The Most Awaited Baby In the World …

“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

“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 … "

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

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

“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

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'.

“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

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

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