably the garden walk and the impromptu sandwich on Friday, and the persistent rain on Sunday, which made for a lazy morning … the motorcycle ride was, as always, awakening …

Another labor of love - my husband made this beautiful cherry wood bowl

Here’s to lazy, unplanned weekends! We re to plan life is so carefully, usually, that we can always use some productive (and refreshing) “chaos”, at least when we take some time off … Finally!

... and what's a lazy weekend without a lazy cat in your lap?! Here's Gypsy, in complete abandon ...

Chatting with God

2011-06-17T23:57:00.009-06:00

This is a long overdue blog. But I wanted to stop for a minute, and before my memories get dusty, I wanted to record my very first trip to some beautiful, surreal places that not only this state that I live in but this planet has been blessed with.

Back in April, for our first anniversary, we took a weekend trip to the National Parks of Bryce and Zion, in Utah. We also saw a couple of smaller parks in the same area, Kodachrome and Coral Pink Sand Dunes. And of course we drove through just the mere beauty and wonder that lies in between.

We started the trip on a Thursday night, and we stopped for our first night in Bryce. The start was a bit rocky – as we got to our hotel, the hotel was pitch dark and there was a sign on the door that they are closed for the season. We made reservations online, and we had the confirmation, and we didn’t quite understand how this could happen. Luckily, a brand new Best Western was open across the street, and the stay was wonderful, after all. Some things work for the better, you know, even when they might seem that they start for the worse.

The next morning, Friday, we had breakfast at a local staple: Ruby’s Inn. This is a historic resort that bears the name of the old settling outside of Bryce Canyon Park. The name of the settling was changed to Bryce Canyon City not long ago. Breakfast was delicious, and the service was great, but what struck us was that at every table in the room you could hear a different language. From French to German to Japanese – we were for sure in Tourist Land!

Friday, we spent the whole day exploring Bryce Canyon. It’s a drive-in kind of a tour (or should I say “drive through”), so you just get in the car, and drive along the roadway, stopping every so often to an overview, to see the formations on the canyon. There are trails along the way, picnic sites and campgrounds, but we didn’t stop for any of those. We spent the whole day just driving, taking in the sights and stopping to shoot. Pictures, that is!

I had seen pictures of it before, but being there is another experience altogether! You are at the top of all these abysses, looking down on beautiful sculptures of red-yellow-and-white rock! Not two formations are alike and not two valleys resemble each other! The amazingly rich creativity of nature is just breathtaking! The hoodoos look much like sand castles, of piled up dirt, carefully dripped on top of each other in small piles till a huge pile formed, all cemented in millions of years of weather and waiting.

You see birds flying over the precipices, and nesting, snow (at that time) on the highest peaks, friendly deer crossing your path, and above everything, you hear nothing but silence! The wind was echoing in the rocky valley, and you heard nothing else. Maybe the occasional screaming bird, amazed at what’s underneath it, perhaps!

Bryce Canyon hoodoos - The Grottos - a formation that looked like ruins of a church

Not two overviews are alike! They all bear descriptive name, like “Sunset”, “Sunrise” Points, “Natural Bridge”, “Ponderosa Point”, “Black Bird”, “Rainbow Point”. They are all amazingly beautiful, and I am not even attempting to describe them, because no amount of words are enough to tell you about their serene exquisiteness. Pictures will have to do for now, until your next personal visit, so you can understand!

After the tour of the canyon was over, we headed towards the Kodachrome Basin State Park. This is a campground and a drive-in tour that bestows yet another new view of the red rocks of the Utah Desert. Again, we were amazed at the various rock shapes, sizes, and colors, as well as the vegetation that somehow finds a way to survive this disarmingly arid place!

Formations in the Kodachrome Basin

We had dinner that night at The Lodge – inside The Bryce Canyon Park. The place is almost like carved in the landscape around it – all rock and wood, with dimmed lights, wooden tables and large fireplaces. It was a cozy ending to a beautiful day.

At dinner, our restaurant manager asked us “are you doing Bryce first, and Zion second? Or are you coming from Zion?” – I guess it’s common to visit both parks in one trip, since they are less than two hours apart from each other. She also said “Well, Zion is the opposite of Bryce – at Bryce you’re at the top looking down. At Zion, you’re at the bottom, looking up”. I didn’t know it at the time, but that is in short the best description, in the fewest words, of the two parks.

The next morning, our anniversary morning, we could not believe the weather! A year before, we were in Greensboro, NC, on our wedding day, absolutely roasting, me, in sandals and a spaghetti strap dress. Now, a year later, we were in Utah, looking at snowy peaks and wearing winter jackets, scarves and socks and shoes! The temperature did rise during the day, and towards Zion, but it was brutally cold, for April 16, in Bryce!

On the way out of our hotel, we went to get ice, from the ice machine in the hallway. This German lady and her daughter came after us, to watch what we were doing. She asked “what do you do with the ice?”. We said we were making zipped bags of ice for the cooler, to keep drinks cold. She said, matter-of-fact-ly in a wondering tone: “You just get ice from this machine? Just ice?” We assured her that the machine did nothing else but give us ice. She nodded her head in disbelief: “It’s a big machine. Just for ice!!”. Remembering my European roots and how foreign of a luxury ice is back there, I can only imagine now how ridiculous we seem to people there for having this big a$ machine that does absolutely nothing else but produce … ice! Doesn’t feed anyone. Doesn’t heal anyone. Just eats up power (I am sure lots of it!) and makes … ice … Eye opening indeed!

En route to Zion National Park, we stopped at Coral Pink Sand Dunes. It’s a bit of a drive to find them, and you go through nothing but brush and desert. We stopped on the way just to capture some of the drive, and my husband stepped around this massive boulder in the middle of nowhere only to immediately warn me that we must get back at the car now, and we must leave. He was looking down at some creature eaten up by God knows what (bugs? Roaches? Coyotes? Rats? Snakes?) beyond recognition! Looking back now, I regret not taking pictures or looking at it myself, but at the time, his face, twisted with disgust, and the rising heat and the fact that there was not a soul around us, nothing but sky, sand, sage brush and silence, gave me enough panic to turn around and almost run!

Whenever I wonder in the desert, I am never bored! There is always something unexpected and wonderful about them!

Coral Pink Park is a completely different desert than any of the other ones I have seen in Utah! Whereas everywhere you see rocks, here, the rocks turned to powder as if a magic fairy shook her wand and turned everything to dust! Everything is soft and almost shapeless. Reminds you of the Sahara, except it’s pink not yellow. Or white. Lots of folks were camping around the dunes – which is very interesting to me. I usually look for a stream and for some shade when I camp. But these were folks riding ATV’s, so, they were looking for open dirt spaces! Sand dunes will offer that!

Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park

After passing a buffalo farm and seeing more deer, we finally made it to Zion. It was National Park Week that day, so the entrance was free! We never knew about this – things you, once again, learn when you move a bit away from home, you know?!

This is where my story might get dramatic, but I don’t apologize for this! This is why I have sat so long on this story – because I have not been able to find the words to describe Zion and its first impact on me! Nothing I have seen or heard of before about it could have prepared me for the next two days!

We did spend some time in the city of Zion, which is very quaint and like no other small town I have seen – part desert scene, part Native American, part Hispanic, part old Western charm, it’s a melting pot of everything Southwestern and more. Everything we had to eat was different, fresh and delicious, and some of the best Mexican food we have ever had! Just walking the main drag, admiring the beautiful mountains and the unusual vegetation was refreshing. But the highlight of Zion and of this trip was The Park, of course.

“Zion” has come to mean to a lot of people sort of a spiritual homeland, a home coming, a safe heaven. I am not sure why, maybe it’s just reading too much before I actually got there, but that’s exactly the feeling I felt when I entered it. It was awe-striking, it was heart stopping, and jaw dropping. Butterflies in the stomach and tears in your eye. Amazement that such beauty exists and that such perfection! You felt small, and protected and spellbound and like you don’t want to leave ever, because where else would you want to be?!

Buffalo farm, outside Zion National Park

You first come to the Checkerboard Mesa, a monolith of amazing proportions, that almost blocks the access in the park. And that’s just the illusion. In Zion you feel about a hundred times that you are at the end of the road, and you just come to yet another curve in the road. The road keeps winding, digging through the valley, digging through massive rocky mountains and pulling you through at the other end of it, in the small city of Zion.

I am not sure how to describe what I saw with my own eyes. I had this feeling when I first saw the “mountain of cotton”, Pamukkale, or the ancient city of Ephesus, in Turkey, several years ago, and also when I saw The London Bridge, The Tower of London, Quebec City, and when I climbed on top of the World Trade Center, or when I saw The Statue of Liberty for the first time. This sort of amazing feeling that I am out of my body, that this body that grew up in a small Romanian city and read about these amazing things in books and newspapers cannot possibly stand now in front of these almost fictional sites! It was a feeling of being out of touch, and yet enjoying the reality of it!

I didn’t say much, the whole time we were in the park! I just could not stop taking everything in and taking pictures! Just like the manager said: you were at the bottom looking up, and I have never seen mountains that high and so … naked! There is nothing but rock! Huge, amazing amounts of rock , one on top of each other. You can see the history of the planet in the hundreds of colors of layers in every wall that blocks your view … You are so close to them, and they are so huge you feel like they’re leaning on top of you and they’re going to tumble any minute now! But you know they’ve stood there for ages, and they won’t!

There are two tours in Zion – one that you drive yourself through, on the valley floor, and another one where you have to take the shuttle which drives towards and passed Zion Lodge and through the narrow canyons. The shuttle is taking people on the second loop to reduce pollution and road congestion from too many cars. We did the first tour on Saturday, and the shuttle ride with the stops on Sunday.

On both tours, you had the chance to hop out and either walk trails, or have a picnic. There is also a sizable campground inside the park, as well. On day two, when we rode the bus, we stopped at two places that will stay with me forever, although the whole park is imprinted in my memory!

The Temple of Sinawava is a last stopping point on the bus tour. There is a huge waterfall jumping into the Virgin River, right before you head on the trail towards The Narrows – a dangerous and most traveled trail. The wall of the waterfall reminds me of a church’s altar with the plunging organ in the background – I suspect hence the name. We saw wild turkeys, squirrels, lizards and yet more black birds here, as well, right off the trail.

The waterfall at Temple of Sinawava

Another beautiful spot is The Weeping Rock, another gorgeous waterfall – we were terribly lucky, we found out, that the water was pouring out of the rocks on this one! Utah being mostly a dry state, there is a very slim chance you get to see waterfalls going unless it’s right after winter – so, we were in luck! We climbed the trail up to The Rock, and we walked behind the water fall, almost getting soaked. But just being so close to rock, so sturdy, and water, so ephemeral was an amazing feeling.

"The Weeping Rock" - from the trail that leads behind the fall

All the stopping points and overviews have a religious resonance here, as you might expect, perhaps: “Altar of Sacrifice”, “The Sentinel”, “The Great White Throne”, “Angels Landing” (where you can see rock climbers hang on to a perfectly vertical 6000 ft drop and condors diving into the valley), “The East/ West Temple”, “Court of the Patriarchs”. And it all feels surreally divine.

It’s when I see such beauty in nature, such perfection, such detail and such ornate and minute arrangement of colors and sizes and shapes that I have no doubt that this world is not and can never be just an accident! It’s at a time like this that I feel small, insignificant, and yet blessed, that I am, too, part of the whole that was created along with this beauty, as a work of a greater power … And I just bow in meekness!

Laurence Sterne said: “I once asked a hermit in Italy how he could venture to live alone, in a single cottage, on the top of a mountain, a mile from any habitation? He replied that Providence was his next-door neighbor. “

Now, I understand!

One last look at Zion: The Zion Mount Carmel Tunnel - you see that very small "hole" in the massive wall? It is a window inside the tunnel. The tunnel runs the length of this mountain, but it could not, of course, fit in one shot! Please click on the picture for the whole album of this amazing trip.

Garden in the Desert. It Is Possible.

2011-05-22T22:12:00.012-06:00

"There are no gardening mistakes, only experiments." -- Janet Kilburn Phillips

You might remember that last year I was fighting the desert and the rocky yard, to get some green going in our surroundings, or to at least clean out the junk and the rocks.

Our blooming pear tree

After a year of digging up stones, I am happy to say … I am still digging up stones in our yard. But unlike the desperation I have felt last year, I feel sort of a sense of peace now: the rocks are there to stay. They were here first and they will be there forever, I have learned. It’s not just me, it’s everyone around us, apparently. Man against stone yield winning stone. That’s what the rocky (and otherwise beautiful) landscape of Utah is. We were here second, and if we want to eat, we need to learn to work around them. Just dig, "fluff" up the soil, remove the rocks and hope. Hope big!

Hibiscus plant in our front porch planters

Some things have taken root. Some things baked in the sun – like some herbs in some containers even, because of the scorching sun, and some flowers that were always perennials, as far as I could tell, in NC, died after the first frost in UT.

Back yard trees, bushes and veggie garden to the right

We have had our frustrations. And our lessons. But we built up courage this (second) year to plant a few things in our yard. We put in a fence, for more privacy, and we planted some trees, fruit trees, evergreen bushes, and even a veggie garden. It’s all started to take shape and it’s a beautiful oasis in the world around us, otherwise very yellow and … well, rocky!

Veggie garden: tomatoes, peppers, squash, herbs and onions

The picking of the plants, and the building of the garden felt so therapeutic! We shopped around for what grows around here and we narrowed it down to our budget, preferences and to "what stays green the longest" - if that's an official criterion. I have wanted a veggie garden, too, so we took some chances, and planted some of those, too – and we will just wait and see what happens.

Front yard feature bed: Japanese maple with juniper bush and hand picked Utah rocks

We did it together, sort of like our project for planting roots in a new ground! It was beautiful. I am really, really proud of it! We still have weeds around and no official “lawn”, but to us, it’s a world of difference! It’s green and the birds love it, and we have worms, and it all breathes relief and joy! I don't see sod or a sprinkler system in our near future, but I see letting the ground be, and seeing what it offers us. We also have tomatoes, and peppers and dill and squash and evergreen bushes and trees, too! A world of possibilities, now!

Bloom of the mountains - columbine, in our front porch planters

We have not had many sunny, warm days this spring. But in the few we “stole” from the calendar, we could plant, and dig, and fertilize, and prune, and pick plants and put them in. Together. Our new life , before our eyes. Seeded.

Happy birds, in our back yard trees, against the new fence

Just Sharing. Gratefully.

2011-05-13T22:42:00.005-06:00

Not sure if any of you keep track of this, but I am saying this yet again: if there is one thing that shocks me about America and Americans 13 years after landing here is the same thing that shocked me 13 years ago, on my first day: the entitlement attitude. The already oh so cliché taking for granted of everything. And I mean everything. The overwhelming and emotionally draining (to me) un-appreciative nature of almost anyone I know that’s born here.

In so many ways, I am so lucky to have Aa. for my husband, for his many, innumerable qualities. But one quality without which I would not have married him is … that he is a total opposite of the attitude and nature described above. His mindfulness. And gratitude. His awareness of people less fortunate than ourselves. His humble-ness.

And his newest blog speaks for this. I hope you find this to be true, too. It's lengthy, but I think it's worth it.

Enjoy!

After a Year

2011-05-10T07:21:00.003-06:00

It’s been exactly a year today since that first Honey Baked ham sandwich in our new home, together, as husband and wife. It’s been a wonderful, scary and eventful journey.

Life is beautiful anywhere you make it that way! We have meandered through challenges and happy moments, through lows and highs, through losses and gains. But most of all, I think we have learned that no matter what the outside world will give us, we have each other and with a positive attitude, patience, understanding and love we can get through everything.

After a year, I still miss NC. Maybe more than when I left. I miss my friends, and I miss just the warm (literally and figuratively) culture of The South. I miss the food. And the sweet, sweet wine. As a general observation, Utah has not been as warm and friendly as I was used to before. We love to travel, though, and Utah is located at the perfect crossroads of beauty and wonder, so we have taken to the roads or the skies, when the small town we live in becomes too tight. We’re grateful to have a beautiful home to come to after each trip.

People are not very friendly here, especially to strangers, and we stick out as a sore thumb, for our social drinking, lack of kids and the fact that we don't open our doors to strangers (read: missionaries). But we’re grateful for the few friends we do have and for the times they share with us over birthdays, holidays and just tired, slow Saturdays, after a long week. We also like the weather, the mountains, the streams, the beautiful cities of Park City, Salt Lake, even Heber and Midway. We love the columbines and the desert plants. And the birds! Oh, the beautiful multicolored birds!

We have learned to tame our soil and actually planted some roots this year! We have built a fence – to make better neighbors, you know. We have shoveled snow and mowed grass. We have taken care of what’s ours. We have decorated our home together. We have celebrated Thanksgiving, and Christmas and Easter in our new home. We’re a true family now, you could say.

It’s been a great year! I don’t think we’ll have many years as full of this first one, but we will keep it interesting, I am sure. We’re still, in a lot of ways, learning the culture around us, and trying to make not just our address a home, but the larger world of our town and county.

I am speaking for both of us, I think, when I say that we don’t know what the future might bring, and we might not even make Utah our “forever” home, the home state where we’re going to retire in, or be buried in, but in the meantime, we’re making it a cozy getaway, a welcome refuge at the end of the day, a nice place to come to after a long journey. Hopefully. We’re ready for more ham sandwiches and sweet California wines in our humble abode, which had us with open arms a year ago today.

The Ever Elusive ...

2011-04-12T21:44:00.004-06:00

I am not sure why ... but every time I see a rainbow it just makes my day! It could be the hardest day at work, or - worse - in life ... and it just makes me smile with hope.

There is something about their ephemerality, their immateriality, their magic and elusiveness that fascinates us, I think. So close to us, so visible, and yet ... so impossible to touch. Just like happiness. Fleeting.

I caught a glimpse - literally, as they are so short lived - of one today, and I managed to snap some pictures while rushing home from work, at 70 mph down the highway.

And in just of a bit of irony: who would have thought that the end of one would be smack dab in the middle of a ... WalMart parking lot of all places in the world?!

Apologies for the qualities of the pics (click on picture for more) - as I have said, I was driving very fast, amongst traffic, and had only my little baby Canon on hand ...

Good Morning, Life!

2011-04-01T07:13:00.006-06:00

I have never been one to have many regrets. For those who know me, I hope they know that is an understatement. But this gnawing feeling of "missing" or "want" has been bugging me lately. Just mourning over my old life in NC, missing my friends, my foods, my wines, feeling sorry for myself for not being able to sell the old house - and all ...

But then, some mornings, when the clouds don't rest on The Valley, I wake up to this view, out of my back door. Every morning, I wake up next to a man who adores me and makes me so happy. And my face then grows into a smile.

I read the other day that "life is not what is, but how you deal with it". But sometimes, life is really what "is". And mine, right now, is pretty breathless.

Thawing Out

2011-03-12T18:37:00.003-07:00

The heads of new grass have yet not peeked. No blooms. No bright colors. All is muted. Sound and stain.

The buds are still small and almost shrink wrapped in tiny nuggets on coarse and naked twigs. The soil is moist and sink-y. Your feet collapse in the mush. Some patches of snow still persist. Some snowy peaks still endure.

The trees are silent and bare. The stream is flowing with fresh, noisy water from melting snow.

And snow … is melting. We knew winter had no force anymore, judging by the immediate meltdowns right after huge dumps, but it was good to see whole mountain faces bare of snow.

The land is quiet. Nothing but wood, rock and brown, withered brush … Everything is still asleep … No noise but our footsteps on dirt roads.

Some folks are out – still shy at picnicking, some are fishing, lonely in newly swollen streams, and some are just joyriding, getting lost on lonely back roads. The big, boisterous voices of summer are silent.

Not many creatures. Other than birds. But signs of them everywhere – manure, and holes dug in the ground, and mini-trails, and hoof prints. Cacti chewed up and spit out… Skulls … feathers stuck on rocks …

The tired winter is dying … No promise yet of anything anew. But small patches of fresh blue skies are whispering possibility …

Comfort and style: wooden chair awaiting its visitors at a camp site. Click on the picture for the whole day in images ...

Living in Small Town America ...

2011-03-11T16:00:00.010-07:00

… or how I have not worked for Kmart yet and how I found baby chicks for sale

If you judge the speed of living here, in Spanish Fork, UT, by the speed of the Utah drivers, you would be dead wrong. Utah drivers zoom up and down our roads like crazy madmen of the NYC cab driver fame. No regard to the other folks on the road, road signals or traffic lights. Life’s pace here, however, has nothing to do with such speed.

It has more to do with the speed of one eating an ice cream for fear of a brain freeze. Or the speed of a lazy day in The Caribbean at an all- inclusive resort, where all your needs are taken care of. Or the speed of a Galapagos turtle. Or that of a very old man with bad joints. You get the picture, right?!

I used to pop into a grocery store for a “few things” in NC and be in and out in less than 10 minutes! No cart, no basket. Just grab a few items and move on. A similar adventure here will take at least half an hour if not more.

You have to navigate first through the sea of toddlers and running kids. Then, the carts full of them occupying the aisles. Then, there is always just one register open, maybe two, at rush hour. You wait in line and every single person in front of you has a “special situation”: coupons don’t work, they meant to buy something else, so they’re sending the older kid for the right item while the cashier is stuck closing the order; the kid comes back with two items of which neither is right. So, now mom goes to the shelf and has the kid watch the others in the cart. A baby just barfed and they need wipes and paper towels to clean up.

And the check writing! Everyone writes checks here, of course! Since the memo of “plastic” has not made it this far. Apparently.

God help you if an item doesn’t ring up right and you need an adjustment! The cashiers can do nothing. They have to wait for the manager to correct it, or sometimes, they have to wait for the manager to come unlock their phone so they can call “in the back” to give you the right price. And don’t even get me started on how slow the cashiers move here.

One day, I bought a 12 pack of beer. It was bottles, so granted, it was heavy. But I weigh less than 110 pounds, right? And picked it up just fine, carried it in my hand to the checkout counter, and was planning to carry it out to the car in my hand, too. The 18 year or so old girl who checked my order out declared the pack too heavy. So, she called this other cashier from another counter (who was in the middle of checking out another person – and it’s rush hour, so they’re both busy!) to move my pack across the belt, since it was “too heavy”. Now … I have seen job applications before and had to answer questions about “how many pounds I can lift”, right?! So, now, I needed to wait for the guy to finish with his customer so he can help my lady. I cannot tell you how long that took, because it always seems longer to me than it actually is. I offered to help, but could not get behind the register and you guessed it, there was no “scanning gun”!

And being a small town, everyone knows everyone. So, three times out of five when you shop anywhere, the customers know the cashiers. And they get into these long, and s-l-o-w conversations about everything. Their relatives, their kids, and how many they have and how many are still being planned, and that lady at church who sprained a hip last week, and bishop this and sister that, and … And you’re waiting, with your eggs in your hand in the “express line” and ponder upon the irony of its name!

I think people react slowly here, too. At least too slow for me. At some point in my unemployed life here, I wanted to apply for a part time job at Kmart. It is literally 3-4 minutes from my house, and I figured, it will kill some time while allowing me to people watch at least and have some much needed extra cash. So, I dress up almost like going to a job interview, right?! – not too crazy though, it’s Kmart, not Bank of America, but I want to look serious.

I walk in the store, prepared to fill out one of those in-store applications. I go to the customer service area where such an application can be filled. Here, three “associates” are standing around chatting. One of them holding a bunch of socks to be put back on the shelf, I guess, back of the hand on hip, one of them typing into a computer, and one of them making chewing gum balloons. They stop the chat when they see me. But that’s all they do. To the right of the customer service desk was the “applications” computer - absolutely buried under “stuff”: boxes of shoes, cereal, paper towels, etc. You could not see the keyboard, the monitor, nor the chair in front of it from all these things.

There is a long ad on the wall next to the computer about how an application should be filled and what not, and I am reading this ad. I take my purse off my shoulder thinking they’d figure out that I am interested and want to sit down and apply. I make eye contact with them, and smile. Reach in my purse for my wallet so I can get my id out. All three ladies are looking at me intently. Then at each other. Another balloon pops. Hand on hip lady sways to left and right. They look at me. Up … and … then … down. I am, oh, maybe 3 feet away from them if that. They make no attempt to clear the application desk, or talk to me. They just stare. And we do this dance for about 3-4 minutes (again: time is not relevant; “a while”, let’s say!). I say nothing, still reading the ad, purse and wallet in my hand. And then I decide to walk away. No “can I help you?”, no “do you need help with anything?”, when they evidently noticed me (they stopped talking to each other even) means “you really do not need this right now. Maybe next time.” So, I walk away. And get a job offer the next week.

Today, another reminder of my small town surroundings. We have a store here that I didn’t know existed in NC, it’s called The C-A-L Ranch Store . You guessed it – there are a lot of farms around here. From the outside it looks almost like your regular Home Depot or Lowes store. They have everything farm-related in here, from equipment and nuts and bolts to build barns to saddles and outfits, from jewelry to cowboy boots. The ranch store also has pet food, so I go there often for my cat food. Today, I waltzed in and loved the price for the huge rose bushes (less than $6!) and walk on towards the back of the store where kitty food lives.

On the way there, I see this:

... live chicks and ducklings!

Is this a fair price for chickens?
Love the line on black background, too: Indeed.

I have friends who have chickens and I always wondered “where in the world you’d buy them, unless you go ON a farm, or to the Farmers’ Market?!”. To see them in a brick-and-mortar store that you drive up to, park in an assigned spot and buy pet food from was like seeing your first UFO! They had tons of them! ALL sorts of colors: white, yellow, black, brown AND … ducklings! Oh, and they were cute – as you can see! So, now I know where you can buy them. I can probably have them in our yard, but no thank you. I think my husband tolerates the cats well, but would have me relocated if I brought chickens along, too.

I remember seeing an episode of Twin Peaks many years ago, while living in Romania. This one scene stuck with me over the years. The first thing I noticed when watching it was its stark contrast with the speedy American movies I was used to – everything in it was moving VERY slow. And I thought to myself: “I wonder if this is how they move and talk in small town America, versus the big cities”. Now, years later, and after almost a year in “small town America”, I can tell you I was right in my guess!

This is the Twin Peaks scene I was talking about, and my new, everyday "pace"

There is a certain charm to all this slowing down, sure. You can really see the beauty around you, and hear your heart beat – it helps to acknowledge that once in a while. But I am still learning to put on my brakes. It’s not easy to do after rushing around for 36 years. Not to mention that I was not born with the patience gene, either!

It’s fun to discover all these realities that I never knew existed, too (if only they’d move faster!). I am not worried that it’ll all become boring, because life is just as interesting as however many people are in the world. If we only had time to acquaint all 6 billion of them!

So, I disagree with whomever said that “I hate small towns because once you've seen the cannon in the park there's nothing else to do.” You never know what the ranch store will bring in next time!

A World of Thanks

2011-03-08T21:36:00.002-07:00

“We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.” (Orson Welles)

There have been more women who have inspired me than I can count in a whole book. There are innumerable the thanks I would have to give to all them for everything they have given me. Let it be known now that I would never attempt to name all of the good they have done for me – I would never finish, in several lifetimes.

But today, on the occasion of Woman’s Day, I want so say some (very!) brief thank you’s to those most important to me, and to remember at least one thing they each shared with me, whether knowingly or otherwise.

I thank my mom first for having the courage to have me. And then the double courage of raising me and shaping me into who I am. If wit can be taught, she taught me that! And she taught me to believe in myself. Long before Scarlett O’Hara, she taught me that I can do pretty much anything anyone else can, just the same, if not better - if I only try!

My sister has taught me more than anything in the world how to love unconditionally. Her giving-ness and love are boundless. Her faith in human goodness is impeccable and the beauty of her heart has only become brighter every year.

My aunt, whose birthday is today, too, has taught me patience. No other human being has shown me more saintly patience than her! Through her many physical challenges, and through her many losses she has remained calm, and stoic, just like a nun, almost, with the belief that tomorrow will be another day, and better.

My maia, now gone, has taught me not only hard work, but also pampering! A woman is supposed to be industrious as well as beautiful. She taught me my hands need to always look like a lady’s hands, even if they come from scrubbing the floors. And my face needs to look pretty even after a long sickness. It’s not vanity; it’s just self respect.

My bica has taught me will. She taught me, and everyone else around her, that being under 5 ft tall doesn’t mean you can be left unnoticed! You can have a big mouth to make up for your lack of height. She is my 4ft 8in powerhouse role model – you can pack a lot of might in that little body, when there is will!

My friend E. R. has taught me how beautiful it is to be a cynical optimist. She taught me that you always have to look at life crookedly, just like life seems to treat you, but to always put your pink glasses on and try to find something good in what lays ahead. She blesses me everyday with her beauty of a person, eruditeness and thirst for life! I am SO blessed to know her!

My friend T.B. has shown me how to be a superwoman! Yeah, sure, you can work 24/7 in one or two or three jobs, have a beautiful family, go to all the social events you’re invited to, answer emails on time, plant a veggie garden AND knit a sweater in less than a week, too! Of course you can. She has taught me how to fit 36 hours worth of work into 24 and still look pretty! The secret is into putting your heart into everything you do.

My friend B.C. has taught me wisdom - which I so sorely lack! Just like many of my women friends, she has had many a challenges in her life, and through it all she has come out shining – with more vigor, and more optimism (she would not use that word!) and more polish than anyone I know. She looks for meaning into life’s deepest, darkest corners and she finds it. And once she does, it all makes sense, and you will never look at life again in the same light. She is a treasure and a true original!

My friend C.D. has taught me resilience. Life was not often kind to her, but she never lost her hope and her faith in something better. She is a true fighter.

My former teacher, M.T., has given me the gift of writing – one without which I am not sure where I would be today. She was the first one to believe I could do it, and encourages me with every chance she gets to persist. She has always believed in me, and I always know I have her ear when I doubt my abilities. Means the world to me, in the darkness of doubt.

My friend R.T. has given me … a friend for life. I always know she will be there for me, no matter how far I move and no matter how puny my matters are. The simple honesty we share is a bond for long years to come.

My friend K.M. has shown me the blessing of forgiveness and how powerful it is. Forgiveness does not mean breaking down and burying who you are, but crowning who you are as a superior being. It requires an unbelievable amount of strength and patience, but once done, you’re simply and nobly indestructible!

Last but not least, my mother in law has taught me everything one would need to know about never, ever, ever giving up, no matter what challenges you have, especially physical ones. As long as there is breath in your body and you have a will to move, you can do so, and train your body to listen! She is my every day inspiration to make the first step even when it hurts!

There are many women who have helped me professionally and otherwise, but the whole internet space would not be enough to enumerate all of them or what they have meant for me.

You all know who you are, and you all know I am always here for you, whenever you need a friend, an honest opinion on a dress, a good Romanian homemade dish, or someone to just sit there and shut up for a change! Those of you who truly know me also know I can, in fact, shut up, too.

I thank you all for being, and for crossing your paths with me. One can ever be so blessed as to know ALL of you in ONE lifetime!

Happy new spring, to all, and may you all know all the blessings you shared with me, and the world, tenfold!

A Sad Day for Memories (and Books)

2011-02-23T19:12:00.005-07:00

I know that you have heard the phrase “it’s an end of an era” and you think it’s either cheesy or obsolete. But in my opinion … it’s truly descriptive, too, and for just a second, when you hear it next time, (really) take a moment and (seriously) think about it! Think about its true meaning when someone uses it because it’s really … the end of an “era”. An era, with everything it brought and stood for, someone’s hopes, desires, white nights’ planning, someone’s dreams – just … closed! Gone. Vanished. Nothing but a memory now. You can’t even share it with your kids!

With Blockbuster closing stores all over the nation weeks ago and Borders doing the same by the end of April, the word of the day at my house is “sad”. I still refuse to “sign up” for mail videos and monthly fees! I want a movie when I want a movie, not because I have that membership that needs to pay off by the end of the month! Some months, I won’t want any movie at all. And call me crazy, but I like browsing by touching. Reading the back of things. Flipping through pages. Sometimes, in my shallow days (clear throat), I like to rent a movie or buy a book by just letting what’s on the cover guide me … Back and front.

And things get progressively worse for me when books, or papers, or any of the printed word is in danger of being dumped into “the past”. So, closing a bookstore is like national mourning day for me. One of my childhood dreams is to work in a bookstore or a library! As in a “real” one. Not the "click" and “add to cart” kind …

And Borders (just like Barnes and Noble, for another instance) is more than just “books”. In my old hometown (Greensboro, NC), Borders was a place of refuge and a second home. With nothing to do on a Sunday afternoon, I’d wander in there to browse the bargain shelves and the new releases.

I will never forget that Borders was in fact the first brick-and-mortar cd store I have ever browsed in my whole life. It was not Best Buy or … some other designated “music” store, but Borders. Just picture Alice in Wonderland and that was me in front of the cd racks! “Wow, they have a whole store full of shelves of these?!”. And you could slip the headphones on and preview what you bought. Atlanta, GA - 1998.

Borders was that place I went to to decompress after an intense movie, because it was next door to a movie theater I frequented. Or that place I went to to kill some time if I was too early for the movie! Borders was a great place, for a single, bored, gal, to people watch and have blind dates, even. For some reason, I never picked Barnes & Noble for blind dates! Too crowded, I guess! And I loved watching people who read. And browse the “real” things. That’s what formed me, that’s what put me through school and gave me an education – real, paper books with real, smelly ink on them. Being close to that culture was sybaritic to me.

The Borders in my new hometown is not closing - at least not yet – and I am grateful for that. But I am still sad to see a place that had so many avenues for dreaming open for so long say “good bye”.

I am hoping bookstores and libraries are never becoming a has been in my lifetime! I love the smell of books, old and new, still. Nothing, no amount of Yankee Candle factory made smells can replace that!

Today is a perfect day to volunteer to work for a local library – which is exactly what I did over lunch. Put my name on the list for two of them. Just to be close to real books and people who read them.

Good bye, (Greensboro) Borders! And thank you for the memories.

Visiting the Neighbors

2011-02-21T19:23:00.017-07:00

On a day like today, I remember my dad saying: "Damn, America is beautiful!". And he is not known for positivity, nor being too generous with compliments!

It was a cold day today. Maybe it got up to low 40's, but out there, on The (Utah) Lake, it felt like low 30's. It was a bright day, one of those many days in Utah where you cannot tell whether your eyes are going bad or the sun is really too brutal for them.

On such a day, I saw a glimpse of a promise of another year of great outdoors shooting in this beautiful back yard of ours that we call our state. We didn't go far. Maybe 20 miles from our house, maybe less. But there was breathtaking beauty everywhere.

I'll let our pictures tell you the story of a gorgeous late winter-early spring day. Many thanks to my husband, Aa., for his contributions to this album.

Enjoy!

Utah Lake was half frozen and dead and half alive with calm, fresh waters, under a clear blue sky, with just enough clouds to make it interesting:

Not many people at the lake today, but some footprints on its frozen part of it gave them away:

Some of the feathered creatures were out, and they were very happy for the sun:

On our way back home, we took some farm pictures - we wake up with this under our bedroom window, every morning. Yep, we made it out West, undoubtedly:

(I love this red tractor! It looks beautiful in any season, against the mountains ...)

What can spell "Utah" more clearly, other than mountains, cowboys riding, seagulls and prairie grass?!

Click on this last picture, to see the whole day.

To Watch or Not to Watch …

2011-02-12T18:14:00.004-07:00

The mystery of movies ...

I have never considered myself a true “movie buff”. I like some movies, for various reasons (mainly if they tell a good story), and I have watched almost every Oscar ceremony live for the past 15 or 20 years of my life. I am seriously picky about what I watch, though, and would not watch almost anything because “it’s hip”, or “in” or because “of great special effects”.

But I very rarely recognize lines from movies, as so many hundreds of people do. This renders me socially inept at many gatherings. And I can totally forget 50% or more of a movie I even loved (“Good Will Hunting” comes to mind) over time. I forget names of actors and confuse directors, too.

But I love going to see a good movie, and I can appreciate it (luckily, still) as art.

One thing that always puzzled me was the relativism and subjectivity of the rating system, though. Why are people so concerned with “how the movie was rated” before they take their kids, or even themselves, to the movie is beyond me. And truthfully, I think that a bit retrograde and limiting.

I have always been of the opinion that folks just stunt their (and their children’s) intellectual growth by limiting themselves based on simply the ratings. After all, we do not rate D.H. Lawrence. Nor James Joyce. Nor Hemingway – as we shouldn’t.

To support my confusion of ratings, I was shocked to find out that “The King’s Speech” was rated R, whereas “True Grit” was a PG-13. And seeing them both, I could not understand why. And then, I thought … “what would I do if I had a kid?”. Would I take them to a movie where they hear 10 seconds of “f*ck, sh*t, t*ts, b*lls”, things they would hear at the mall on a Sunday anyway?! Or would I take them to a movie where they show human fingers being severed from the hand and people killing people or talking about killing people throughout the 2 hours?!

I have no hesitation to answer: the former! “The King’s Speech” is not only a well done movie, but also it also offers great many a lessons about responsibility, duty, perseverance, pride, loyalty, and humanity and last but not least, it’s history – some of which kids nowadays need an incredible amount more of. “True Grit” is beautifully done as well, but do our kids really need more exposure to killings and death?!

So, my humble take: take your kids to an R rated movie sometimes, folks! It won’t hurt! I promise.

On another note, what in the world is an “appropriate audience”?! I think most of us are peeved by the “mandatory previews” that you cannot fast forward through at the movie theater. And they start by saying that “This preview has been approved for appropriate audiences”. What exactly is an “appropriate audience”?! Who decides that?! And isn’t’ that a big assumption?! I think based on my view of R rated movies alone some parents, for instance, might consider me less than appropriate, don’t you think?! And if I am not appropriate – what happens? I leave the room or you stop the previews now?!

It’s all a mystery, indeed.

The Most Awaited Baby In the World …

2011-02-10T20:57:00.005-07:00

“A baby is God's opinion that life should go on.” (Carl Sandburg)

It all started with a call from Romania back in November. It’s dad, and he just says “Your mother wants to talk to you.” And he puts mom on the phone. Mom is crying so hard I can barely understand what she’s saying. I gather that my sister, who is in Canada, and who is 28 weeks pregnant with her second baby boy, has been admitted to the hospital in a state of emergency because “the baby wants to come now”.

As you might know, 28 weeks into the pregnancy is a very early stage for the babies to be born. Mom is frantic. My sister will have to stay in the hospital, on complete and total bed rest, for the baby to not come “tomorrow” for the remainder of her pregnancy (12 more weeks). The baby is due, according to all charts, on February 13, 2011.

So, there will be a long time before my sister could walk again into the world, according to what mom says. I ask for the hospital number from mom, and I call my sister. She is somewhat calm, although she fears for the baby. Her first son, Patrick, was born at 32 weeks. He is doing fantastic, and he was very precocious in a lot of ways, but the first few months of his life were tricky. So, she is nervous: the second one might be even earlier than Patrick.

And thus the Iliad of his birth starts and life will never be the same for any of us after that day. My sister begins her hospital stay. She is in there for 7 weeks. My mom drops everything in Romania and she flies to Montreal in November, with a return ticket of February 28. “It’ll all be well by then, she says. The baby will be several months old.”

During all this waiting time, there are scares. The baby seems too small in one test. He needs to stay in there longer – the longest, if at all possible. My sister has gestational diabetes and can’t eat much. There is a scare of an infection that might pass on to the baby to cause him meningitis. After several tests and a lot of waiting (weeks), the infection probability is waived.

We try to have fun with this, just barely: we try to pick a zodiac sign for the baby: will he be a Sagittarius, Capricorn, or Aquarius?! Which one would we want? Which one is better?! We kid to make time go faster and not to take things “too” seriously.

My sister comes back home on January 1st. She is at week 34 now, further along that she was when Patrick came, and she is “out of the woods”. The baby can come now, more or less, on his own, with no problems. Every minute, every hour of every day, she thinks “the baby is coming today. Now”. And we live like this, day by day, in expectation, and wonderment, and iffiness for months.

December comes and goes, and we have no baby. January comes and goes, and nothing. My sister is continuing her bed rest, with minimal efforts now. I go to Canada, to make sure I give her a hug through all this and so she knows (although she does!) how much I love her and how much I am here for her. He is not born during the week I am there, as my sister guesses. I tell not to rush him.

February starts and we are in complete disbelief! A baby that “wanted to come extremely early” is still in there, waiting patiently for his due date. We cannot believe it. Every time I call her, she says “we are still two in one. No news”. She jests. And yet she is worried, and impatient, and waiting. More and more waiting.

The Iliad continues: lots of sad things happen while we wait. His parents’ godmother and his dad’s grandparents die. He has only one great-grandparent living, unlike Patrick who met three of them. So much sadness for his parents who have loved these people who are now gone, but are yet worrying about his wellbeing, too.

Then, it’s all the medical things: she knows that “diabetes babies” need to come early, because of their size, but he is relatively a small baby. She is a small mom, though… Between too many doctors’ opinions and innumerable inquiries from her, they schedule the inducing date for February 9th.We can’t believe he is to be “induced”. This baby wanted to come on his own already!

She catches a horrible cold in the meantime and is exhausted from coughing. She goes to the hospital then, but as this pregnancy has been full of surprises, the hospital is out of empty rooms. So, they send her home. “Come back tomorrow”. Seriously! So, they call her today, and they have her admitted.

I cannot imagine her wait, and apprehension. Her tenseness and stress! I cannot imagine the baby’s emotions through all this, either …

But today, February 10, 2011, at 2.25 PM, EST, Kevin is born. He has the same birthday as his dad's mother. His dad's birthday is tomorrow. February surely brings lots of happy times in our families. The wait is over. The physical pain is huge, but the relief is even bigger! He is 6.4 lbs (2.895 kg) and 19.3 in (49 cm). If you asked me, I think he’s a tall, skinny baby like his dad (and his big brother). But we shall see.

He looks, so far, more like his mommy. And he is absolutely perfect! He got a 9.5 grade out of 10 possible. He is such a good baby already. Unlike his preemie brother, he can feed on his own, and there is no need for an incubator, or any extra oxygen tubes. But, of course, he is “at term”, too … only three days shy of his actual due date. And he has a strong and loud yell, when he’s hungry. I know, because I heard it. The most beautiful sound in the world!

I cannot describe to you how happy his birth makes me feel. I know everyone in my family has been looking forward to this, for months now. Since he was conceived, but more intently since his apparent “rush to be here”, at week 28. So many sad things have happened since his conception, and his mommy has tried to keep him healthy in there, so he can grow perfect. So much sadness, and yet a new life will spring, and a new tomorrow is ever so clear.

The sky is definitely brighter, because a new star is shining tonight. I wish you a long and happy life, little man, strong shoulders and feet, a wise mind and a quick wit, a clever tongue, a soft touch, and a tender heart, and more than anything, I wish you love. Unconditional, never-ending and sincere love. You already have a beautiful smile.

We love you more than words can say. Your first play pal, your own brother Patrick, is waiting for you at home, and may you two be inseparable in love and care throughout your lives.

Welcome to the world, little Kevin. We’ll all make sure it’s cozy and warm for you, until you can make that happen on your own. That will happen before we know it!

One of Kevin's first pictures - phone picture poor quality and all, he is still adorable!

My Drinking Problem

2011-02-09T15:20:00.002-07:00

“Hi, my name is Alina, and I … don’t believe I am an alcoholic. Not quite. Really.”

I grew up with dad making wine every fall, my mountain relatives making beer every summer and my uncle making tzuika (close to “moonshine”) every year. And I can never remember a New Year’s at my parents' house, when even us kids didn’t have a sip of real champagne. Or a summer barbecue where we, as kids, didn’t sip mom’s “foam” from the top of her beer.

Alcohol had been part of our daily “diets”, if you would, forever. And just like we’re not all gourmands for eating every day, I don’t think I’m an alcoholic because I have, or even crave, a glass of wine every now and then.

I have never seriously thought about having a drinking problem before (well, not in my adult years, anyway) until it’s become a chase to “where do I get the next good bottle”, when I moved to Utah.
What used to be an every day passing thought is now very much a conscious, deliberate, much planned project, since here, alcohol comes at a price. And I am not just strictly talking about money.

My parents were once again right: the more you forbid one from doing something, the more they’ll yearn to do it. And I find 100% truth in that statement since I have moved here: because they make it so hard and rare to get “good stuff” here, we want it more.

Every day, I am trying to discover a new store that “sells good beer and wine”, or a new store “with a better selection” of both, or a new bar that sells “my beer”, or … It’s my obsession now, it seems. Mine, and a few other friends’ too who come from other parts and are used to drinks-a-plenty. Every time I find “something good”, I want to do a little happy dance – it’s like Christmas has come. Or my birthday. Or both in one day! I screech with pleasure when I see alcohol anymore! Just like Adam and Eve must have done it when they saw “the fruit”.

Now, don’t get me wrong: compared to 10 years ago, when I first visited the Beehive State, the drinking rules are much, much, much more lax! Kudos to the Utah folks who fought to change some of the old laws, and to the Utah government who approved them. You can buy (weak) beer in any grocery and convenience store, and you can even buy it on Sundays. All Sunday long. Now, that’s even better than The Carolinas, right?! You can find any kind (wine, liquors, liqueurs, mixed drinks, etc) of alcoholic drink in the State Liquor Stores, but these are closed on Sundays. Also, you never need a membership for a pub to be able to order liquor, like you did 10 years ago.

But alcohol is still relatively “hard” to find, and the selection is way low in stores. I am saying “hard to find”, because the state stores are very few and far between, for one. There is no liquor store in our town. We just got a new one in the town adjacent to ours, which is about 7 miles away from our house. Before this store was opened, this past Christmas (and my husband was the very first customer, thank you very much!), the closest store to our house was a couple of towns over, about 11 miles away.

Grocery stores only sell beer that has an alcohol content of 3.2% by weight; in other words, you drink 10 beers and you’re still waiting for a buzz! If you want “regular strength” beer, you will need to visit the liquor store. There, you have a broader selection of import beers, wines and such. But you’ll have to plan for the trip – make a point out of visiting the neighboring town, and remember that Sundays these stores are closed. Also, as of recent times, they open at 11 AM. So if you have a lunch party on a Saturday – stock up on Friday. And since you have to drive so long to get there, you can’t buy just one bottle. You need to make it worth your gas money, right?! Planning. Planning. And more planning.

Buying drinks is never on the grocery list when you live here. It’s always a special trip.

Today, I visited our new (and closer) liquor store. And once again, I was like a kid in the candy store, jumping up and down with joy. I think it’s because they are new and they are trying to still test this market, and see what people would buy, but they had EVERYTHING! I have seen things in this new store that I have never seen in a wine store – here or elsewhere in America.

I could seldom find my most favorite wine in whole world, Moscato. I always have to “settle” for Riesling, or Pinot Grigio instead. And when I do find it, it’s usually from only the same two wine makers (Gallo and Sutter Home). I have said this before, but I believe most Americans have sharper palates that Eastern Europeans. So Moscatos are not very popular in The States.

Well, the new store has not one but TWO separate sections for Moscatos. I would have taken a picture if I were not the only customer in the store and the cashier was not eyeing me like a hawk. Usually, you find the rare two Moscato wines under the aisle heading “other whites”, or “Riesling”, or even “Sauvignon Blanc”. But in this store, they are their OWN wine, as they should be, of course. They have not only several Moscatos from California that I have never heard about, but also another one from Australia, and even an Italian one!

I once asked a wine store bar tender in Greensboro for Australian Moscato, and they promised me Australians don’t export such things. That they are famous for their dryer varieties. Well, when I saw this today, you can imagine my surprise – right here, in the wine forbidden Utah state, discovery of all times: my “candy” does exist and from Australia, nonetheless! Still no Kilkenny beer , however, but this is a start!

I browsed aisle after aisle (the place is huge and they are still stocking up, with plenty of aisles still empty and awaiting varieties), and I marveled at the diversity of the inventory and at the very affordable prices. It felt good! And thus, I caught myself: I am feeling good, happy even, about drinks! About alcoholic drinks, at that! So, you see, that prompted me to ponder upon my possible addiction.

I also feel sort of an embarrassing kind of guilt when I enter a liquor store around here. Especially in the middle of the week, in the middle of the day! I feel like even the cashier wonders what my problem is to be there that early. Even if they don’t really give me “the looks”, I still feel like they do. I should just come out and say it – “I am not an alcoholic, lady. I am just Romanian. Now point me to the sweet wines, please”.

"What’s In A Name … "

2011-02-05T20:58:00.004-07:00

So, when is political correctness really needed, and when is it just becoming ridiculous?! Because, I think all of us have gotten at least at one point in our lives where we read the “new and improved list of what not to call someone” and followed the reading of it with an eye roll.

When is it really needed to protect the dignity and integrity of one group of people and when is it just egocentrism?! And even if we learn the rules, do we always follow them?! Or our education, backgrounds and just patterns of speech are stronger than any social rules? And in this world of “social networking” … how often are we really “socially correct” in our addressing our fellow humans?!

Although I mostly try to learn the “rules of the world”, I find it challenging sometimes to keep up with what’s allowed anymore. I still don’t know, much to my own despair, and with sincere apologies to the respective groups, when to use “Asian” and when “Oriental”, for an instance. And don’t even get me started on what’s appropriate to call various “civil unions” nowadays!

And it’s not because I have anything against all these various names – most of them exist for a very good purpose – but it’s because everything seems to be so relative anymore: there is no telling what can be perceived as demeaning to someone today when the same word was totally legit the day before. It’ll be as changing as the human nature, forever!

But let me get to the point.

So, I lived in The South for 12 years. My ex-husband swore I’d be saying “y’all” after my first year there. It still has not happened. Another thing that has not happened is that I never got used to being called “dear” and “honey” and “sweetie” and “darling”. I still cringe every time I hear these addressed to me, although I know very well that it’s part of the culture, it’s not their intention to offend. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I know (deep inside) that it’s me being too sensitive! So, no, I would not be one of those super-sensitive people falling into ridiculous and call for a re-write of the “American Dictionary of Political Correctness”. No! But … I still cringe!

I live in Utah County now. A county famous for its religiousness and more specifically its LDS religiousness. People here assume, quite often, you are LDS. Unlike The Amish, for instance, there is no outwardly distinction between the Mormons and “the rest” of the people. And religion is pretty much in every layer of society here – it rules the lives, the children’s activities, the volunteer work, even the business world, quite often.

Amongst the more pious ones, of which there are a-many (read “the majority”), it is customary to call everyone your “sister” and your “brother”. Even outside of church, you are assumed to be their “relatives”, in spirit. Strange, you say?! Remember: this is their culture, and you’re an outsider still. And you try to learn their ways and roll with them.

That’s until it happens to you! As it did to me: the other day, the WalMart photo lady called me “sister”. And once again, my skin crawled. And once again, some small part of me wanted to shout out “I am NOT your sister, <insert expletive of choice here>”, just like for 12 years I wanted to shout out “I am only my sweetie’s darling and honey and dear, <…>!”.

So, should I add more words to the said dictionary?! Or should I just adjust my attitude and try to understand the culture?!

After days of internal deliberation, I looked at the very big picture, and I have come to realize that there are a lot of other things one could call you! “Dear” and “darling” and “sister” – even when not having the connotation it might have in your book – are not some of the morally bad words one could be called!

In this world of hatred and resentfulness, maybe we should need more “dears” and “sisters” and “brothers”, I figured.

So, I’ll live with it. For now. Till next time I hear “sugar”, and then … Wait a minute: wrong state! But you get the point.

The Sky Pulse

2011-01-27T16:24:00.006-07:00

So, you probably knew this might be coming, given my recent flying trip. And I will have to say, overall, the trip was relatively uneventful, if you’re not counting the milk spill of the lady sitting next to me all over my right (black jean-ed) leg. But some observations I do have.

I was really looking forward to it, given all the hubbub over The Holidays about the new security measures and scans, and people arrested for fighting them, and all …

Well, the new security “measures” were not all that bad. Actually, they were not at all that … different. I have flown before September 11, and AT September 11 (which found me abroad for two weeks), and after September 11. And this time was no different than many of the flights after The WTC attacks.

The Salt Lake City airport had the “all body scan” option, but it had that in the fall of 2009, too. Nothing new there. What they can see on the other end, I choose not to think about. If they get giggles out of it, they need a life and it’s a matter too small to make me lose sleep over it.

If you “minded” the all body scan, which some people did, you were given the option to be “given a thorough pat down”. That didn’t “look” any different than any pat downs I have gone through before, when the metal detector beeped because I had too much jewelry on. Not sure how it felt, since I didn’t mind the scan and went through with that.

The Montreal airport had nothing. No all body scans. No “thorough pat downs”. You went through the metal detecting arch and you were free to go, if you didn’t beep. No extra jewelry on me this time, so I was clear.

So, despite the hype, I felt neither violated, nor embarrassed in any way, but as you see … I don’t think much of who sees what at the other end of the scanner … I just take is as normal protocol. After all, when human is against the system, the system always wins. So, why waste energy fighting it?! At least, that’s my expectation. Always.

And a word about the fees and taxes. Well …as usual, there is something I will complain about, here. So, we all know that the price of tickets is sky rocketing! With every trip, I am amazed at how much more they charge me for seemingly the same amount of travels (or less). With every trip, I wonder, pointlessly, why are they doing this?! To cover what?! Gas prices have not doubled since last time I traveled. We are not at some extra war. We are paying more or less the same for everything else we consume. But airline prices have to go up, up, up … and away … every single day, it seems. Totally unjustified, in my opinion!

The peanuts, cookies or pretzels were free. Water was free. But sodas were $2. Alcohol (read : “wine and beer” ) was $5. Liquor was $7 for an itty bitty bottle - you know: airplane size. I think it would have been better if you brought your own liquor in 3 oz bottles, which are allowed through security! Note to self for next time … Nothing totally new to me here!

What was new, was … the $2 charge for a set of headphones, to watch the movie (The Social Network) from Atlanta to Salt Lake. The hurtful part was that on the screen the disclaimer mentioned: “to enjoy this movie, purchase headsets for $2. Free on international flights”. (my italics) ?!?!?!?! Ex-cuse ME?! Please tell me HOW it costs Delta MORE to show you the movie on an internal flight than it does to show it to you on an international one? And don’t even get me started on “well, you paid more for the international ticket, so the movie should be free”, because OK… yeah, you paid more, but you fly twice as far! Totally blew my mind! $2 for a headset! I think I’ll rent a Redbox dvd when I get home for less!

Another obnoxious and cheeky punch in the gut was that when I paid for my checked in luggage (because, yes, you pay for ONE bag if you need to check it in, and I am sorry, I need a lot of crap for a week’s stay, and I’d rather not lug it all over the layover airport when you sell me tickets with less than an hour between planes), the itemized (kudos!) receipt I got for the bag stated I was paying for “excess baggage”. And I was puzzled. Excess of what, exactly?! I remember the days when you had included in your ticket price the checking in of not one but two bags! That was your allowed luggage! Perfectly "legal", because it is assumed you do need at least one change of clothes where you go, if it's far enough to fly there!! Now, it seems, that if you have anything more than your own body, it’s an “excess”?! I feel so decadent! So, that peeved me yet again, because again – you charge more for the tickets themselves, so you’re covered on whatever extra charges you might consider having.

The infamous punishing receipt ...

But they’ve got us by the balls, haven’t they?! (pardon my English!) We will pay whatever it’s needed, because our country is oh so large, and sometimes, you have no choice but to fly. You get only so many vacation days, so you can’t spend them all driving to see your family or friends. So, cringing will your jaw hurts, you buy the tickets, and whatever “extra” comes with it. No, let me rephrase: you buy the tickets and whatever they might think of as extras! And next time it'll be $2 for an ounce of oxygen you breathe! Because, you see, the system always wins!

I will add one positive note, though. This time, unlike other times, Delta had no delays! And it’s amazing to me how really that is a pleasant surprise anymore, rather than the norm. But as it stands today, it is the exception. The plane was at the gate for every flight, it always arrived earlier than announced, there were no overbooked flights, no “stand by” individuals, or passengers asked to wait for another flight because of whatever reason, no bogus mechanical issues. I had very short layovers, but every time I could grab a meal and get to my new gate comfortably, without running the toddlers over. Everything, in all my four flights, went like clock work. For the first time in a long, long time. And I call this a real improvement (un-jinxing fingers crossed!), especially considering I flew during the heart of winter towards and from and through the Great Big North. A lot of snowflakes could have impeded this trip. But they were not called responsible! Refreshing, I’d say, if I were over my price gouging. But that annoyance … will never end.

Old and New Family

2011-01-24T16:59:00.002-07:00

“What greater thing is there for human souls than to feel that they are joined for life - to be with each other in silent unspeakable memories.” ~George Eliot

I hear the small voice of a toddler, most likely. He's cooing a couple of seats in front of me. And then, he screams. And cries for a while. And then he settles down and starts asking his mommy, in his small voice, questions in French ...

For the first time, maybe, ever, on an airplane, I am not mad at the loud little man, taking over the acoustic space of the cabin, and every brain cell we have. For the first time, I smile and he makes me miss my nephew, Patrick.

I am flying back, from a week of spending time with my sister, in Canada, and her family, and my mom, who is visiting her. My sis is expecting her second and she needs a lot of care, love, and hands on help right about now ... After a week of constant baby talk, with Patrick, I am starting to like it. Well, I like his, anyway! I say "baby talk", but he talks quite like a little young man. A bit of French, a bit of Romanian, and a lot of a 2 and a half year old’s wisdom make him a bundle of creativity and permanent surprise.

He is so much like her: beautiful, sweet, vulnerable, fragile and smart; he is some like his dad, too: extremely assertive, strong, curious and tall, and ultimately, a lot like himself: funny, creative, unafraid, and incredibly unique and lively. I recognize a lot of our own families in him, and yet he shocks me every second with how much of his own person he is.

It was amazing to see my baby sister, who has always leaned on me before, becoming such a power house for Patrick. She is his rock. His playmate, his confidante, his “protectrice” when he's in trouble with dad. He must utter “mommy” at least 1000 times a day! He does nothing without her acknowledgment ...She still relies on me and mom, just like the old times, on things, but now, she has her own huge responsibility to carry on. The mechanics of our family have definitely become more complicated. And it’s so much fun to watch how families change, and grow, and yet everything stems from the same love and acceptance, as before.

Seeing my sister has always been top on the list of my travels. It’s my yearly spiritual journey, one I cannot live without, because it centers me, and brings me back to the depth of who I am. But since Patrick, our visits have acquired a new dimension: we have always had the past, and we always talked about our childhood. We never much thought further than the now, though. With him, and his future new brother in the picture, “tomorrow” is very much in the equation. And I am realizing that nothing makes me ponder more upon my own existence as well as the relativity of it as a child does. Especially a child related to me, flesh and blood. He makes me, as I know he does his parents, more responsible and more attentive to every action. He is the promise that the world as I know it will live on ... in possibly a better way.

I love my own life. And children are not in the cards in our house. And thus I am doubly grateful to my baby sister for giving me the family I cannot have for myself, and making me part of it. She allows me to be not just a happy voyeur into their life, but an intrinsic part of their universe. I have found myself growing with her, and with Patrick, over the past three years, and I am very much looking forward to the day when he, too, will be consciously and verbally aware of the bond we have. For now, I am happy to just be “Alina, the godmother and aunt, mommy’s sister from America” to him. And that’s quiet a mouthful for a two year old!

I am also looking forward to the new baby! Another opportunity to know, and learn, and laugh, and love ... and move on.

Patrick - a very rare moment of rest.

The Gun Show, at First Glance

2011-01-09T11:34:00.002-07:00

How can a couple better spend a cold, gray, winter, Saturday morning in the mountains than by going to a gun show? Apparently not just this one couple, but everyone else in the Salt Lake and surrounding counties.

My husband is a gun collector. There. I said it. And as much as I am terrified of guns, and I was programmed from early on that “guns kill people”, not “people kill people”, I married him nonetheless. I am slowly, very slowly starting to work with this fear and with this taboo. I was brought up to think (and see on TV) that only bad people have guns and use them. You never see a movie about tame, little, "normal" families with guns in the house where tragedy doesn’t strike! Usually, in our mainstream pop culture, where there is a gun, there is trouble.

I have met, in the past years, and mostly up here in the mountains, folks that own guns, and shoot at targets, others that collect them just as a hobby, and others that shoot them to kill Bambi. But all of these folks are nice, friendly, well balanced people, that keep a regular day job, marry, have amazing kids, and cook amazing Thanksgiving feasts. And so far, tragedy never struck. And so far, when we meet for dinner with them, guns are put away. They are used responsibly, only when it’s appropriate and with much careful safety. So, my “gun culture”, or … preconceived notions have started to shake a bit.

Anyway, this was his umpmillionth gun show and my first. When we married, he always doubted that I would ever go to a show with him. But sitting at my computer on Friday and pondering on the show announcement, I figured: enough is enough! I know that life needs to be lived, not watched from a distance, and I do live, it seems, in the middle of gun country (when we go camping or hiking, everyone seems to carry a gun, dress in camo and watch, with the barrel pointed and ready, for something to jump out of a bush), so I decided I need to at least know more, see more of these random folks in their natural habitat, browsing in this huge hall in search for their own next favorite hobby.

The show was not as “scary” as I thought it would be, nor as my husband thought it would be for me. Again, most folks looked “normal” – whatever you define by that word. Some came with kids, even.

Yes, there were a couple of individuals that looked rugged, unclean, unshaven, and made me think “wow! Sure, ALL you need in your falling apart trailer in the middle of nowhere, amongst thousands of empty bottles of booze IS a gun! Sure, you do! *shiver*”; but for the most part, I felt safe and much like any other show I have been to at an event center.

The show looked to me much like a car show, but instead of cars, every “dealer” had handguns and rifles. Lots and lots of them. Some were there to show old, antique pieces, some were selling new things. Unlike cars, where the newer they are the bigger they are, in guns, it seemed to me the newer they were, the smaller they were.

I even thought some of them were “cute”… Being the ever shallow visual person that I am, the craftsmanship of most of them is what attracted me: the huge, wooden rifles, showing off the beauty of the wood, and the small, stainless steal, “lady” handguns. But sorry, no pictures allowed, so I have no proof of this.

Some of the dealers in the show looked a bit tight and serious. Just lonely people, somewhat self absorbed, maybe just being focused and careful around their merchandise. But most of them were much as any other salesman: friendly, chatty, full of laughs that they shared generously.

All the guns were “safety locked” (I guess that’s the term?!), so you could touch, but … could not accidentally shoot anyone. I am still asking my husband for details on how a purchase is possible, how the guns are registered, and the folks who own them. It’s a pretty bureaucratic process, full of red tape, and yet … pretty much widely available anywhere in The States.

The place was packed! I was shocked to see much more people at the gun show (which was more expensive to get in) than the home decorating show which was being held next door.

The show also had other items beside guns: they had gun parts, for any repairs you might need to make on your arsenal, or for guns you wanna build yourself. They had antique furniture and books, they had houseware stuff, like china, crystal and bed linens. Even jewelry. There were merchants with samples of home made sauces, breads and even beef jerky- yum!

At one table, I picked up on a metallic, purple (of course) and black handgun. It just stood out from all the others, as it looked new, shiny and coquette. I even picked it up, which usually gives me the willies! The gentleman selling it, said “You like the purple one? I know! They even make them purple AND pink (and he pointed at the other two pink guns he had on the table). And you have no idea how many purple and pink guns I have sold, either! Tons of them! Amazing to me how many people wanna accessorize when they’re trying to kill ya!” – and laughed loudly.

I put the gun back down. He was a nice, jolly fellow, but the willies came back at that remark.

Yeah, I am not ready to shoot yet, for sure! Somewhere in the back of my mind, guns still kill people. I am more interested in knowing the people that own the guns now, and I wanna be in the know about how they work, and what makes them powerful (I know, gunpowder, right?!), but it won’t be my next new hobby any time soon.

I feel like a huge threshold has been passed, though! Just like a long time ago, I would not be caught dead in a room alone with a dog, I never liked to be anywhere in the same proximity with a gun. Loaded or not. Humans or not around it. I am starting to face that fear, and at least tolerate them in my presence. It’s a long road, but … the first baby step has been made. And it feels incredibly freeing.

A Minute of Remembering. A Word of 'Thanks'.

2010-12-31T16:42:00.003-07:00

“For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.” (T.S.Eliot)

I have never been much into New Year’s resolutions … A friend of mine was asking the other day to give reasons why we don’t make them, as opposed to most people out there who make them every year. At the time, I couldn’t come up with a reason. I just knew I was not in the “let’s make a list for the new year, so we can have something to stray from” crowd.

Then, I thought about it for a bit … And, as with most of everything in my life, when I need explaining about who I am, I go to the way I grew up. Sorry, mom and dad, but it is true!

As a Romanian, who are somewhat passé-ists, I look back to the old year for lessons learned rather than look into the future with a plan. In our household, and even today, when I call my folks at midnight tonight, we talk about what went on this year and what we've learned from it. We assess how this year has changed us, inevitably, through the fortunes and misfortunes it showered us with, and we acknowledge what, if anything, is still the same in our characters … Sort of like a landscape after a tornado – we evaluate the damage and contemplate the new surroundings, never the same again.

And here I am, in the last day of 2010 reviewing my past 365 days! Every time I think of this year I feel tired! Every time, I sigh and say ‘WOW’! - I cannot shake this reaction, although I have tried to multiple times during the year … But this year has been that full, that overwhelmingly rich, meaningful and yet … short …

I feel like this was definitely, for me, one of those milestone years. One of those years when you know your life just took a 90 degree turn. I have done things this year I won’t be doing often, for sure … All the while, I have learned more about people and life in general and I have learned more about who I am, about my flexibility, patience, or lack of it, about what’s true and important and timeless in life.

I have learned that there can be marriage without a power struggle. We are here, together, to complete each other, and not to dispute who gets to the finish line first. There is no finish line, and if there is, I’d rather get there together, at the same time, hand in hand. I have learned new meanings of love, commitment, and respect, and for that I will forever be grateful to my patient, loving and overall amazing husband. Who knows me better than anyone else now, and who loves me just the same!

One of the things I have learned from him this year is how to slow down! I never thought this was possible! My agenda used to be completely full all the time. My calendar, with no days off for months! My weekends, filled with plans, trips, friends, and chores … Not so much anymore … I have learned how nice it is to just be. To just sit down for a full day and do nothing but finish a book, or a scarf!

One valuable lesson that I am still trying to acquire teachings from is that so much in our lives is out of our control! I know this is such a cliché for most people, but you control freaks out there know what I am talking about! We always want to know we’ve got the handle on everything. Well, I have learned this year that we have control over perhaps 10% of what’s happening to us. And that percentage is generous! The rest is chance. Or God. Or Nature. Or Government. Or … the economy … Or family. Or friends. Or … you fill in the blanks…

Like many folks around me, I have learned that the American Dream of owning your home can quickly become the Universal Nightmare of not being able to pay for it or sell it. And that what seems like a completely personal decision you have made with eyes wide open can take a life of its own and spin out of control when the economy tumbles! And, again, there is not much you can do about it. And “waiting it out” is painful, but it’s the only thing to do. Waiting it out is also not an option for a control freak. But I am forced to adjust.

I have learned, yet painfully, and very much against my nature, that my job doesn’t define me! I also learned that you can lose a job as quickly as you can get a job, and losing it has absolutely nothing to do with who you are or how good you are. I know now that a job is probably one of the most volatile “assets” we have, and thus we should not make an absolute of it … We should very much treat it like an appliance – it’s great, and useful while it’s there and while it works. And we do our best to care for it, maintain it, give it our all to keep it going. But once it breaks, we have to be ready to buy a new one. Not get stuck and cry over it in deep depression for months, ‘cause that won’t fix it. My mom was right (of course): “People make jobs. Jobs don’t make people”, she says. So, you move on, and you start enjoying your life instead of crying for that broken vacuum cleaner … eerr ... I mean … lost paycheck! Your life is the only definite you have left at the end of every day, for as long as you live. So tend to it.

On a more practical note, I have discovered that three old cats do not die if cooped up in a small car for four days and moved across America. They do just fine. Once again, I was amazed at their resilience and their tolerance, and their immense and unconditional trust in me! It was a once in a lifetime journey, and I am so glad we all did it as a family!

I have discovered how fast kids grow this year: one minute they are completely reliant on you, the parent, in diapers and non verbal, the next morning, they wake up speaking in sentences and asking for things by name, like “a red fire truck with a ladder” from Santa! My nephew also taught me how deeply sensitive, impressionable and kind small kids can be if exposed to love and affection – it’s all up to us whether they will be bullies or lovers!

Speaking of kids, I am also learning as we speak, that unborn babies have a mind of their own! They can call for birthing any time they feel like it – not knowing a thing about the mandatory 40 weeks! And the adults, and the doctors have to comply with their needs. They’ll show you who’s boss from early on. The tens of shelves in thousands of bookstores loaded with books about “What to expect when you’re expecting”, eat your hearts out!

I have learned this year that I am really not too old to change! All my life, I have secretly wished that I will never be too old to change … and this year was a great testimony to that: I am not too old to move to a state that should require a passport to just come visit; not too old for a new climate, new culture, even new speech! I am not too old to once again learn how to live with someone else in the house. Nor too old to make new friends and look for new connections. It’s refreshing to know that I still have the drive to go out there and find life and beauty and interest, even if sometimes I do have the reputation of a cynic.

I have been able to stay true to my personal goal, and keep moving this year. Life IS a trip, after all, is it not?! I have been so lucky to afford, both financially and physically, to see some gorgeous places this year – I have literally traveled “from sea to shining sea”, from North Carolina to California, through many places in between, and all the way to The Great Lakes, too. With every mile, I have reveled in the splendor of this land, and have returned home richer and more inspired to look for more beauty around me …

I am even grateful this year for the things that were not so fortunate. As I say, always, I am even grateful for the band aids: declining health, loss of money, loss of jobs, loss of friends – they were all part of this year’s mix! But each one of these was a lesson in patience, humility and optimism! You have to keep moving on. There is no reverse in the car of life! So, you “get tough or die” as Johnny would say.

I have learned this year who my friends are, for now. And that they can be as relative as the days of life themselves: they come and go … regardless of my actions. And that is fine. That is just the tide of life as it is. We change as people, so our relationships change. I am grateful for all my friends, from various stages of my life, and I wish all of them happiness in the new year, regardless of where in my universe they reside now.

I am also thankful to my blog readers. Their comments, and readership sometimes were the only connection I had to the “great, big world" out there, when I traveled across The States, or complained about the “new culture” I moved to, or about my craggy yard, or about unruly parents! For their presence and time, I thank them!

More than anything in the world, I am grateful today for my family – for my old and my new one, too! They are the force behind my smiles, and the energy under my feet in the morning! I am grateful for every second we all got to spend together this year, and I have been feeding off of the magic in those seconds year round! I know now, more than ever before, that no matter what life will throw my way, no matter how many changes, and pains and challenges, the lighthouse of my storms will always remain my family! And I am so happy to have that! The rest is just superfluous matter!

Happy New Year to all of you! Hopefully better, hopefully richer, hopefully healthier for all of us. But more importantly: make it full; make it matter, and enjoy it!

Talkin' 'Bout The Weather

2010-12-15T13:30:00.006-07:00

My first full winter in Utah! Everyone warns me about it, so needless to say, I am nervous. Actually, the truth is, I have been spoiled by living in The South for 12 years! It’s amazing how your body forgets cold (or hot) and how you get cozy in more comfortable temperatures. I am also used to wearing winter clothes that are fashionable. Not practical. So, a handful of folks believe that I do not have what it takes for this winter at high altitude deal. And, yes, I have been nervous.

The weather’s been very strange so far, though … I know – there is no bigger platitude than that! Weather is always strange, right?! But it’s been like nothing I have expected or been warned against.

One minute, it feels like fall. The next, like The North Pole. We were in a whiteout around Thanksgiving, and I was worried we’ll have 6 months of actual white winter, like Canada. And then, it all melted, and everything became bright and sunny! For a while.

Yesterday, talking to a friend from out East, she reported 14F in Rocky Mount, VA. I was at 50F, in Spanish Fork, washing windows outside in a short sleeve shirt. And except for the peaks of the mountains, everything was dirty and muddy. No snow. Not a flake!

When I checked the forecast before bed last night, I saw some prediction of snow and rain, but didn’t take it seriously, since snow usually happens “in the mountains”, and down here we might get some rain drops. After all, we live at the border of mountain and desert, right?!

View from my back patio door

Well, this morning, I woke up to this! Ski resort Sundance reports 5 inches of accumulation, and usually they get more than us, in The Valley. But I swear, we got at least that!

Our lonely bird feeder, today

It’s beautiful out there! And this morning, while the roads were still tricky, it was quiet, too! I love winter mornings where you can hear a pin drop outside – cold, crisp, snow squeaking under boots. Just a big, white void. And I love looking at snow. I don’t like much driving into it, if I don’t have to, but looking at it and sipping my hot coffee – oh yeah …

Our driveway and the neighborhood

I am hoping the snow will stick around till next week, or we’ll get slightly more, and we’ll actually have it for Christmas. I love the warm Southern Christmases of the past, but there is something to be said for a white one, as well!

Front porch and beyond ...

As it turns out – winter is not that intimidating, so far, after all … Just temperamental!

From Low to High

2010-12-02T13:29:00.007-07:00

There is nothing more rewarding to us than going away for a short bit. Unplugging from the everyday and putting things into perspective. And the end of the year, the beginning of the Holiday Season, seems to be the perfect time to do it, really.

Our Thanksgiving week was framed by two great trips, one to the South, in the relatively low flats of Nevada, and one to the North of us, atop the peaks of the Wasatch Front. Two very different trips, in landscape, weather, and activities, but similar, too, in more ways than one.

The weekend before Thanksgiving, some friends of ours suggested we should go to Mesquite, NV (closer to us than Vegas) and try our luck at Bingo. Sounded like fun, but no one won anything. At least not in Bingo.

Mesquite, NV

Mesquite is nestled in the Virgin River Valley, almost right on the border with Arizona. It reminded me somewhat of Myrtle Beach, SC, without the beach of course: lots of palm trees, retirees and golf courses! Our friends almost exclusively played bingo or some other games during the weekend, but we took some time to visit some of the local landmarks: the local museum, the art gallery, The General Store and this beautiful arts and crafts store called Baja Imports.

It’s a small, tranquil, sleepy town, a strange mixture of “cheese” and picturesque. Everybody seems to know everyone’s name and if they don’t recognize you, they’ll ask who you are and what you are about. Although set along the Spanish Trail established in 1820’s, the town itself is relatively young (the very small museum of history was the hospital till 1974), with an establishment date of 1880.

The architecture is typical of what you imagine South Western, desert architecture to be: straight lines, not a lot of windows, very much in the adobe style. Pretty much the entire town is monochromatic: various shades of yellow- brown. The streets are quiet and the traffic is slow. It was nice to kick back and just slow down a little, taking in the sleepy streets and the vacation-like lifestyle that exudes from everyone in town.

The gambling crowd was somewhat of a rude awakening to me. No movie I have ever seen about gambling could have depicted the reality that I saw. People at the tables and mostly at the slot machines look like they are in a trance. Despite the millions of bright lights, the casinos are not luxurious and don’t look rich. OK, maybe this was a “lower class” casino compared to Vegas, but still: they reek of cigarette smoke (we SO take for granted the smoke free public places so common in so many states till we enter an establishment that is not abiding by those rules yet! Man, what a difference!!), they are noisy, dark (I know! With all the lights, still!) and people look like drug addicts, hooked on these machines.

They don’t look happy: paying no attention to what’s going on around them, smoking, barely eating, unhealthy looking and somewhat skinny, maybe with a drink in hand (alcohol is free “if you gamble”), eye bloodshot and pushing the button. Repeatedly. Obsessively. Hopelessly. Hopefully, I should say. It was quite a sad picture of humanity for sure.

There was a handful of folks who were there just for fun. In groups of friends, smiling, enjoying the drinks, the conversation, the cheap popcorn, having fun winning or losing. But the majority of the crowd was made up of gambling “veterans” that you kind of knew lost everything at least once in their lives, for the greed of the game. Those folks looked like lonely ghosts who had one relationship: it’s them and the machine. No friends. No bonding. Becoming machines themselves, maybe.

Between the Utah and the Nevada borders, there is a short distance that takes you on I-15 through Arizona. Back in the day, when America was just a dream for me, I have always wanted to see two states: Arizona and Montana. The apparent emptiness of one and the lush richness of the other fascinated me. The very little North Western corner that I have seen of Arizona on this trip was much like I imagined Arizona to be: arid, red, wide open and filled with cacti.

I love any type of cactus plants, but in Arizona they make up entire forests almost – free from the pots I usually have seen them in, they look like they tower over the open lands, owning it – alone, unperturbed and at home. The soil is either sandy or rocky and extremely barren. The cacti are fragile yet painfully thorny – you touch them with the most care and respect. It’s a beautiful live painting of desolation and solitude, which, at the same time, breathes life and mystery.

Just standing in the middle of the Virgin River Camping Grounds and feeling small in the midst of the tall rocky mountains was my favorite part of the trip; it also gave me once again the feeling that “I have arrived”. It’s a funny feeling seeing your dreams alive – you know you’ve made it, and yet you’re empty again, looking for the next goal to reach.

Virgin River Campgrounds, AZ - click on the picture to see the entire Mesquite album

Park City, UT

After a short week, where we stopped home for a bit of food and friendly gathering for Thanksgiving, we headed North to Park City, to spend the following weekend in The Stein Eriksen Lodge , a ski resort.

If Mesquite sits low, at an elevation of 1608 ft, The Lodge is perched up on many a slopes at 8200 ft above sea level. It was a quick and steep climb from the weekend before – my heart and brain (ears) definitely felt it!

Although the stay at The Lodge was scattered with various snags, results of miscommunication and poor judgment on the parts of some of the staff, the overall feel after the weekend was of a time well spent, in a high end establishment, with great décor, amazing food and friendly folks.

If you can afford it (ours was a gift), I would definitely recommend staying there, ski season or not! The resort was named after a famous Norwegian skier of the 50’s who later immigrated to the US and made Utah his home. Needless to say, the rates go up during skiing, which starts on December 1st. But skier or low key traveler, the stay here would be worth it in any season – you’ll get to enjoy the beautiful Utah landscape and many trails and bike routes, as well as the proximity to Park City and Deer Valley. And as in any “high class” resort nowadays, let’s not forget the spa and the wine cellar they have, as well.

They don’t skimp much on anything in here. Down comforters and pillows, expensive soaps and lotions in the bathroom, leather couches in lobbies and living rooms, tons of natural wood and stone, real wood fireplaces in every room, fully furnished condos (not just hotel rooms), experienced and innovative executive chefs make the stay in this hotel elegant and cozy.

The views from anywhere in the hotel are amazing – just endless amounts of mountains, with winding roads leading to the bottom of the valley, pine trees and rocky peaks.

After a short drive of about 10 minutes, you can be in Downtown Park City, close to anything and everything this beautiful mountain town has to offer: eating, shopping, art, strolling along historic Main Street. We had dinner at Squatters Brewery, a local favorite in this part of Utah (we usually go to the one in Salt Lake), brunch on Saturday at our old friend, The Eating Establishment, which is another famous, historic restaurant in The City, breakfast at Wasatch Bagel Café, which we discovered for the first time, quite by chance, just googling a place to have bagels in, and with which we fell in love, because the coffee is amazing, the portions are generous ,and the taste is even better!

And when you say “historic” in Utah … you will have to remember you’re measuring time by American history, not European. As an example: the oldest restaurant in Park City is The Red Banjo, and it was established in 1962. The Eating Establishment is the oldest “full service” restaurant, with a birthday of 1972.

On Saturday night, we dined at the The Glitretind Restaurant inside of our resort. It was part of our “weekend getaway package”. Just like in some of the restaurants of California, we once again felt like we were witnesses of higher culinary arts, not just of “food”. The presentation of all the dishes, and the combinations we had were something you’d not quite find at your local diner. We had a corn and shrimp soup with popped corn, a duck breast cooked to perfection, parsnip puree that was smooth and silky like a mousse, grilled shrimp on watermelon appetizers and the best caramel apple martini, too.
We ate things like “watermelon radish” and “hen of the woods mushrooms” which I am sure will not be as easy to come by as going into our local grocery store and pulling them out of a bin.

The slopes were not open yet, which made for the resort to be less busy, much to our enjoyment, as we typically hate crowds. We don’t ski, either, but even without winter sports, we enjoyed a beautiful and relaxing stay in a close to a magical place – the fires, the foods, the winter outside, the smell of wood made it all fairytale - like for us. We will definitely keep this place in mind for future anniversaries and special occasions.

Both of the weekends were a great way to kick off the (always busy) season to come. We learned a lot of new things about Western history, saw new landscapes, enjoyed new foods, had fun gambling and chatting with friends, we disconnected from the everyday and recharged for what it is to come.

As my dad always says: always make time to celebrate and savor life, and not just work-routine-work all the time. With the help of friends and family, to whom we say a big “thank you”, I like to think we did just that.

View from our balcony, at Stein Eriksen Lodge - Park City, UT
Click on the picture for the entire album

Letting Go. A Pep Talk

2010-11-14T15:09:00.007-07:00

In typical Aries manner, I always, and I mean always, jump head first in the river without realizing that I can’t actually swim. All of a sudden, I find myself in the deep midst of it, and then I go: “Oh, s^it! Now what?!” …

That’s pretty much how moving to The States felt like. And that’s pretty much how moving across America, 12 years later feels like, too. Moral of this story is: I never learn.

I moved to UT in May of this year to follow my heart. Just like moving to The States a while back, I have zero regrets. Usually, I try not to have any regrets about anything. A dear friend of mine says regrets are for weak folks, and an Aries will never admit weakness. I say that everything is a lesson and everything an adventure, so I have enjoyed thoroughly the good and the bad of the last few months …

But when I jumped in that car to come to The West, I had no second thoughts about what I left behind. With eyes wide open and perpetual curiosity, I was just happy about the unknown ahead. The places and people I was leaving behind – I was just happy to carry them in my heart and I figured we would always be close, as true friends are. I never expected I’d be missing them, or worse that I might never hear again from most. After all, we were so tight. So close. So … present … Nothing would change, other than we might not see each other, but we’d write. And talk. And of course, Facebook, too. But as life would have it – sometimes, one is wrong.

Every day a small jab of missing-ness shows up in my ribs just as a painful reminder that the world is too fast and too busy for living in the past. A small jab to remind me that things are what they are and will never be the same as they were 2000 miles away from here.

It’s tough to realize that what the day to day life used to be like in North Carolina can no longer be. I had friends there, and groups I associated with. A social life, and a “personal” life, if you will, that are missing here, because the people and circles that made that life possible are missing now.

I know – this is just common sense, and I should not take a couple of hours of my life to write about something so trivial. But truth is: you always hope that life and relationships matter more than they end up mattering. After all, you put time, and soul in every one. At least I do. Plus, I have some Romanian left in me, and things, and people and memories attach to me, like algae to rocks, staining them.

With every day that passes when I don’t hear from people I loved there, the jab in the ribs is more and more painful, it seems. Am I that easily forgotten? Are they that busy that they cannot email me at least once a month to check on things? Are 12 years of friendship that volatile to them? I did write to them first … but the wait of a response for days and sometimes weeks became too much to bear. So … now, I wait … Disappointment …

And then, there is the house that I left behind. A house that I loved, and that now feels like a huge burden. Every day that passes where I don’t get a call from the realtor that I might have had an offer of purchase, I feel the jab in the ribs hurting a little more … I feel like one more day on the market means one more day of neglecting the house. Bigger assuredness of having to jump on that plane waiting for me in Salt Lake with destination Greensboro to go check on it. One more drag in the past … One more worry … Guilt …

But this past week, when I decided to go out here and seek out new groups and new people and new opportunities, it dawned on me. There is a whole new life here, too, that I am missing out on. With every person I meet that has at least one thing in common with me, I feel a little bit less lonely. With every single loving thing that my husband does, I feel a bit less alone. With every single thing I find here, too (a favorite store, a favorite food, fried pickles on a menu, or a bag of Munchos in the grocery aisle), I feel a little bit more home.

As for those I left behind, people have lives too. Lives that don’t include me anymore, and that’s not their fault. I chose to leave. They didn’t kick me out. If all I will be is a memory to them, I am fine with that. I hope I would be a pleasant one. As with anything: I have control only over how I treat them, not the other way around. And I will always be here for whomever needs me … Should that ever happen … The house will do as houses usually do: it will sell, or rent, in its own allotted time … That is not for me to decide. Only for me to accept.

But I do have control over what’s around me now, and what will be a new memory tomorrow: there is a whole new world out here, in the mountains. There are fun people, and beautiful days to be filled. There are mountains to be climbed and birds to feed. Gardens to plant, movies to go to and groups to join, here. And now.

The past is called that for a reason. A door closed and I need to be aware of it, keep it closed and just welcome flashbacks from the past as they happen, if they happen. And most times, we just need to live with the volatility and futility of it all. Even if that all is ourselves. It's just life and the nature of humanity - passing.

In one of my more recently read books, one of my favorite authors says that when we move on in life, it feels just like someone pushed us off a bridge into a fast moving stream. Our first impulse is to grab on to the grass and twigs and branches along the banks of the river and hang on tight, because the stream is such foreign territory to us, used to the stability and familiarity and peace of the banks. But with time, the river wins. And we start letting go of the blades of grass and the twigs, little by little, until we hold on to nothing anymore and we start moving along, learning to swim in the new environment, and learning to let go and trust the new medium to take us to yet another safe shore … Every day, our fingers let go of one more blade of grass, until we have none left and the old shore is nothing but distant, and nothing but a memory.

I am still letting go of the last few twigs. The last one will be the house, for sure … but until then, I am practicing this swimming deal. And learning how it goes. After all, I jumped. And it’s either learning to swim or drowning. And the last thing an Aries wants is to accept defeat!

Stroll

2010-11-07T17:48:00.041-07:00

Sometimes the roads less traveled go straight through your own town. That’s what we ended up finding out this weekend, for lack of a better occupation. We walked those roads and found out where they took us.

Trying to enjoy the last bit of a finicky Indian Summer, we decided to take Saturday off from house chores and what-not’s and just stroll about the small (that is an understatement!) downtown of our presently hosting town of Spanish Fork, as well as through Springville, the next town over. The luxury of living in a small burgh is that it only takes a few minutes to cover the downtown walk. So that leaves you plenty of time in the day to visit the next small city (glorified name alert!).

Aside from the weather being just spotless beauty that day, the thorough enjoyment of the adventure also came from unexpected findings like shops with treasures, unique local art, history, old times charm and lots of just plain local beauty.

We got lost in an antique store and then in a local gift and sweets store, and we had lunch at an unusual joint, that advertises “Chinese and American” fare on their sign. We took in the specific of these parts, which speaks so much of what the West stands for, and which are built mainly on family values (read: “kids”) and the Mormon Faith and traditions.

I’ll let the pictures we took speak for themselves about the local flair of what it means to live in a smaller than small Utah County (a.k.a. “The Most Mormon County in Utah”) town. I hope you find them telling.

Enjoy the journey! (just click on any of the pictures to see them larger)

We found out at the Spanish Fork Library that the first white man expedition around here was not Mormon, indeed, but Franciscan/ Spanish. There is a monument erected to celebrate this expedition on the Library's front lawn.

This time capsule also at the Spanish Fork Library marks my first ever encounter with such a landmark. I was trying to figure out if I will be alive when it's set to be opened. Probably not!

The downtowns of both Spanish Fork and Springville look very much like your typical Western town: lots of connected one story businesses, in a row, across the street from each other. But a zebra on the roof?! Now, that's different. And I have no idea what business that is, and why a zebra! No, zebras don't live in the Rockies, for those who are wondering ...
- Spanish Fork

Strangeness of Spanish Fork: directions on how to cross a road WITH a flag and major fire hazard. I knew these folks are way crazy about Christmas decorations, but seriously, this does not look safe. And what in the world is "normal caution" anyway?! Hhmm ...

Both Spanish Fork and Springville have family owned drug stores in their downtowns. We always wonder how in the world they stay in business with Walgreens just at the next corner, but ... selling dolls is evidently how - in this family oriented town, those are on high demand, I am sure! - Spanish Fork

And speaking of Walgreens: we spotted this shirtless gentleman in the parking lot of Walgreens, just standing there. No, he was not homeless, by all appearances, he had just hung up his cell phone as I was taking the picture. And was just waiting there... Small town indeed. - Springville

I absolutely loved this store in Springville! It is a gift and sweets store, and everything else you might want to sell, with a local flavor - homemade crafts, "inspirational" gifts and such.
We witnessed a conversation of folks putting in their order for homemade breads for Thanksgiving with the owner, and it was just like coming home again. Nothing beats the personalized, individual attention your small town "mom and pop" store gives you! The name of the store is ShayBee's and it's lovely! The way they preserved the original outside walls where they probably built on an addition was interesting, as well.

There was a memorial square of some sort commemorating settlers, or so it seemed, in Spanish Fork. This particular plaque caught my eye: He was a homebuilder and she was a homemaker and they were both successful. Career women, eat your hearts out! Only home, I noticed that her name was "Margaret Mitchell", one of my most treasured American writers to date ...

Downtown Spanish Fork, the old and the new collide: I am browsing a 1905 edition of the book "One Hundred Years of Mormonism" on the patio of our very own, local, family owned coffee shop. Yes, coffee in Utah County - with a sassy sign, nonetheless.

Eating establishments: "T-Bone Restaurant" in the first picture - one online review described it as " a total dive, but the food is good", and they were not far off! Second picture: the beautiful stained glass windows at Magleby's, another restaurant staple - both in Springville.

Springville, or "The Art City", is literally littered with metal and marble and ... whatever else material you can think of sculptures. Please visit the whole album for a broad depiction of these unique works. You will notice that most of these sculptures are of kids.

My favorite sculpture of all was of course Mark Twain, in front of the old Public Library (1922) in Springville, now a museum. So cozy ...

And because these establishments are filled with little ones more often than not, there were warnings on some of the metal sculptures which made us chuckle.

These markers were all over Springville. They spoke to me, as a live testament of the Old West and its Pioneers. Just like an old coin, branded in everlasting metal, they bore the mark of time, history, hope and faith. It was moving. It's not just brick and mortar of old walls a town is not. It's lives, and people who built it, and their story and perseverance that gave us what we have today.

Springville: I just loved some of its architecture.

Fall in Springville.

Visit the album of this trip to see more. And remember: the next revelation of the year, or of your life can be hidden down that road you never ventured on because it was marked "one way". Park the car and wander about.

Treasures abound right under our noses. And if writers bear any truth, "you might wake up spiritually as easily in Utah as in Sri Lanka" (Anne Lamott), so you never have to travel that far ...

Feed Them (Pretty Much Anything …) and They Will (Still) Come

2010-10-22T11:05:00.006-06:00

You know what we all should be in the business of selling in order to get rich? Even in this crappy economy?! We should ALL sell fast food! All of us! It seems to me that no matter how bad the publicity of all the fast foods is, no matter how scandalous the lawsuits, how many bypass surgeries they have to pay for, no matter how bad the food is, fake, plastic, greasy, poisonous, deadly, no matter how many times they screw up your order … we all keep going back!

We keep them all in (very successful, bazillion dollar making) business. Did you notice how McDonald’s stopped counting?! They now don’t tell us exactly how many millions of burgers they sold, they just say “millions served”. I guess Seinfeld’s wish has been fulfilled after all …

It’s the biggest mystery yet, to me. We all complain about bad service pretty much anywhere, even WalMart - although, like I said before, you just set yourself up for failure if you walk in there expecting good service. But we don’t ever promise to never go back to say … McDonald’s. Even if they give us the wrong drink, no ranch, no plastic ware for the salad, bacon when we want sausage, even when people find human thumbs in the chili (sorry, that was Wendy’s) or bugs in the tacos (T. Bell) – we go back … Always …

So, here’s my most recent experience at the now (unfortunately) legendary establishment.
There is this “ritual” in my new office – every Friday, my “team” goes somewhere fast for breakfast. Most usually, they go to McDonald’s because it’s faster, closest (of course, they’re on every corner in America, you knew that!), bla bla bla …

I seldom eat any fast food. Unless I am on the road to somewhere and I am in a rush, I never visit them. But, I am new in the office, didn’t want to be antisocial, so, I go along for the ride. I usually get just a plain biscuit and a cup of coffee. I figured, it’s the least poisonous stuff in the freezer, right?! I never liked fast food much, but since Morgan Spurlock’s documentary , I am even more consciously avoiding them. So, anyway, back to my sheep: they go to McDonald’s every Friday … I (most) times join them.

Today, I didn’t have much of a breakfast at home, so I figured, I can get something on my biscuit. And I decide I don’t like sausage, nor bacon (not today, anyway), nor steak, there is no chicken option, nor ham, so I’ll get just a cheese and egg biscuit – but that is very dangerous, because there is no such thing on the menu. So, it’s a custom order. I am nervous, but … here it goes:

Me: "An egg and cheese biscuit and a regular small coffee" (there is no “button” for my order, you see).
Teenage chick, who looked new and lost, in a foreign accent: "Hhmm... you want an egg biscuit?"
Me: " Egg and cheese, please"...
Her: "Oh, ok." She punches something in the register ... and repeats just to make sure she got it right: "OK. An egg biscuit." - looks all happy of herself. " And a coffee??"
I give up and say: "Yep. Egg biscuit and a coffee."

I was secretly happy she kept missing the cheese, since I really don't need it anyway ...

She puts it in the system. The lady from the back comes with the order in the bag. The cashier confirms with her she got an EGG biscuit, not anything else ...

I am all happy ... We drive back to the office, I sit down and open the sandwich. And surprise-surprise: I got not only egg AND … cheese on my biscuit, but sausage, as well. Although the word “sausage” never once was spoken.

Apparently, whoever Subway is using for their egg provider is in business with McDonald’s, too, because the eggs are square, and they taste like cardboard. That is not a metaphor, mind you … they really, do taste like you just licked the back of your pizza box! Really. Honestly!

So, I peeled off the sausage AND egg AND cheese off the bread, and ate my usual plain biscuit. Now, I am kicking myself for paying $3.00 for all that, when I should have just started with a plain biscuit (they didn't screw that one up yet ... ) and paid $1!

I am contemplating this office Friday "ritual". Should I risk being unpopular and a stick in the mud and just not join my co-workers?! Too soon to decide that, I think, but I can definitely not be on the McDonald’s Friday diet, for reasons so many the entire infinite web space is not roomy enough to host! So, I’ll refrain from listing … “Sigh”.

Time and Times Are Slipping …

2010-10-06T20:39:00.006-06:00

Nothing is new, and yet every year it all feels freshly different …

Cats are hovering over warm vents in the house and get fatter… The furnace kicks in at night … We grab jackets from the coat closet on our way to work … We turn blue on our daily walks…We remember we have a closet just for coats …

I walk into Hallmark just to smell the “harvest” candles … Pumpkin pie … Apple and cinnamon … Autumn wreath … I dream of fires! Grapes are sweetest … Another year – another new wine …

Dogs get spunky and thicken their coat … They eat more … Cats snooze more, if that’s ever possible …

God-awful, cheesy Halloween décor shows up on lawns … And pumpkins … Christmas trees are in the store front at Lowes … *sigh* …

We’re craving and cooking the “warm and cozy” foods … Mashed potatoes … Mac and cheese casserole … We roast a whole chicken in want of Thanksgiving … We’re baking more bread and feasting on its warmness … We’ve retired the salads …

The smell of freshly chopped wood floods the morning drive through the neighborhood … Piles of wood greet us at the stores …

People at the office exchange recipes for squash dishes and pumpkin soups … It’s “orange food” season … Kids go apple picking and drown in cider ...

We go shopping for new books and reach for a blanket … Make the book thick. Make the blanket soft …

Autumn rugs are lying on earth once again … yellow and red and brown and purple … It’s raining more… It’s dark longer … The sun has lost its bite …The rocky peaks jumped the gun into snow already …

Things are slowing down and quieting down to get ready for “the big sleep” … All things but the wind. The wind is howling in the dark void of leafless valleys …

It’s fall and we’re going with it …

Oct. 5, 2010 - first hint of snow, outside my kitchen window.
Please click on picture for more fall pictures along the Alpine Loop, in Uinta National Forest

Cranky Saturday

2010-09-25T19:36:00.003-06:00

The Life is good saying of the day is timely and fitting: “nothing is happy proof”.
But I wonder sometimes, after a day like today, if that’s really the case … Hmm… still debating. But let’s see what happened today to make me doubt this!

We were looking forward to this weekend, because we both had crazy weeks. So, we set off to a fun day, we thought, of harvesting and shopping and eating out and just being together. And the day turned out a bit stressful, to say the least!

We stopped by Sundance , where the Harvest Market was going on. They advertised on the site that there will be a local wine and beer tasting at this market, so I was hoping that kids would be scarce, since you know, alcohol is still the devil in Utah and such a bad example to youngsters, thank God!

Well, I was wrong. The whole place was flooded with them!

When we reached the upper parking lot (which seemed like a mile away from the actual market!), we almost ran over five or six of them, because they were roaming free, with no adult supervision, all over the overly full and rapidly filling parking lot! My husband stopped maybe half of a foot of a three year old girl, not even seeing her, because of her shortness, before she looked all surprised that she was that close to a car. The mother was smiling at the sky, and adjusting her purse strap somewhere not nearby enough …

When we reached “the market” there were no written signs of where and what was going on. We saw food being cooked, we saw people with wrist bands, but we had no idea where or how to get either … We roamed about, looked at crafts and found out the workings of the place, only after we asked a person with a name tag.

And we found out pretty soon that the name “harvest market” was loosely used: there was no “harvest” related merchandise or décor there – the only “harvest”- like tent (only ONE!) had tomatoes and peaches in it. No pumpkins, no gourds, no corn, no hay, no wreaths! NO harvest!

When it was time to get food, both the chicken and the burgers were not done yet. Sure, the barbecue and the hotdogs were, but that’s not what we wanted! So, we had to wait “for a minute” (that is a relative term in customer service!!) for the coals to be added to the grill, and for the food to cook while we were baking in the heat and listening to our waiting partner, an older man, who seemed to be following us around.

When we were done barbecuing … we went to check out the wine and beer tasting in The Owl Bar. OK! We arrive at the bar and there are again no signs about any wine tasting, nor people with samples of anything liquid. There were people sipping real drinks and ordering food, but … no signs. Again, we ask. I guess they offer it, but it’s not very visible, because, again: alcohol equals devil! But it’s a BAR!!!! So, we ask! They have two beers and one wine to taste. $2 for EACH of the beverages! They were advertising it as “local wines and beers”, and they had some Michelob Wheat and some other Michelob beer and also a Parducci white “sustainable” wine from … California! “Local” - my toes!!

We do taste some “sustainable” wine, and then, off we go … After a neat stop at Cabela’s, where we looked at dead creatures and shopped for camping gear – fun, fun!

And then we went shopping at the mall. We got hungry, so we went to Winger’s, which, according to Aa. “have everything”. And they do. So, we sat down, we looked at the menu – I knew I wanted a beer, a glass of cold water, a bowl of soup and some chicken wings! Well … hhmm … sat down we did, and we waited! For minutes on end. And no one showed up to even acknowledge we were there … So, off we went, after about 15 minutes of being ignored … Hungry and pi…ed, but definitely not in the British sense of the word!

I suggested to go to the Winger’s in Spanish Fork, closer to home, since we already knew what we wanted and we could skip the whole “looking at the menu” part. And so we did. Only to find out that the Spanish Fork Wingers … doesn’t serve alcohol! Smaller town, no liquor license, I suppose. Oy!

But we got great service in Spanish Fork, although they were much busier than the Provo mall folks! With stomachs full and still craving beer, we headed home next, only to almost hit another little girl in the parking lot, while leaving Winger’s! Our hearts jumped again: the girl was about 3 with no adults watching her !! I swear I could kill parents most days!

We decided we should stay in tomorrow! Too hazardous out there! And I have not said a thing about the crazy traffic we have been through all day, people with no direction, no signals, no common sense, breaking, cutting off … being stupid!!

But even on such a day, we come home, where it’s peaceful and quiet (for the most part) and we get to just enjoy each other, and the blessings of being alert enough not to kill two kids today! And that, my friends, is happiness!

Life is, indeed, good.

We Didn’t Get Killed, After All

2010-09-19T21:31:00.006-06:00

A different camping experience, indeed.

I remember, the first time I came to the Rockies (January of 2000), I promised myself that one day, I would come back in the summer, to camp and hike here. And here I am living here, and camping in The Rockies for the first time.

As always, camping is everything I ever want it to be: disconnecting, refreshing, re-plugging, invigorating, wandering and wondering, all at the same time. Nature never disappoints! Humans, on the other hand …

The campground we wandered to this time is only maybe 15 minutes away from our house: Whiting Campground, in Mapleton, UT. It’s so nice to live in the middle of this beauty and to have it all available at your backdoor. Pretty much literally.

The venturing out was not empty of adventure. We managed to dent our driver’s door when my husband backed the truck into a tree; he lost his watch, and both of us were attacked by flies and bees, and both of us got stung by yellow jackets. We also found out that adults can be a pain in the neck, so much more so than kids!

All weekend, the adults were the ones guilty of all the noise! They were laughing too loud, driving too loud, at all hours of the day and night, revving up the engines on motor bikes, riding horses on sidewalks until wee hours of the night, driving trash trucks, or maybe horse trailers at midnight on a Saturday through the middle of the campground, making a huge fire and partying ‘til 2 AM on a Saturday, only to return to town the same night.

We have found out that one downside of the campground being that close to town is that young people (I know! They’re the ones guilty of living it up, aren’t they?!) stop by for a fire and a hotdog, and a joint, any time of the day, or night, and then drive away. Unlike out East, this campground didn’t seem to have a gate that closes at dusk, so drifters were pretty much coming in and out as they pleased, all day and night long.

Despite these small distractions, we did manage to do everything we planned to do to disconnect and recharge our batteries: we slept in, we made fires of our own ‘til we started smelling like bacon, we hiked, we watched the moon and stars in the night sky, we read, we snoozed in on a lazy afternoon in the shade, we ate beans and dogs, like true cowboys, we made grilled dough, or “brown bears” on the open fire, like camping friends have taught me out East.

We saw hardly any wildlife at all, for some reason! They were probably hiding from the human noise! That didn’t tame down my paranoid fear of bears, however! I lived with that fear the entire 36 hours of living there!

We found out that the hot Utah summer left the river bank dry, so there was no babbling brook there. But the mountain air alone and the fresh, rusty colors of fall were enough of a backdrop for a wonderful getaway.

With all the other mishaps, of sorts, we did have a successful trip – one that is begging us back soon. After all, we didn’t get killed by the bears I was afraid of, we did not break any bones in the very steep hike we took, we didn’t get slashed into pieces by the hooligans that were having a bonfire and a wild gathering in the middle of the night, a couple of sites down from us, either. We survived it all and lived to tell the tale.

So, maybe we’ll raise the danger level next time and go off the beaten path a bit and just be one with nature alone - no campgrounds, just wilderness. Away from humans and all their array of noises… We’ll see.

It was a great trip. As the pictures can always tell.