French Bread

To paraphrase one of my favorite comedians, George Carlin, I love America. I really do. I would not want to live anywhere else in the world. But ... I am sorry ... America cannot make bread!

Maybe I have been spoiled for the first 23 years of my life at the Romanian small streets bakeries, and home made doughs. Maybe I have lived at the confluence of three major cultures that know bread: Romanian, Greek and Turkish! Maybe it's just Europe all around that does it better... I am not sure what it is, but whenever The Pilgrims came over, they forgot the bread on the other side of The Pond!!

But there is one bread that sort of brings memories back and is the best balm at the end of a tough week. It is definitely not Romanian or, with the risk of ignorantly generalizing, "European", but ... it comes close. Harris Teeter sells this crusty French bread, usually warm, that I absolutely love! It's usually on special, or sold out, on Fridays, by the time I hit the store. But it is with no failing and no doubt the best afternoon snack - or whole dinner - when I miss home and I want some cozy food to make my bad moods wash away.

We're ALL emotional eaters (aren't you glad that someone finally said it?! - yes, we all are!!), and this is my drug of choice! Sure, mashed potatoes straight out of the pot are too, but when I am not feeling like working for my drug, French bread it is.

I usually drive straight to the above mentioned store, and once inside, head for the Deli section, with no distraction, check the wicker basket first (that's where they have the "yard stick" loaves), and then for the regular shelf (where they have the 'Small French bread' - people usually don't notice those, and they're seldom sold out), and grab a loaf! The whole time my mouth is water, and my heart is beating fast, with anticipation. I try not to shop for a lot on Friday evenings, just to make sure I get out fast, with my bread!

I do the "check yourself out" line, and head for my car, bread in one hand, keys in the other. Gosh, I feel like an addict, and it feels sinfully good! Usually, all my purchases go in the trunk. Not the crusty, warm French bread! That goes to the passenger seat. Before I start the engine, I open the bag, and tear about a 5 inch piece off. Oh, memories flood my mind then: of my elementary school teacher buying her bread for her dinner over lunch, and bringing it in the classroom, and us, kids, asking politely (the smell was overwhelming!!) if we could have a piece. She always bought about 3 extra loaves so she should share them with us. So, while I am starting the car, backing out of the spot, and driving myself home, I am eating, with big bites, my 5 inches of French bread. Crusty. Warm. Fresh. So close to perfect and yet not quite there. But such a perfect surrogate, nonetheless.

And all the worries, bad moods, and dark energies of the week disappear into thin air. Just like that! No more. And then, once home, I snack on more, throughout the evening, sometimes skipping dinner altogether and filling up on bread. No, it's not just "dough". It's kneading hands, and work (to me!), it's the fruit of the earth, it's care, and love of food, it's memories, and heart balm!

French bread (to me) bought this way, and consumed as such, becomes so much more than just food. It becomes your favorite elixir, and your best friend, your comfiest chair, your warmest, most welcome and generous arms, your cheapest psychologist and your dinner, all in one!

They say that you can get to dogs' hearts through their stomachs. You can do so with people, too. Just find that one thing that does this for you. And you'll never go hungry! For food, emotions, ... what have you ...

Happy weekend, all. And happy snacking!

I'd Rather Be Sad??!! Hhmm ...

I think Dostoevsky said ( I might be wrong!) at some point that when you cannot write, you need to write about what it feels like to not be able to write. If you consider yourself a writer, there is not such thing as "not able to write", he implied.

But I am here to tell you: I cannot write lately! It's not that there is not "stuff" happening, because there is, people peeving me, or life lessons to come my way! Not at all! But I just cannot find the voice that will have something good, emotional, or remotely eloquent to say. I don't like my writing voice lately, and I would rather keep it quiet. Or maybe I just cannot find the inspiration to make what is happening interesting enough to share.

But here's the thing with me: historically, I have not been able to write, or have been a poor writer, when I am happy. My muse loves misery. She cannot handle me, nor the empty page, when I am happy! She has never been able to!

So, I can't help but wonder: should I be grateful for the happiness? Or mad that I cannot write?? Hhmm... Should I just be grateful for the non-writing, since it means I am happy? Or should I rather crave to be sad, since I miss writing so much?! Now, that's a twisted predicament!

As far as my readers go: I pray for understanding, and patience from you: if you want to just keep up with what I have been doing lately, I'll hate to tell you: I will NOT update the "status" on facebook with trivial notes about my daily routine, but in a nutshell, here's the scoop of the last week or so: going to the grocery, cooking dinner for the disabled, weeding the yard, having a wonderful dinner at Print Works Bistro (have your had their Spatzle?? What about their cheesy grits??), watching my Prom video and feeling too fat, working too much, and spending a whole weekend (so hard to come by and thus so much more precious!! ) with my boyfriend, cooking, watching movies and family videos, more working, and pausing for a day, or so, to remember my friend's birthday, who has passed away last year!

And if you want to know the truth about my soul lately: it's been blissful, and grateful for it all ! I am grateful for the wonderful family I have, and all my friends, far and near, I am grateful for the love and happiness in my life that I finally get to share and explore, and I am looking forward to a very bright future ...

And I will also look forward to learning how to write on happy spirits. Because I am guessing they will be very common from here out, as I am pretty sure that I'd rather be ... happy. I hope so, at least.

So, stay tuned, and thank you for your patience while I find my ... "happy" voice.

“A Cute” Movie

I am as puzzled when people tell me a movie was “cute” as when a realtor tells me a house is “darling”. These are very vague terms, to me, to refer to things that probably don’t suck that bad, but are not quite excellent.

But I found myself saying that the movie “The Proposal” is quite “cute”. And let me define it, from my point of view, at least!

Sometimes, at the end of a busy week, during which I have had everything from pleasant meets with friends, to boss screaming at me for trifles, from dealing with stomach bugs to forgetting to put out a weekly newsletter (oops! - that’s a first), from being totally and utterly in love to coming down to earth and realizing that a big project I am putting together will only have three volunteers, me included, maybe …- so at the end of such a week all I wanted was bag of movie theater popcorn (isn’t that the best comfort food??) and a chick flick!

And I chose The Proposal, because from all the reviews, it seemed to fit the bill! I wanted something without guns, and violence. Some sob story of someone falling in love and living happily ever after: you know – the kind of stuff that’s hard to believe in anymore. And not much brain engagement, either.

And for once, the movie delivered: it was not stupid, and it was not fantastical, and it was not lame, and it didn’t have crazy, surreal and unreal dialogues, nor retarded, fall-on-your-ass-and-expect-me-to-laugh, or cat-flushes-the-dog-down-the-toilet kind of jokes … It was just … a normal chick flick!

Relaxing, funny, mildly intellectually written. Sure, the eagle does snatch the dog, and then the cell phone, and the girl who could not swim is thrown in the water and doesn’t die, but that’s just to tell you, you’re still watching fiction! Other than that, it was a very, well, “cute” movie.

Sure, it could not help but have my biggest pet peeve about it, too, overcritical as I am – but it is one pet peeve I have about all American movies and TV shows: I do not (cannot) understand why, no matter how rich the characters are in a movie (or show), they always have to drive a beat-up, clunky, some sort of washed out blue, gray or orange shade truck from the 60’s or older!

WHY does every producer/ director/ movie creator feel the need to add such fake “local color” to the movie, beats the bejesus out of me! It’s so made-up and so contrived anymore! In this particular flick, the main family is referred to as “The Kennedys of Alaska”, and yet the mother drives one such truck, bad paint and rust and all. Why?!

But this is just my own “battle” with The American Movie Industry. Not just with this one clip!

So, all in all, I recommend that you go and see The Proposal, if you want to escape.

And trust me on this one: it’s cute, and it will deliver as promised.

A Happy Change of Mood

There is a strange dichotomy going on in my dad’s personality: he has the most natural, most innate talent to make you laugh. He is truly a clown; while at the very same time he can be the worst downer you’ll ever meet.

I am pretty sure I am never as funny as he is. But I am positive that I don’t get my optimism, seldom as it comes, from him. Ever since I can remember, he’s always been sort of a “Chicken Little” to me. He’s always afraid the government is out to get us, the Russians, the Chinese, he always believes he’s going to die from something or other when he cuts his finger peeling potatoes (because of all that DDT, you know), or just has the sniffles; he always believes this life is a one of pain and suffering, and we have to go through it humbly, to wash off all our sins.

He is worst on his birthdays, and around the beginning of a new year. A new year to him, is just a sign that all your trials and tribulations are only starting over, yet again, like Sisyphus’s journey back up the mountain, only now it’s worse, because you’re older, and more tired, and with less strength. What is there to look forward to?! He will talk himself, with you as the audience, through these sad diatribes of “why is life worth living, after all?!”.

Somehow, the rest of our family has gotten used to dad’s “fatalism” and we just think it’s amusing anymore. But don’t tell him that! To him, this is serious business. I call it “the Cancerian drama” – since he’s a Cancer, and they do tend to get stuck in the rut of “oh, pity me!” quite often (Sorry, C.! It’s true!!).

So, today, when I called him to wish him a happy birthday, I was not looking for a chipper voice at the other end of the line. And to my shock and amazement, a happy, jovial, calm, serene and patient dad greeted me instead. For a minute or two, I didn’t know whether I should count my blessings, or make sure I hit the right residence. He had just come back from a birthday party, of his best friend’s, and he was, for starters, just picking on the heat which was so bad that he had given up on criticizing it, and just made fun of it all.

He was making fun of much of everything, actually: the puny appetizers at the party, the lack of alcohol, the sweltering heat (as you remember, Romania gets pretty hot in July), the fact that mom was so hot, she was delirious, asking him to buy her a rooster, for some odd reason (mom usually hates creatures. All of them.).

He was in his rare form, today, where he would make you laugh at every single word he utters. There is an anecdote going around about my dad: at parties, he makes people laugh so hard, they sit across the table having dinner, and they spit food at each other laughing at his jokes. That’s the kind of mood he was in today. And not just happy, but optimistic, too! He was actually looking forward to things.

He told me about his planning his own birthday party for next week – since this week his buddy decided to have his birthday party on dad’s birthday, dad had to move his till next week. He talked excitedly about the 26+ (yes: twenty six!) appetizers he is going to make, and the fish and the grilled meat, and the frappe coffees, and the cake…The man loves to entertain, for a grumpy bloke!

Grilling with dad, back home, on his birthday, in 2007

Then, we started talking about his new venture, which is trying to buy a home. He found the home of his dreams, but the current owner is in this legal mess about an inheritance on the house, so dad can’t buy the house, legally, till the owner sorts out his papers. I even thought he would be gloomy about that. But he was not. He was patient to describe to me all the implications of the legal matters, and then, he explained to me in layman’s terms how an inheritance works, at least in Romania. He didn’t speak of “the cross he has to bear”, or the lack of luck that always chases him, in everything. He was matter of fact and hopeful that all this will be over, that the three lawyers he’s now hired to help out will find an answer, and come November, he might be in a new house.

I was shocked! This was not my dad! Of course, I tried to stay away from two sore subjects (for him): his age, and the fact that he is a happy grandpa – so, probably, that helped keep his mind off sad thoughts of growing old! But whatever it was, I enjoyed my good-mood daddy, if only for about 30 minutes out of this whole year!

Maybe he’s just realizing in older age that life is worth living and beautiful after all. Maybe he is looking back and realizing all the good things he has to be happy and grateful for, or maybe he’s just tired of just pointing out the ugly and difficult ones. Maybe this is just a passing mood for him ( I definitely get my moods from him!) , and tomorrow he’ll be back to grumpy ol’ dad. Maybe he is just tired that no one takes him seriously about his complaints, anymore … Whatever it is ( I was afraid to ask!), I love it, and I hope he keeps it coming!

There is something better than talking to dad, once in a while: talking to a happy dad – especially on his birthday! He doesn’t know it, but he probably gave himself the best present today, by allowing himself to be light, happy and make me and mom, and I am sure others, too, smile. He surely is never short of one thing, and that is surprising you. And this kind of surprising, I take any day of the year!

Happy birthday, daddy, and get the grill ready for next week’s party! In your spirit of today, I am not sad I won’t be there: I am just happy that so many people will get to enjoy your charm and food for one day! I love and miss you!

Karen, the Flight Attendant, or Flying with Hitler …

I have thought long and hard before I started writing this. Life has been particularly good to me lately, so I didn’t want to jinx myself, and let Ms. Bitter come out of me … But … honesty always wins, and as my dear friend says, if you’ve got something to say, you gotta write a blog. Something like that!

You also knew me better than this, and you knew I could not be on a plane trip and not post something about airlines, and such! That would be so out of ordinary for me, wouldn’t it?!

So, without further ado, I’d like to share with you my latest experience on a Delta flight from Atlanta (does it ever end with Delta, you’ll ask: I suppose not!).

So, I board the 2:57 flight from Atlanta to Greensboro one Monday, recently. I am thinking I will miss the flight, because I only had 20 minutes between when my previous plane (from Salt Lake) landed until the second plane would take off. So, out of breath, I get to my gate at 2:40. I had a boarding pass, but no seat. At the gate, I jump the line of stand-byers (I HAD a pass, all right???) and I ask for a seat. The lady is all ready for me, and hands me a ticket, with my seat assignment. Seat 1D.

“Oh, peachy!” – I tell myself, “Can’t use the seat in front of me to store my carry-on’ Lovely!”. Little did I know that was to be the least of my worries. I try to run onto the plane, but the flight attendant is guarding it with her life. She barks, seeing my intention of getting onto her flight (and I mean “her” flight: proprietary as hell): “ONLY, if you’re going to Greensboro!!!!”.

OK. I am thinking: Oh, maybe someone just tried to get into her plane for a different city and now she’s worried. I have never, in my life, have seen anyone going past the gate and getting into the wrong plane, but I am sure I still have things to learn. So, I say, smiling: “Yes, I am going to Greensboro”. She sighs, rolls her eyes to make sure I see it, and lets me in.

I go right in, on the first row. The overhead bin is closed, which is weird, since the plane is not finished boarding, judging from the empty seats and people standing by at the gate. I open the overhead bin (first row, remember, so I am trying to use the bin), and she is right behind me: “Umm… What are you doing?”. I tell her I need to use the bin for the storage. She goes on: “Is your seat supposed to be in the first row??” – just annoyed as hell. I show her the ticket: “Yes, ma’am. 1D! First row”.

She rolls her eyes and sighs:” Well, make sure your stuff will fit in there”. I can’t think of WHY she made that comment, because all I have is a soft shell backpack and the bin is completely empty, but I am, moving right along and trying not to mind her.

I pull out my book, my purse (small, also), and my mini laptop, and leave the rest in the backpack and up in the bin. I have traveled much in my time – not as much as most folks, true, and not as much as I wish, but I have been on one or two planes. I have kept my purse next to me, in my seat, and I have seen people doing it all the time. This is my fourth flight traveling with the mini laptop, and I have always put it in the pocket in front of my seat, without any sort of comments from the flight attending crew. So, I think nothing of stuffing my mini and my book in the pocket, and tucking my purse next to my hip, on my seat.

Then, I notice, she gives the same treatment to ALL the folks that are coming onto the plane: making sure they go to Greensboro. And for those who sit in the front row, making sure that’s where they belong. I am starting to get annoyed! I am trying to wonder, again, judging from my experience, who in the right mind would just walk on a plane with the wrong destination in mind and sit just wherever the hell they wanna sit, just for the fun of it?! They give you that coupon with a seat on it for a reason, don’t they???

Anywhoo … I am glad it’s not me that she’s yelling at anymore.

I also need to tell you that the woman is NOT nice through this whole thing. She sounds mad. She sounds annoyed with every single one of us that walks in. Everyone notices her bad mood, and they pop their eyes at each other. But she comes on so strong you kind of just … shut up.

All the fun of watching is over for me when she sees my purse, and yells: “I am sorry, ma’am. THAT (pointing) has to go under your seat. It is the Federal regulation, and you must obey it!”. She is emphatic like that on the underlines words, like I were deaf, of some sort. I wanted to say I have done it numerous times before, but I figure it’s not going to happen on her plane, so I just “obey” it.

The couple that is sitting across the aisle from me (older, cute couple) are trying to put their stuff in the bin across from me, and they fail to see the “For aircraft staff only” sticker on it. They get admonished, with no regard for their old years (the attendant is probably in her late 40’s). They pick my bin, next, and she puffs: “Oh, that’s already taken” (by my little backpack!!) “I doubt you can fit your bag there”. The gentleman does fit it, and closes the bin. The lady of the couple is keeping purse on her lap. She gets yelled at about The Fed regulations, also.

It’s 3:00 PM and the flight shows no sign of taking off. She mentions to the older gentleman across from me that she’s waiting for the food supplies. I am wondering what food, since we all know we get no food on commuter flights. And she mentions that she called in the supplies at 2:10 and she is still to receive them. So, this will go into my book of "weird reasons planes are late taking off", I am thinking.

Then, she mentions: “I am a very patient lady (I puff within myself, because not a pore in her body speaks of 'patience'), but I cannot put up with this crap! I have been up since 5 AM and all I want is to get home and get into that hot tub that I have been thinking about all day!”. And she is tapping her foot, with arms crossed, looking out the door, for the supply crew. Impatiently.

All right, at this point, I am pissed! I am mad, because I had been up since 2 AM (if we’re talking Atlanta time!), and been in lines in airports for hours, and on planes all day long, on my vacation. She is doing her darn job!

This should not require pity!

The gentleman that is to sit next to me comes in late, and he is questioned why so late. He apologizes and says he just landed and almost didn’t make this flight. She sighs. Gives him the same spiel about “oh, you’re not fitting your stuff up there. Oh, I am sure it’s not going to fit, so don’t even try it”. The guy is speechless, mouth open and just annoyed eyes, but doesn’t say anything. His bag fits. I give him a sympathetic smile.

Then she is off to the rest of the plane, yelling at this older lady, telling her that maybe she doesn’t hear well (??!!), but she did say about half of a dozen times that no one can keep purses in their laps! Everyone is speechless and just wants to say something, but we all want to go somewhere, so we don’t budge.

Then, the supply crew comes, around 3:05. Yes, you remember right, the flight was to leave at 2:57 PM! She argues with the supply crew: no, she does not need M&M’s, she needs peanuts. The cross country Conair Jets get M&M’s, she is a commuter flight on the East Coast, she gets peanuts. The man pages someone for peanuts! Then, she wants more water – she gets that; and also a Conair liquor kit! I am thinking: this is a commuter flight and it’s 3 PM! Who will order liquor that probably is an arm and a leg!??? Who will have liquor and peanuts??? Anywhoo, she wants a liquor kit. We’re waiting for the second crew to arrive with the liquor kit.

Then, she argues with them about the paperwork: the list of supplies she gets has no carbon. She needs one with carbon, to keep a copy on board. The people (by now instead of the 2 people that showed up with supplies initially, we have five folks and three carts outside!) are saying they have no kind of other paperwork, this is it, for all planes. For all airlines. Sorry, Conair (which is us) gets carbon, she needs carbon! Their manager shows up, a bossy, gentlemanly man, and yells back at her (FINALLY, I say!!!): “Ma’am! This is what we have! You take it or leave it! But we cannot produce any other kind of paperwork! Make a copy when you get to the office, and be done with it. I can’t give you a carbon copy, and I am pulling my crew! You got what you need??”. She talks over him, but finally accepts the paperwork.

It’s 3:30. She closes the doors. Yay! At 3:40 we’re leaving!

Not before … she comes and notices my laptop in the pocket in front of me, and barks again – now even more mad, after the fight with the supplies people: “Ma’am!!!! (I blink!) Federal regulations prohibit the placement of electronics in the pocket in front of you. I would like you to listen to me when I speak, and do what I say!!” – this is very much verbatim!

So, I grab the laptop, and slide it under my own seat, mumbling (I just could NOT keep it inside me): “And WHAT ELSE, I wonder?!?”

The gentleman next to me goes “Geez!”.

She comes back, and pulls out of the seat pocket the Sky magazine, to show me the page with the Federal regulations. She shoves it in front of me, while I am looking out the window. I say, after a while: “ I heard you!” – annoyed and not looking at the page, but at her with my evil look (oh, you know that look!)

She cannot believe the gall, and says “Well, I heard you say ‘Whatever’, so I just needed to show you the rules!”

I say, undisturbed: “ I did not say ‘Whatever’!”

She puts the magazine back and walks away. The guy next to me says again: “Geez! She sucks!”.

I agree.

And the journey continues. For the rest of the flight, I avoid her. I pretend to sleep when she serves peanuts, and I don’t make eye contact. She still blabs, looking at us, unfortunate folks of first row for comment and approval, and I look out the window. The other folks are quiet. She’s all but talking to herself …

We arrive in Greensboro, and she wishes us a nice day, and then she wants to leave us with a thought. And it pains me to put it out there … but I have to: she says on the microphone: “ I would like to leave you with a thought for the day folks. I want you to remember that ‘a smile is a facelift that we call can afford’ and I wish you all a very pleasant day!”.

Some people are laughing and some people (those who have been yelled at) are looking around at each other with inquisitive eyes of “are you freaking kidding me????”. We shake our heads, and instead of “good bye” I wanted to say: “you earn a smile, you don’t demand one”. But I figured I’d waste my breath and I don’t know about you, but I have more respect for my breath than that!

So, next time you fly Delta on a Conair commuter flight, and your flight attendant is Karen and she asks you if you belong there – be warned! You just saw Hitler, in a new incarnation!

And, for the sake of accuracy, all the similarities between names, institutions and reality in this bit are not purely coincidental. And I am not too sure what The Fed says about that, either …

The Most Beautiful Trip of My Life … Probably …

Note: Please click on the picture for all the photos from this trip.

This is the picture that summarizes, in my opinion,
the State of Utah - or at least what I have seen of it.
This is taken in Arches National Park, in Moab.

It’s the morning of July 4^th, 2009, and I am sitting in Aa.’s truck (I know, my boyfriend has an honest to God Dodge truck – don’t ask! This is another story altogether!), sleepy and hungry, waiting for him to come out of the Jeep rental place in Moab, Utah.

We are renting a Jeep Wrangler for the day, to cruise along the Colorado river, in the Canyon of Moab. He’s been gone for a while, which makes me nervous, the a/c is going full blast, and I just cannot cool down! I am reading the visitors’ brochure from Arches National Park, which we visited the day before. They tell you all you need to know about how Arches National Park came about: about the sea it once was, the faults in the ground, about the Navajo and the Entrata Sandstones, which all made their own contribution to the landscape that we now see. I read for about 10-15 minutes, enthralled by this fantastic tale of patience (who is more patient than God? or Time?), and learn all I need to know about the geological tale of Arches. And after 20 minutes of seemingly seamless documented science, the very last two sentences of the story flow right in, sort of in an unexpected twist in tail way: “This is the geologic history of Arches National Park – probably. The evidence is largely circumstantial.”

And I finally wake up from a dream! A dream that has lasted, evidently, for the past 24 hours that I have spent in Moab! I wake up because of the intrinsic relativism of these statements. Relativism about something that exudes so much … certainty, and sureness, and … permanence.

The Arches National Park is a monument of nature like I have never seen. They rise in the middle of the desert, long after you thought that you left the mountains behind. Its vastness and tallness are overwhelming. I am not sure I will even attempt to describe what I felt, because words don’t do it justice. And pictures, I am not sure, don’t either. I had seen plenty of pictures of the “red rocks of Utah” before, but when you’re there – you’re like on a different planet! Near and far, tall and short, alive and dead, heat – are all measured differently. You’re hot, and tired, but you want to move on, and see more. The eye feasts for beauty, and there is so plenty of it, all around you, you’re not sure where to look first: all you know is that you don’t want it to be over.

I have loved deserts always. I have loved them for their simplicity, and simple gorgeousness! For their stoicism. If they can handle 50+ degree drops in temperature daily, and years and years of drought, they can handle anything. I have always been fascinated by deserts, because they have so much quiet but exuberant life bottled up in them: every cave, and every sand mount, you know that it hides ants, or lizards, or snakes, or birds, even. And then, there are the junipers. And the “bonsai” trees. Just a simple, delicate reminder that life can grow.

Pretty much anywhere. With stubbornness!

Our visit into the desert continued after Aa. managed to rent the Jeep, a fiery red Wrangler, and source of Aa.’s permanent grin that day, into the Moab Canyon, along the Colorado river. The river is muddy and slow, in Utah. And the mountains it cut over the years seem old, and telling. You can see waves, and waves of time (and water) have weathered them, and so many shades: from yellow, to rusty red, to black, and white, even. I would give anything to have a dress the colors of the Moab desert!

The Arches are perched up high, it seems, but for the Canyon, you go down below. Down below the life line, I thought, because the further and deeper we went into the deserted Canyon, the hotter, lonelier, quieter it got. I think my heart started skipping beats at mile 10 or so into the drive ( I think we had more like 20 miles to go that day, on paved roads, and dirt roads alike), and at mile 15 I begged to turn around. In 103 degrees, I felt ZERO oxygen going into my body! I was hotter than hot, breathless with a heart that was about to pop out of my chest looking for air. I love the desert, but that was my test to see if I could live in it. No, I can not!

And for all those folks who dream of the “dry heat” of the West when living in North Carolina, let me assure you: The West, and Moab in particular, was humid that day! The Moab sauna that day would put a NC summer's day sauna to shame in no time flat! Trust me!

We turned around, but not before we got closer to this rock formation that reminded me of The Pyramids of Egypt! The silence was deafening. Not a soul was around. Not a bird. Not a bug. Just silence, and red rocks. Black, yellow, white, and red and brown rocks. With “The Pyramid” in front of me, I thought I traveled to the end of the world. Just like in Arches, I felt small, and lonely. Felt like God has left me, and the world, in search for a lusher place.

In Moab, we ate at McStiff’s Plaza, for dinner (insert your dirty joke here). The food was great, the locale picturesque, but the beer (at least the Provo Girl Pilsner I got) was horrible, and the music even worse. I really liked the plaza itself: it came right out of a Western movie: all it needed was the horses, tied up outside! Breakfast was at Zax , and that was an amazing experience! You get red bandannas for napkins, and the salad bar is built inside of a wooden canoe. The door handle is an old wooden baseball bat, and the place warms up in the winter by the help of a cast iron stove. The flavor of time is so thick in this place, it’s sticky! You can get black beans and salsa for any breakfast dish, just to remind you that you’re in the desert.

The day after we came back from the desert, we headed to Sundance. And boy, did we fall into the other extreme! As much as Moab is arid, Sundance is lush! If Moab seems like the sky and the sun just slurped out life, and vegetation and green out of the ground, it seems like they burped it all back onto Sundance. The mountains are green, and the streams are bubbly and furious. Waterfalls are crying on cliffs, everywhere you turn. You feel small, too, here, falling over backwards trying to see the snow peaked mountains, but it’s a different kind of small. You feel the communion with nature, and God here, you don’t feel alone. You feel protected. The air was dry and fresh, filled with pine and lumber smells.

The brunch in the Resort’s Foundry Grill was amazing. Nothing short of high class and posh, yet relaxed and welcoming. The food was varied and ranged from eggs Benedict to beef Stroganoff, and carved turkey and grilled salmon. My favorite was the ribs and potato dish with bbq sauce and mango (I think) chutney – oh, out of this world – I thought!

Everything was done to perfection, and dining on the stone and wood patio with the wind and the water giving us a live performance was just heaven!

The Grill is housed in a beautiful and large log cabin, which complements the wild surroundings, and lives quietly amongst the pine trees and along the trout filled waterfalled river outside. If in Moab you were afraid to speak, not to disturb the silence of it all, and you could hear a pin drop, in Sundance, you were afraid to speak, not to interrupt the intricate dialogue of all elements amongst each other that morning: the roaring stream, the birds, the bees, the wind in the aspen trees, the deep, long whisper of the wind among the pine trees, the waterfalls in the distance.

If the desert was a splendor of reds and yellows and browns, Sundance was a warm chat of blues and greens, between the sky and the pastures and woods. The chairlift allowed us to get a better view of the valley, the peaks, and all the million dollar homes in between - done with very much taste, I might add.

In Moab I felt like it’s a nice place to visit, but in Sundance, I felt like I arrived home. I feel very much like a part of me was left in Sundance, at the top of that peak, when the chair lift turned around and I screamed “Let’s do this again!”, almost without any self control!

Salt Lake City had the surprising feel of a small town. I kept wondering how it managed to host The Olympics a few years back, since it felt so small. Dinner in Salt Lake was at a remote and yet again beautiful place called Log Haven Restaurant. I am not sure how Aa. found this place – it’s remote, and tucked away in the woods, in Wasatch-Cache National Park. But again, just like The Grill at Sundance, it had a feeling of belonging to nature, and of posh and gourmet, without being uncomfortable.

If The Grill had known and familiar but cooked with a twist dishes, The Log Haven had all gourmet, sophisticated, one of a kind mixes. The delicious, Iron chef-like dishes, the waterfall backdrop on the patio, the tall pines, and the log cabin feel were a beautiful ending to a beautiful day and amazing journey. We enjoyed the food, a cold drink and watching our very unique waitress explain our dishes with her hands. I hate desserts, but she explained the crème brule in such a way to the adjacent table, I had to have it, and it was some of the best kind I have ever had – just don’t tell my mom! It was … an experience all in its own.

I also loved the Provo Area, with its cozy, small town feel, and the beautiful trails and roads (that I hope to go back and explore on foot more) at American Fork Canyon! Just a secluded, very wild and well preserved natureland.

I loved Utah for many reasons. Sure, the company always counts as the most important, and that was priceless. But it seemed like people there live with respect and humility towards what God put around them. And God surely looks like He’s been generous to them! The freshness of the air, the beauty and grace of every rock, no matter where it lays is breathtaking.

I loved Utah also because there is such stark contrast between its various parts. Just like America, it’s a land of extremes. When The Rockies are smoking (after a good rain) and sun falls on Utah Lake, the view is magical! I felt like I was watching Jerusalem from atop of a hill. It was wild, and sacred all at one time!

There was such explosion of life, and color, and surprise at every corner, that I never stopped being wowed. I even forgot about buying souvenirs, and I just kept shooting pictures of every corner, and every street, and every peak! I did not want to miss one shade of the sky, or of the land or of the air! Now, I keep telling myself that this trip and my pictures will be my souvenirs. There were moments during this journey, I felt like mountains, and rocks, and rivers were not wanting me to go. I felt a relationship to it all, that I have missed for a while now.

Although heavily biased by my state of mind, and by the beauty and awe of nature, that I so love, it was most likely one of the most beautiful and unexpected trips of my life – probably. The evidence is largely circumstantial.

Japanese House – Redeemed

There used to be a time in my life when I swore I would never set foot inside of Kabuto, the Japanese Steakhouse on Stanley Road, in Greensboro. That was a time when some friends and I went there for the steakhouse (you know … when the foreign cook fries rice and other goodies in front of you), then we lingered on at the table, for a chat with our ice cream, and the hostess pretty much threw us out, on the excuse that the wait is somewhere North of 2 hours for those tables!

You can’t blame me for not wanting to honor them again with my presence …. But … times have changed. I have been absent from the joint for 4+ years now, and tonight was my first time back.

But not my last. What brought me in will likely bring me back: you can get a select number of sushi rolls at half price (several times a week, per their website), and even half priced wine on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Now, I am not sure if you’re a sushi fan, but a relatively fancy sushi roll (up to 8 pieces) for around $4 is definitely a great bargain!

I was pleasantly surprised that although they have just a selection of 10 or so items you can get for half the price, the choices are varied, and very elaborate. These are gourmet style rolls, not just fish and rice rolled in a dried piece of nori. The sushi chef is definitely not the plain cook I used to remember when the place first opened as a sushi bar, also. They are taking some chances with creativity, and they are ending up with some pretty interesting creations!

The portions are generous even for the big eaters, and just keep in mind: rice always expands! And they have interesting mixes of crunchies, ponzu sauce with various kinds of fish, and shrimp and eel sauce, too - all mixed into the same roll … Sure, more of a fusion style sushi, rather than the plain Japanese versions, but very, very interesting, and delicious! Very well done.

And no one kicked us out tonight. Actually the service was very attentive and friendly. Or maybe it’s because sushi is still less popular than fried goodies. Hhmm… Whatever they reason, I predict we will be back. This time is different. A place that sells good AND inexpensive sushi is not to be dodged. Not in my book, anyway.

History, Friendship, Beauty … and so Much More …

To my friend T., whom I love and admire. She never knows where and when to stop. And sometimes that makes for the best memories ...

T. was the driver, so she'd ask, calmly: "What direction do you feel like it's right to go into?". I 'd say "to the left", on a whim of course. And we'll take it from there. Just like life, sometimes, it's a coin toss!

With GPS in hand, and maps, and with an experienced driver behind the wheel, we still got lost at times.

And so, when that happened, we kind of went by our gut feeling, and see where the road would take us next. This is my favorite kind of traveling. I am usually too chicken to try it on my own, though, so I was plenty grateful to have a partner there with me, to accompany me on “the roads less traveled”.

We had a very basic plan this past weekend, my friend T. and I. We were going to drive up to Charlottesville, VA, and visit three main landmarks: the UVA campus (for me), the Monticello Plantation and some wineries on the Virginia Wine Trail (for both). T. was in charge of the hotel and I was in charge of everything else: restaurants, places to visit, addresses to places, and the rest.

A trademark of Charlottesville: The Rotunda, at the University of Virginia

But as good friends go, they don't hold each other to an agreement. They let fate and a little bit of accident come into play, and follow only the hands of the clock, common sense and our own very insightful feminine guts to guide us on our trip. We would listen to the sound of our stomachs to plan for meals, and we would go to bed with the sun, when the day was over.

We started the trip with a detour. We’re on vacation, we kept telling ourselves, we don’t have schedules, or places we need to be in, so why the heck not detour. T. took me on top of this mountain where her family owned a farm when she was growing up. The place is poetic! It looks like a painting (thanks, Aa.), or a fairy-tale landscape (thanks, sis!). It’s eerily peaceful, surrounded like a mythological ring of majestic woods, with almost a perfect round pasture on top. Some of the land is now developed, but the beauty and tranquility of nature is still very much a presence! I can easily see how this is probably the place T. comes to, in her mind, when the storms of life take her away. It reminds me of my mountains. And I can understand mountain language, for sure: the timeless sky and woods, the quiet of the wind through the leaves, the bees in the honey, hot air. The memories of animals and people past!

Then, we were on our way to Charlottesville. More surprises came our way, when we found out our hotel was not on part of the GPS’s digitized map. And after finding it just by following street signs, we found out we have no wireless internet access, and we’d have to share a bed, after all. But we’re on vacation, you see, and we each weigh about 100 lbs each, so … a king bed is not an issue there! And my friend who lives, breathes, and eats on the internet, waved and said with a shrug: “There is probably a good reason why we don’t have wi-fi. God is trying to tell us something. So, that’s fine”. I was shocked, and happy!

Charlottesville surprised us first because of the great food finds. Some of these were the yummy turkey sandwich with Mornay sauce and bacon at West Main, the "Rapture" sushi roll at Rapture in The Mall, which came right next to fish and chips (how’s that for versatility?!) , the very affordable breakfast at The Nook, also in The Mall : The Nook - the place of the best priced loaded breakfast sandwich in the country, probably (only $3.95 for bacon, eggs and cheese on a roll) and also the place of the slowest waitress in the world, too!

The Rapture Sushi roll, at Rapture

You could easily get lost in the selection of wines at Siips - a wine and champagne bar. I tried to figure out what the name means, and just gave up saying it must just be the VA pronunciations of "sips".

Siips wine and champagne bar

Another good find in Charlottesville (although we knew about it from all the C-ville websites) was the Look3 Festival of Photography, which seemed to be taking over at least The Pedestrian Mall area! We didn't spend too much time looking at the exhibits, but you could not help but notice the masterpieces posted anywhere from walls to trees, to the open air screen of the huge amphitheater! It was a delight for the eyes!

A huge surprise for both of us was that Charlottesville resembles Asheville or Boone, NC in the amount of hippies it shelters! Sitting on the patio of Siips one night and people watching, we were shocked by the amount of tattooed skins and tie-dyes we saw! Not to mention beads, hemp skirts and bags, dreadlocks and the likes ... We both were expecting it to be a preppy, stuck up little town! Not so! We were reminded everywhere that youngsters will stay young and colorful will be their signature, even in one of the oldest and most traditional university campuses in the country! To me, this was very refreshing. Unexpected, but refreshing, too. But ... I am the hippy of the duo, so that’s my job …

On Mulberry Row, at Monticello

Another unexpected was that we spent almost a whole day at Monticello ! I had planned for us to see the plantation, and maybe a couple of wineries, too, that day. But once there, we were swallowed by the variety of things to do: documentary, museum, the tour of the gardens, the slave plantation, the kitchens, the house, the graveyard, and so forth. We spent almost a whole day there, loaded up on stories and history, so well worth it! I learned about the polygraph, about Jefferson's huge clock in the receiving room of the house, about his automatic doors, about the boots which back then were interchangeable, not made for one particular foot, about his alcove bed which just looks so ... claustrophobic. Also about Sally, the slave and maybe (most likely, by a 99.99% chance) concubine of The President, and Jupiter, his faithful slave, and all the others that have made history books along with Jefferson himself!

I felt overwhelmed by the severity of the facts that happened on those grounds, belittled by the grandeur of the historic times past. If only those walls could talk and tell us the real story! Or the hardwoods and maple trees on Mulberry Row! Or the silent and cold columns at The Rotunda in UVA. I felt once again blessed to be part of this country, and learn about the roots of its main cultures: that of freedom and of the pursuit of happiness. I cried when I realized once more I have seen my dream of freedom with my own eyes in the one nation in the world that taught it to the rest of the planet!

The home at Monticello

On the way back home, we had somewhere North of 15 wineries to choose from. I am not sure how we picked them, but I think it’s safe to say it was a mixture of planning and chance. We're both wine lovers, and faithful goers to the Smith Mountain Lake Wine Festival every year. To say the least, tasting wine is one of our favorite past times.

The search for good wine started with Kluge Winery from the Wine Trail map, and the road pretty much carried us on from there: Blenheim Vineyards was on the same road as Kluge - so chance brought us there. This ended up being my favorite, because of the Dutch barn and the all-wood-and-glass winery building. It was so airy and so open to the vistas below! The wine "coaches", I call them, were two hip and chatty gals, and we ended up having a great time there. Upon returning home, I also found out that Blenheim Vineyards has been in fact designed and is owned by Dave Matthews, as in from Dave Matthews' Band (thank you, Mary!). Now, that is such a lucky accidental find! I love Dave’s Band (not many people hate it), and now the bottle of rose will be extra special. Another interesting thing is all their wines come in screw top bottles. Now, some wine snobs out there will always tell you that's not a real wine, in a screw top, but I can tell you: these were some seriously good, and sophisticated wines! And the wine girls said that screw tops are actually better, for allowing a better air flow into the bottle - allowing it to breathe right. I don’t know all about that, but I am all for an easy to open bottle! Especially after a few glasses.

I liked Kluge for the very unique garden setting and for their interesting wine tasting flight. Although, I have to tell you: when all the wineries in the area ask for $5 for tasting, and they ask for $10.95, it makes you wonder if it's worth it. I guess the setting is!

First Colony boasted "pure wines", no blends of grapes. Also an adorable orange tabby named Fritz! Virginia Wineworks were a tad remote and somewhat scary, at first glance, but the host was welcoming and so incredibly generous with the tasting portions!

I loved the wine tour! It made me want to watch Sideways again (good friends in search of good wine!), and it reminded me of one of my midlife crisis dreams: to move to Napa and pour wine for a living. Seeing how much fun these folks are having just chatting and smelling grapes all day, it's very tempting! Most of the wines we had were dry, and we all know I am a sweet wine consumer. But I did pick up a couple of bottles: the above mentioned, smooth rose at Blenheim and "The Sweet Shanando" at First Colony.

In the unpredictable sort of vibe this trip was driven, we skipped visiting the Natural Bridge on Sunday night, and we stopped for lunch in Staunton (be careful not to mispronounce here!), instead. Here, I was treated to the best croissant sandwich ever! Usually, I am not picky what you put on a croissant: it's all good. But this one, at Byers St. Bistro , had roasted turkey, bacon and ... warm crab dip on it! Oh, my God, was it divine!! Staunton seemed sleepy. But maybe it was the Sunday siesta people were into.

OK, maybe Priceline lied about the wireless internet and the type of bed(s) we were going to get. And maybe the GPS was rusty at times, or just gave up on us winding around aimlessly, but the surprise factor made all the difference in this trip! The little “big” bonuses like the hippies, the lessons learned of what we can let go of and still be happy, and the Dave Matthews wine, the history lessons, and journey back into our own past, were what will make this trip unique!

We ended up not only with good memories, with a whole new city we have learned and are looking forward to be returning to, but also with new lessons about each other. We both discovered that when truly on vacation mode, we are less the driven women we usually are, and we can sleep in very comfortably late, and that we're both cheap when it comes to parking spaces! We also realized we can both survive on just two main meals a day when we travel! And we also re-affirmed the trust that we will always have each other, for trips, wine, girl talk or political gossip! All in all, it was a priceless weekend!

Thank you, Ms. T., and looking very much forward to the next adventure! You are a blessing and a treat!!! Love you, always!

Please visit The Wander World Picture Site for a complete set of pictures.

A Surprisingly Good Culinary Find

My relationship with tapas has been strange over the years. I love food! Anyone who knows me, or knows my family, knows I am all about food. I love textures, and smells, and “weird” stuff, and experimenting. But when I had tapas, a few times before, I have always been disappointed. You know: like finally meeting the movie star you dreamed of always marrying, but then you discover he farts over dinner, and writes “their” instead of “there” all the time! Just … pretty, and painfully disappointing at the same time.

So, every time someone suggests tapas to me, I cringe! I am going: “Great! Another place that sells grass and a mushroom with a squirt of ketchup for $10 a plate!”. I am always meeting that invite with “Thanks, but can we go to this burger joint instead, please?!”.

So, tapas have always been something I could easily pass up, until tonight. Thanks to a dear friend, I had some gift certificates to Rim Tapas, in downtown Greensboro. The place boasts to be also a wine bar, so I invited my wine friends to share the experience with me, and what an experience it was!

We all went in thinking the food will be insufficient and pretentious, and the wine overpriced and crappy. But we had a blast! A blast of a time, and a blast of flavor in our mouths, as well!

We took advantage of the “two for $10 by 6:30PM” special, and we ordered 4 appetizers for just $20. Our orders were: Savannah Crab and Artichoke Dip with Pecorino, NC Mountain Trout With Blue Corn Crust, Soy Ginger Chicken and Sweet Chili Shrimp on Crispy Peanut Noodle Cake. We also split a bottle of German Riesling, which is usually our wine of choice: a “lighter style white”, as it’s listed in the menu.

Everything was amazing! Every dish had a sophistication and a richness about it that is hard to explain! Every dish had more than one texture, and more than one flavor: soft, and gooey, and sweet and spicy and tart all mixed into one bite!

I felt like my mouth was traveling from the NC mountains to Japan, and China, Thailand, and through Mexico in-between … with a stop in the Louisiana swamps. And the sizes of these tapas were not your usual “two leaves and a mushroom” fair, either. They were decent size appetizers, to say the least! The trout was almost an inch thick fillet, with a whole fried egg on top of. The dip was in an honest-to-God dip dish, not some ramekin pulled out from Lilliput! Surrounded by a couple of handfuls of chips – not some kind on miniature nuggets!

We declared in the end than a couple of appetizers per person with a glass of wine once in a while might just be what the doctor ordered for unwinding after a long day.


And I didn’t say anything about the owners’ hospitality skills, but they were great! Not bothersome, and you got just enough attention to feel like they wanted you there, and they wanted you happy. The wait staff was still rusty, but I’ll be forgiving, and allow them time … to grow! But, honestly, who needs a friendly waitress, when you’ve got an artist and a taste demigod for a chef?!

It was truly a unique and very rewarding experience! I will not sneeze at tapas anymore, and that’s a promise! I will just pick them more carefully from now on. But I do know that Rim (under new management!) is one place I will be returning to! If not for the tapas (try to twist my arm), then for being the only restaurant in Greensboro that I know of that has Moscato on their wine list! Sure, it’s $14 for half of a bottle, but you can never pay too much for The Nectar of The Gods, can you?! And every once in a while a gal is entitled to some nectar!

Unwanted Party, Part II

With pictures this time …

As much as I hate heat, typically (I know, I live in the wrong state!), I hate a rainy summer more! I hate it when you want to hike or walk in the park, shoot butterflies and hibiscus plants, but you get a 50% chance of rain every single day of the week. And after a couple of weeks of this forecast being accurate, you pretty much give up: it’s in the forecast, you get the picture and tuck in for the night! It gets old!

Anyway, this is the type of summer we seem to be having so far. Quite the opposite of the one last year, when everything was dry, and draughty! And we could not even water our plants, because of the water shortage!

This year, my plants would look great, if it were not for all the slugs rain brings with it which eat them! I swear these gross (and to me totally useless) creatures must be made of water! The minute it rains, my patio is again full of them. The more it rains (like the recent flood we had only yesterday in Greensboro), the bigger and fatter and grosser they are!

For the curious folks before, who asked for pictures,
this is my latest visitor, in actual size. It was about twice as
thick as my pinkie. And, yes: that's a baby! Got chills? I do!

And yes, salt works (thanks C., and mom!), but rain washes off the salt! So, they’re … back!!! And I am about tired of the slimey visitors and their traces - left, right, up and down and every direction imaginable in the front of my home, and tired of looking at the puny looking pansies in the planters!

So, we’re going to plan B this weekend: time for a different plant, other than pansies! Anything in purple will do! We’ll experience another pest, I am sure, but at least the new one maybe won’t leave mucus traces all over the patio!

If they are indeed made of water, and more rain will make more of these things … maybe they’ll show up where they won’t have anything yummy to eat, like purple pansies! Maybe on someone else’s patio that provides that meal. There is no sin in hoping, anyway!