It’s been exactly a year today since that first Honey Baked ham sandwich in our new home, together, as husband and wife. It’s been a wonderful, scary and eventful journey.
Life is beautiful anywhere you make it that way! We have meandered through challenges and happy moments, through lows and highs, through losses and gains. But most of all, I think we have learned that no matter what the outside world will give us, we have each other and with a positive attitude, patience, understanding and love we can get through everything.
After a year, I still miss NC. Maybe more than when I left. I miss my friends, and I miss just the warm (literally and figuratively) culture of The South. I miss the food. And the sweet, sweet wine. As a general observation, Utah has not been as warm and friendly as I was used to before. We love to travel, though, and Utah is located at the perfect crossroads of beauty and wonder, so we have taken to the roads or the skies, when the small town we live in becomes too tight. We’re grateful to have a beautiful home to come to after each trip.
People are not very friendly here, especially to strangers, and we stick out as a sore thumb, for our social drinking, lack of kids and the fact that we don't open our doors to strangers (read: missionaries). But we’re grateful for the few friends we do have and for the times they share with us over birthdays, holidays and just tired, slow Saturdays, after a long week. We also like the weather, the mountains, the streams, the beautiful cities of Park City, Salt Lake, even Heber and Midway. We love the columbines and the desert plants. And the birds! Oh, the beautiful multicolored birds!
We have learned to tame our soil and actually planted some roots this year! We have built a fence – to make better neighbors, you know. We have shoveled snow and mowed grass. We have taken care of what’s ours. We have decorated our home together. We have celebrated Thanksgiving, and Christmas and Easter in our new home. We’re a true family now, you could say.
It’s been a great year! I don’t think we’ll have many years as full of this first one, but we will keep it interesting, I am sure. We’re still, in a lot of ways, learning the culture around us, and trying to make not just our address a home, but the larger world of our town and county.
I am speaking for both of us, I think, when I say that we don’t know what the future might bring, and we might not even make Utah our “forever” home, the home state where we’re going to retire in, or be buried in, but in the meantime, we’re making it a cozy getaway, a welcome refuge at the end of the day, a nice place to come to after a long journey. Hopefully. We’re ready for more ham sandwiches and sweet California wines in our humble abode, which had us with open arms a year ago today.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The Ever Elusive ...
I am not sure why ... but every time I see a rainbow it just makes my day! It could be the hardest day at work, or - worse - in life ... and it just makes me smile with hope.
There is something about their ephemerality, their immateriality, their magic and elusiveness that fascinates us, I think. So close to us, so visible, and yet ... so impossible to touch. Just like happiness. Fleeting.
I caught a glimpse - literally, as they are so short lived - of one today, and I managed to snap some pictures while rushing home from work, at 70 mph down the highway.
And in just of a bit of irony: who would have thought that the end of one would be smack dab in the middle of a ... WalMart parking lot of all places in the world?!
Apologies for the qualities of the pics (click on picture for more) - as I have said, I was driving very fast, amongst traffic, and had only my little baby Canon on hand ...
There is something about their ephemerality, their immateriality, their magic and elusiveness that fascinates us, I think. So close to us, so visible, and yet ... so impossible to touch. Just like happiness. Fleeting.
I caught a glimpse - literally, as they are so short lived - of one today, and I managed to snap some pictures while rushing home from work, at 70 mph down the highway.
And in just of a bit of irony: who would have thought that the end of one would be smack dab in the middle of a ... WalMart parking lot of all places in the world?!
Apologies for the qualities of the pics (click on picture for more) - as I have said, I was driving very fast, amongst traffic, and had only my little baby Canon on hand ...
Friday, April 01, 2011
Good Morning, Life!
I have never been one to have many regrets. For those who know me, I hope they know that is an understatement. But this gnawing feeling of "missing" or "want" has been bugging me lately. Just mourning over my old life in NC, missing my friends, my foods, my wines, feeling sorry for myself for not being able to sell the old house - and all ...
But then, some mornings, when the clouds don't rest on The Valley, I wake up to this view, out of my back door. Every morning, I wake up next to a man who adores me and makes me so happy. And my face then grows into a smile.
I read the other day that "life is not what is, but how you deal with it". But sometimes, life is really what "is". And mine, right now, is pretty breathless.
But then, some mornings, when the clouds don't rest on The Valley, I wake up to this view, out of my back door. Every morning, I wake up next to a man who adores me and makes me so happy. And my face then grows into a smile.
I read the other day that "life is not what is, but how you deal with it". But sometimes, life is really what "is". And mine, right now, is pretty breathless.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Thawing Out
The heads of new grass have yet not peeked. No blooms. No bright colors. All is muted. Sound and stain.
The buds are still small and almost shrink wrapped in tiny nuggets on coarse and naked twigs. The soil is moist and sink-y. Your feet collapse in the mush. Some patches of snow still persist. Some snowy peaks still endure.
The trees are silent and bare. The stream is flowing with fresh, noisy water from melting snow.
And snow … is melting. We knew winter had no force anymore, judging by the immediate meltdowns right after huge dumps, but it was good to see whole mountain faces bare of snow.
The land is quiet. Nothing but wood, rock and brown, withered brush … Everything is still asleep … No noise but our footsteps on dirt roads.
Some folks are out – still shy at picnicking, some are fishing, lonely in newly swollen streams, and some are just joyriding, getting lost on lonely back roads. The big, boisterous voices of summer are silent.
Not many creatures. Other than birds. But signs of them everywhere – manure, and holes dug in the ground, and mini-trails, and hoof prints. Cacti chewed up and spit out… Skulls … feathers stuck on rocks …
The tired winter is dying … No promise yet of anything anew. But small patches of fresh blue skies are whispering possibility …
Comfort and style: wooden chair awaiting its visitors at a camp site. Click on the picture for the whole day in images ...
The buds are still small and almost shrink wrapped in tiny nuggets on coarse and naked twigs. The soil is moist and sink-y. Your feet collapse in the mush. Some patches of snow still persist. Some snowy peaks still endure.
The trees are silent and bare. The stream is flowing with fresh, noisy water from melting snow.
And snow … is melting. We knew winter had no force anymore, judging by the immediate meltdowns right after huge dumps, but it was good to see whole mountain faces bare of snow.
The land is quiet. Nothing but wood, rock and brown, withered brush … Everything is still asleep … No noise but our footsteps on dirt roads.
Some folks are out – still shy at picnicking, some are fishing, lonely in newly swollen streams, and some are just joyriding, getting lost on lonely back roads. The big, boisterous voices of summer are silent.
Not many creatures. Other than birds. But signs of them everywhere – manure, and holes dug in the ground, and mini-trails, and hoof prints. Cacti chewed up and spit out… Skulls … feathers stuck on rocks …
The tired winter is dying … No promise yet of anything anew. But small patches of fresh blue skies are whispering possibility …
Comfort and style: wooden chair awaiting its visitors at a camp site. Click on the picture for the whole day in images ...
Friday, March 11, 2011
Living in Small Town America ...
… or how I have not worked for Kmart yet and how I found baby chicks for sale
If you judge the speed of living here, in Spanish Fork, UT, by the speed of the Utah drivers, you would be dead wrong. Utah drivers zoom up and down our roads like crazy madmen of the NYC cab driver fame. No regard to the other folks on the road, road signals or traffic lights. Life’s pace here, however, has nothing to do with such speed.
It has more to do with the speed of one eating an ice cream for fear of a brain freeze. Or the speed of a lazy day in The Caribbean at an all- inclusive resort, where all your needs are taken care of. Or the speed of a Galapagos turtle. Or that of a very old man with bad joints. You get the picture, right?!
I used to pop into a grocery store for a “few things” in NC and be in and out in less than 10 minutes! No cart, no basket. Just grab a few items and move on. A similar adventure here will take at least half an hour if not more.
You have to navigate first through the sea of toddlers and running kids. Then, the carts full of them occupying the aisles. Then, there is always just one register open, maybe two, at rush hour. You wait in line and every single person in front of you has a “special situation”: coupons don’t work, they meant to buy something else, so they’re sending the older kid for the right item while the cashier is stuck closing the order; the kid comes back with two items of which neither is right. So, now mom goes to the shelf and has the kid watch the others in the cart. A baby just barfed and they need wipes and paper towels to clean up.
And the check writing! Everyone writes checks here, of course! Since the memo of “plastic” has not made it this far. Apparently.
God help you if an item doesn’t ring up right and you need an adjustment! The cashiers can do nothing. They have to wait for the manager to correct it, or sometimes, they have to wait for the manager to come unlock their phone so they can call “in the back” to give you the right price. And don’t even get me started on how slow the cashiers move here.
One day, I bought a 12 pack of beer. It was bottles, so granted, it was heavy. But I weigh less than 110 pounds, right? And picked it up just fine, carried it in my hand to the checkout counter, and was planning to carry it out to the car in my hand, too. The 18 year or so old girl who checked my order out declared the pack too heavy. So, she called this other cashier from another counter (who was in the middle of checking out another person – and it’s rush hour, so they’re both busy!) to move my pack across the belt, since it was “too heavy”. Now … I have seen job applications before and had to answer questions about “how many pounds I can lift”, right?! So, now, I needed to wait for the guy to finish with his customer so he can help my lady. I cannot tell you how long that took, because it always seems longer to me than it actually is. I offered to help, but could not get behind the register and you guessed it, there was no “scanning gun”!
And being a small town, everyone knows everyone. So, three times out of five when you shop anywhere, the customers know the cashiers. And they get into these long, and s-l-o-w conversations about everything. Their relatives, their kids, and how many they have and how many are still being planned, and that lady at church who sprained a hip last week, and bishop this and sister that, and … And you’re waiting, with your eggs in your hand in the “express line” and ponder upon the irony of its name!
I think people react slowly here, too. At least too slow for me. At some point in my unemployed life here, I wanted to apply for a part time job at Kmart. It is literally 3-4 minutes from my house, and I figured, it will kill some time while allowing me to people watch at least and have some much needed extra cash. So, I dress up almost like going to a job interview, right?! – not too crazy though, it’s Kmart, not Bank of America, but I want to look serious.
I walk in the store, prepared to fill out one of those in-store applications. I go to the customer service area where such an application can be filled. Here, three “associates” are standing around chatting. One of them holding a bunch of socks to be put back on the shelf, I guess, back of the hand on hip, one of them typing into a computer, and one of them making chewing gum balloons. They stop the chat when they see me. But that’s all they do. To the right of the customer service desk was the “applications” computer - absolutely buried under “stuff”: boxes of shoes, cereal, paper towels, etc. You could not see the keyboard, the monitor, nor the chair in front of it from all these things.
There is a long ad on the wall next to the computer about how an application should be filled and what not, and I am reading this ad. I take my purse off my shoulder thinking they’d figure out that I am interested and want to sit down and apply. I make eye contact with them, and smile. Reach in my purse for my wallet so I can get my id out. All three ladies are looking at me intently. Then at each other. Another balloon pops. Hand on hip lady sways to left and right. They look at me. Up … and … then … down. I am, oh, maybe 3 feet away from them if that. They make no attempt to clear the application desk, or talk to me. They just stare. And we do this dance for about 3-4 minutes (again: time is not relevant; “a while”, let’s say!). I say nothing, still reading the ad, purse and wallet in my hand. And then I decide to walk away. No “can I help you?”, no “do you need help with anything?”, when they evidently noticed me (they stopped talking to each other even) means “you really do not need this right now. Maybe next time.” So, I walk away. And get a job offer the next week.
Today, another reminder of my small town surroundings. We have a store here that I didn’t know existed in NC, it’s called The C-A-L Ranch Store . You guessed it – there are a lot of farms around here. From the outside it looks almost like your regular Home Depot or Lowes store. They have everything farm-related in here, from equipment and nuts and bolts to build barns to saddles and outfits, from jewelry to cowboy boots. The ranch store also has pet food, so I go there often for my cat food. Today, I waltzed in and loved the price for the huge rose bushes (less than $6!) and walk on towards the back of the store where kitty food lives.
On the way there, I see this:
I have friends who have chickens and I always wondered “where in the world you’d buy them, unless you go ON a farm, or to the Farmers’ Market?!”. To see them in a brick-and-mortar store that you drive up to, park in an assigned spot and buy pet food from was like seeing your first UFO! They had tons of them! ALL sorts of colors: white, yellow, black, brown AND … ducklings! Oh, and they were cute – as you can see! So, now I know where you can buy them. I can probably have them in our yard, but no thank you. I think my husband tolerates the cats well, but would have me relocated if I brought chickens along, too.
I remember seeing an episode of Twin Peaks many years ago, while living in Romania. This one scene stuck with me over the years. The first thing I noticed when watching it was its stark contrast with the speedy American movies I was used to – everything in it was moving VERY slow. And I thought to myself: “I wonder if this is how they move and talk in small town America, versus the big cities”. Now, years later, and after almost a year in “small town America”, I can tell you I was right in my guess!
There is a certain charm to all this slowing down, sure. You can really see the beauty around you, and hear your heart beat – it helps to acknowledge that once in a while. But I am still learning to put on my brakes. It’s not easy to do after rushing around for 36 years. Not to mention that I was not born with the patience gene, either!
It’s fun to discover all these realities that I never knew existed, too (if only they’d move faster!). I am not worried that it’ll all become boring, because life is just as interesting as however many people are in the world. If we only had time to acquaint all 6 billion of them!
So, I disagree with whomever said that “I hate small towns because once you've seen the cannon in the park there's nothing else to do.” You never know what the ranch store will bring in next time!
If you judge the speed of living here, in Spanish Fork, UT, by the speed of the Utah drivers, you would be dead wrong. Utah drivers zoom up and down our roads like crazy madmen of the NYC cab driver fame. No regard to the other folks on the road, road signals or traffic lights. Life’s pace here, however, has nothing to do with such speed.
It has more to do with the speed of one eating an ice cream for fear of a brain freeze. Or the speed of a lazy day in The Caribbean at an all- inclusive resort, where all your needs are taken care of. Or the speed of a Galapagos turtle. Or that of a very old man with bad joints. You get the picture, right?!
I used to pop into a grocery store for a “few things” in NC and be in and out in less than 10 minutes! No cart, no basket. Just grab a few items and move on. A similar adventure here will take at least half an hour if not more.
You have to navigate first through the sea of toddlers and running kids. Then, the carts full of them occupying the aisles. Then, there is always just one register open, maybe two, at rush hour. You wait in line and every single person in front of you has a “special situation”: coupons don’t work, they meant to buy something else, so they’re sending the older kid for the right item while the cashier is stuck closing the order; the kid comes back with two items of which neither is right. So, now mom goes to the shelf and has the kid watch the others in the cart. A baby just barfed and they need wipes and paper towels to clean up.
And the check writing! Everyone writes checks here, of course! Since the memo of “plastic” has not made it this far. Apparently.
God help you if an item doesn’t ring up right and you need an adjustment! The cashiers can do nothing. They have to wait for the manager to correct it, or sometimes, they have to wait for the manager to come unlock their phone so they can call “in the back” to give you the right price. And don’t even get me started on how slow the cashiers move here.
One day, I bought a 12 pack of beer. It was bottles, so granted, it was heavy. But I weigh less than 110 pounds, right? And picked it up just fine, carried it in my hand to the checkout counter, and was planning to carry it out to the car in my hand, too. The 18 year or so old girl who checked my order out declared the pack too heavy. So, she called this other cashier from another counter (who was in the middle of checking out another person – and it’s rush hour, so they’re both busy!) to move my pack across the belt, since it was “too heavy”. Now … I have seen job applications before and had to answer questions about “how many pounds I can lift”, right?! So, now, I needed to wait for the guy to finish with his customer so he can help my lady. I cannot tell you how long that took, because it always seems longer to me than it actually is. I offered to help, but could not get behind the register and you guessed it, there was no “scanning gun”!
And being a small town, everyone knows everyone. So, three times out of five when you shop anywhere, the customers know the cashiers. And they get into these long, and s-l-o-w conversations about everything. Their relatives, their kids, and how many they have and how many are still being planned, and that lady at church who sprained a hip last week, and bishop this and sister that, and … And you’re waiting, with your eggs in your hand in the “express line” and ponder upon the irony of its name!
I think people react slowly here, too. At least too slow for me. At some point in my unemployed life here, I wanted to apply for a part time job at Kmart. It is literally 3-4 minutes from my house, and I figured, it will kill some time while allowing me to people watch at least and have some much needed extra cash. So, I dress up almost like going to a job interview, right?! – not too crazy though, it’s Kmart, not Bank of America, but I want to look serious.
I walk in the store, prepared to fill out one of those in-store applications. I go to the customer service area where such an application can be filled. Here, three “associates” are standing around chatting. One of them holding a bunch of socks to be put back on the shelf, I guess, back of the hand on hip, one of them typing into a computer, and one of them making chewing gum balloons. They stop the chat when they see me. But that’s all they do. To the right of the customer service desk was the “applications” computer - absolutely buried under “stuff”: boxes of shoes, cereal, paper towels, etc. You could not see the keyboard, the monitor, nor the chair in front of it from all these things.
There is a long ad on the wall next to the computer about how an application should be filled and what not, and I am reading this ad. I take my purse off my shoulder thinking they’d figure out that I am interested and want to sit down and apply. I make eye contact with them, and smile. Reach in my purse for my wallet so I can get my id out. All three ladies are looking at me intently. Then at each other. Another balloon pops. Hand on hip lady sways to left and right. They look at me. Up … and … then … down. I am, oh, maybe 3 feet away from them if that. They make no attempt to clear the application desk, or talk to me. They just stare. And we do this dance for about 3-4 minutes (again: time is not relevant; “a while”, let’s say!). I say nothing, still reading the ad, purse and wallet in my hand. And then I decide to walk away. No “can I help you?”, no “do you need help with anything?”, when they evidently noticed me (they stopped talking to each other even) means “you really do not need this right now. Maybe next time.” So, I walk away. And get a job offer the next week.
Today, another reminder of my small town surroundings. We have a store here that I didn’t know existed in NC, it’s called The C-A-L Ranch Store . You guessed it – there are a lot of farms around here. From the outside it looks almost like your regular Home Depot or Lowes store. They have everything farm-related in here, from equipment and nuts and bolts to build barns to saddles and outfits, from jewelry to cowboy boots. The ranch store also has pet food, so I go there often for my cat food. Today, I waltzed in and loved the price for the huge rose bushes (less than $6!) and walk on towards the back of the store where kitty food lives.
On the way there, I see this:
... live chicks and ducklings!
Is this a fair price for chickens?
Love the line on black background, too: Indeed.
Is this a fair price for chickens?
Love the line on black background, too: Indeed.
I have friends who have chickens and I always wondered “where in the world you’d buy them, unless you go ON a farm, or to the Farmers’ Market?!”. To see them in a brick-and-mortar store that you drive up to, park in an assigned spot and buy pet food from was like seeing your first UFO! They had tons of them! ALL sorts of colors: white, yellow, black, brown AND … ducklings! Oh, and they were cute – as you can see! So, now I know where you can buy them. I can probably have them in our yard, but no thank you. I think my husband tolerates the cats well, but would have me relocated if I brought chickens along, too.
I remember seeing an episode of Twin Peaks many years ago, while living in Romania. This one scene stuck with me over the years. The first thing I noticed when watching it was its stark contrast with the speedy American movies I was used to – everything in it was moving VERY slow. And I thought to myself: “I wonder if this is how they move and talk in small town America, versus the big cities”. Now, years later, and after almost a year in “small town America”, I can tell you I was right in my guess!
This is the Twin Peaks scene I was talking about, and my new, everyday "pace"
There is a certain charm to all this slowing down, sure. You can really see the beauty around you, and hear your heart beat – it helps to acknowledge that once in a while. But I am still learning to put on my brakes. It’s not easy to do after rushing around for 36 years. Not to mention that I was not born with the patience gene, either!
It’s fun to discover all these realities that I never knew existed, too (if only they’d move faster!). I am not worried that it’ll all become boring, because life is just as interesting as however many people are in the world. If we only had time to acquaint all 6 billion of them!
So, I disagree with whomever said that “I hate small towns because once you've seen the cannon in the park there's nothing else to do.” You never know what the ranch store will bring in next time!
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
A World of Thanks
“We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.” (Orson Welles)
There have been more women who have inspired me than I can count in a whole book. There are innumerable the thanks I would have to give to all them for everything they have given me. Let it be known now that I would never attempt to name all of the good they have done for me – I would never finish, in several lifetimes.
But today, on the occasion of Woman’s Day, I want so say some (very!) brief thank you’s to those most important to me, and to remember at least one thing they each shared with me, whether knowingly or otherwise.
I thank my mom first for having the courage to have me. And then the double courage of raising me and shaping me into who I am. If wit can be taught, she taught me that! And she taught me to believe in myself. Long before Scarlett O’Hara, she taught me that I can do pretty much anything anyone else can, just the same, if not better - if I only try!
My sister has taught me more than anything in the world how to love unconditionally. Her giving-ness and love are boundless. Her faith in human goodness is impeccable and the beauty of her heart has only become brighter every year.
My aunt, whose birthday is today, too, has taught me patience. No other human being has shown me more saintly patience than her! Through her many physical challenges, and through her many losses she has remained calm, and stoic, just like a nun, almost, with the belief that tomorrow will be another day, and better.
My maia, now gone, has taught me not only hard work, but also pampering! A woman is supposed to be industrious as well as beautiful. She taught me my hands need to always look like a lady’s hands, even if they come from scrubbing the floors. And my face needs to look pretty even after a long sickness. It’s not vanity; it’s just self respect.
My bica has taught me will. She taught me, and everyone else around her, that being under 5 ft tall doesn’t mean you can be left unnoticed! You can have a big mouth to make up for your lack of height. She is my 4ft 8in powerhouse role model – you can pack a lot of might in that little body, when there is will!
My friend E. R. has taught me how beautiful it is to be a cynical optimist. She taught me that you always have to look at life crookedly, just like life seems to treat you, but to always put your pink glasses on and try to find something good in what lays ahead. She blesses me everyday with her beauty of a person, eruditeness and thirst for life! I am SO blessed to know her!
My friend T.B. has shown me how to be a superwoman! Yeah, sure, you can work 24/7 in one or two or three jobs, have a beautiful family, go to all the social events you’re invited to, answer emails on time, plant a veggie garden AND knit a sweater in less than a week, too! Of course you can. She has taught me how to fit 36 hours worth of work into 24 and still look pretty! The secret is into putting your heart into everything you do.
My friend B.C. has taught me wisdom - which I so sorely lack! Just like many of my women friends, she has had many a challenges in her life, and through it all she has come out shining – with more vigor, and more optimism (she would not use that word!) and more polish than anyone I know. She looks for meaning into life’s deepest, darkest corners and she finds it. And once she does, it all makes sense, and you will never look at life again in the same light. She is a treasure and a true original!
My friend C.D. has taught me resilience. Life was not often kind to her, but she never lost her hope and her faith in something better. She is a true fighter.
My former teacher, M.T., has given me the gift of writing – one without which I am not sure where I would be today. She was the first one to believe I could do it, and encourages me with every chance she gets to persist. She has always believed in me, and I always know I have her ear when I doubt my abilities. Means the world to me, in the darkness of doubt.
My friend R.T. has given me … a friend for life. I always know she will be there for me, no matter how far I move and no matter how puny my matters are. The simple honesty we share is a bond for long years to come.
My friend K.M. has shown me the blessing of forgiveness and how powerful it is. Forgiveness does not mean breaking down and burying who you are, but crowning who you are as a superior being. It requires an unbelievable amount of strength and patience, but once done, you’re simply and nobly indestructible!
Last but not least, my mother in law has taught me everything one would need to know about never, ever, ever giving up, no matter what challenges you have, especially physical ones. As long as there is breath in your body and you have a will to move, you can do so, and train your body to listen! She is my every day inspiration to make the first step even when it hurts!
There are many women who have helped me professionally and otherwise, but the whole internet space would not be enough to enumerate all of them or what they have meant for me.
You all know who you are, and you all know I am always here for you, whenever you need a friend, an honest opinion on a dress, a good Romanian homemade dish, or someone to just sit there and shut up for a change! Those of you who truly know me also know I can, in fact, shut up, too.
I thank you all for being, and for crossing your paths with me. One can ever be so blessed as to know ALL of you in ONE lifetime!
Happy new spring, to all, and may you all know all the blessings you shared with me, and the world, tenfold!
There have been more women who have inspired me than I can count in a whole book. There are innumerable the thanks I would have to give to all them for everything they have given me. Let it be known now that I would never attempt to name all of the good they have done for me – I would never finish, in several lifetimes.
But today, on the occasion of Woman’s Day, I want so say some (very!) brief thank you’s to those most important to me, and to remember at least one thing they each shared with me, whether knowingly or otherwise.
I thank my mom first for having the courage to have me. And then the double courage of raising me and shaping me into who I am. If wit can be taught, she taught me that! And she taught me to believe in myself. Long before Scarlett O’Hara, she taught me that I can do pretty much anything anyone else can, just the same, if not better - if I only try!
My sister has taught me more than anything in the world how to love unconditionally. Her giving-ness and love are boundless. Her faith in human goodness is impeccable and the beauty of her heart has only become brighter every year.
My aunt, whose birthday is today, too, has taught me patience. No other human being has shown me more saintly patience than her! Through her many physical challenges, and through her many losses she has remained calm, and stoic, just like a nun, almost, with the belief that tomorrow will be another day, and better.
My maia, now gone, has taught me not only hard work, but also pampering! A woman is supposed to be industrious as well as beautiful. She taught me my hands need to always look like a lady’s hands, even if they come from scrubbing the floors. And my face needs to look pretty even after a long sickness. It’s not vanity; it’s just self respect.
My bica has taught me will. She taught me, and everyone else around her, that being under 5 ft tall doesn’t mean you can be left unnoticed! You can have a big mouth to make up for your lack of height. She is my 4ft 8in powerhouse role model – you can pack a lot of might in that little body, when there is will!
My friend E. R. has taught me how beautiful it is to be a cynical optimist. She taught me that you always have to look at life crookedly, just like life seems to treat you, but to always put your pink glasses on and try to find something good in what lays ahead. She blesses me everyday with her beauty of a person, eruditeness and thirst for life! I am SO blessed to know her!
My friend T.B. has shown me how to be a superwoman! Yeah, sure, you can work 24/7 in one or two or three jobs, have a beautiful family, go to all the social events you’re invited to, answer emails on time, plant a veggie garden AND knit a sweater in less than a week, too! Of course you can. She has taught me how to fit 36 hours worth of work into 24 and still look pretty! The secret is into putting your heart into everything you do.
My friend B.C. has taught me wisdom - which I so sorely lack! Just like many of my women friends, she has had many a challenges in her life, and through it all she has come out shining – with more vigor, and more optimism (she would not use that word!) and more polish than anyone I know. She looks for meaning into life’s deepest, darkest corners and she finds it. And once she does, it all makes sense, and you will never look at life again in the same light. She is a treasure and a true original!
My friend C.D. has taught me resilience. Life was not often kind to her, but she never lost her hope and her faith in something better. She is a true fighter.
My former teacher, M.T., has given me the gift of writing – one without which I am not sure where I would be today. She was the first one to believe I could do it, and encourages me with every chance she gets to persist. She has always believed in me, and I always know I have her ear when I doubt my abilities. Means the world to me, in the darkness of doubt.
My friend R.T. has given me … a friend for life. I always know she will be there for me, no matter how far I move and no matter how puny my matters are. The simple honesty we share is a bond for long years to come.
My friend K.M. has shown me the blessing of forgiveness and how powerful it is. Forgiveness does not mean breaking down and burying who you are, but crowning who you are as a superior being. It requires an unbelievable amount of strength and patience, but once done, you’re simply and nobly indestructible!
Last but not least, my mother in law has taught me everything one would need to know about never, ever, ever giving up, no matter what challenges you have, especially physical ones. As long as there is breath in your body and you have a will to move, you can do so, and train your body to listen! She is my every day inspiration to make the first step even when it hurts!
There are many women who have helped me professionally and otherwise, but the whole internet space would not be enough to enumerate all of them or what they have meant for me.
You all know who you are, and you all know I am always here for you, whenever you need a friend, an honest opinion on a dress, a good Romanian homemade dish, or someone to just sit there and shut up for a change! Those of you who truly know me also know I can, in fact, shut up, too.
I thank you all for being, and for crossing your paths with me. One can ever be so blessed as to know ALL of you in ONE lifetime!
Happy new spring, to all, and may you all know all the blessings you shared with me, and the world, tenfold!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
A Sad Day for Memories (and Books)
I know that you have heard the phrase “it’s an end of an era” and you think it’s either cheesy or obsolete. But in my opinion … it’s truly descriptive, too, and for just a second, when you hear it next time, (really) take a moment and (seriously) think about it! Think about its true meaning when someone uses it because it’s really … the end of an “era”. An era, with everything it brought and stood for, someone’s hopes, desires, white nights’ planning, someone’s dreams – just … closed! Gone. Vanished. Nothing but a memory now. You can’t even share it with your kids!
With Blockbuster closing stores all over the nation weeks ago and Borders doing the same by the end of April, the word of the day at my house is “sad”. I still refuse to “sign up” for mail videos and monthly fees! I want a movie when I want a movie, not because I have that membership that needs to pay off by the end of the month! Some months, I won’t want any movie at all. And call me crazy, but I like browsing by touching. Reading the back of things. Flipping through pages. Sometimes, in my shallow days (clear throat), I like to rent a movie or buy a book by just letting what’s on the cover guide me … Back and front.
And things get progressively worse for me when books, or papers, or any of the printed word is in danger of being dumped into “the past”. So, closing a bookstore is like national mourning day for me. One of my childhood dreams is to work in a bookstore or a library! As in a “real” one. Not the "click" and “add to cart” kind …
And Borders (just like Barnes and Noble, for another instance) is more than just “books”. In my old hometown (Greensboro, NC), Borders was a place of refuge and a second home. With nothing to do on a Sunday afternoon, I’d wander in there to browse the bargain shelves and the new releases.
I will never forget that Borders was in fact the first brick-and-mortar cd store I have ever browsed in my whole life. It was not Best Buy or … some other designated “music” store, but Borders. Just picture Alice in Wonderland and that was me in front of the cd racks! “Wow, they have a whole store full of shelves of these?!”. And you could slip the headphones on and preview what you bought. Atlanta, GA - 1998.
Borders was that place I went to to decompress after an intense movie, because it was next door to a movie theater I frequented. Or that place I went to to kill some time if I was too early for the movie! Borders was a great place, for a single, bored, gal, to people watch and have blind dates, even. For some reason, I never picked Barnes & Noble for blind dates! Too crowded, I guess! And I loved watching people who read. And browse the “real” things. That’s what formed me, that’s what put me through school and gave me an education – real, paper books with real, smelly ink on them. Being close to that culture was sybaritic to me.
The Borders in my new hometown is not closing - at least not yet – and I am grateful for that. But I am still sad to see a place that had so many avenues for dreaming open for so long say “good bye”.
I am hoping bookstores and libraries are never becoming a has been in my lifetime! I love the smell of books, old and new, still. Nothing, no amount of Yankee Candle factory made smells can replace that!
Today is a perfect day to volunteer to work for a local library – which is exactly what I did over lunch. Put my name on the list for two of them. Just to be close to real books and people who read them.
Good bye, (Greensboro) Borders! And thank you for the memories.
With Blockbuster closing stores all over the nation weeks ago and Borders doing the same by the end of April, the word of the day at my house is “sad”. I still refuse to “sign up” for mail videos and monthly fees! I want a movie when I want a movie, not because I have that membership that needs to pay off by the end of the month! Some months, I won’t want any movie at all. And call me crazy, but I like browsing by touching. Reading the back of things. Flipping through pages. Sometimes, in my shallow days (clear throat), I like to rent a movie or buy a book by just letting what’s on the cover guide me … Back and front.
And things get progressively worse for me when books, or papers, or any of the printed word is in danger of being dumped into “the past”. So, closing a bookstore is like national mourning day for me. One of my childhood dreams is to work in a bookstore or a library! As in a “real” one. Not the "click" and “add to cart” kind …
And Borders (just like Barnes and Noble, for another instance) is more than just “books”. In my old hometown (Greensboro, NC), Borders was a place of refuge and a second home. With nothing to do on a Sunday afternoon, I’d wander in there to browse the bargain shelves and the new releases.
I will never forget that Borders was in fact the first brick-and-mortar cd store I have ever browsed in my whole life. It was not Best Buy or … some other designated “music” store, but Borders. Just picture Alice in Wonderland and that was me in front of the cd racks! “Wow, they have a whole store full of shelves of these?!”. And you could slip the headphones on and preview what you bought. Atlanta, GA - 1998.
Borders was that place I went to to decompress after an intense movie, because it was next door to a movie theater I frequented. Or that place I went to to kill some time if I was too early for the movie! Borders was a great place, for a single, bored, gal, to people watch and have blind dates, even. For some reason, I never picked Barnes & Noble for blind dates! Too crowded, I guess! And I loved watching people who read. And browse the “real” things. That’s what formed me, that’s what put me through school and gave me an education – real, paper books with real, smelly ink on them. Being close to that culture was sybaritic to me.
The Borders in my new hometown is not closing - at least not yet – and I am grateful for that. But I am still sad to see a place that had so many avenues for dreaming open for so long say “good bye”.
I am hoping bookstores and libraries are never becoming a has been in my lifetime! I love the smell of books, old and new, still. Nothing, no amount of Yankee Candle factory made smells can replace that!
Today is a perfect day to volunteer to work for a local library – which is exactly what I did over lunch. Put my name on the list for two of them. Just to be close to real books and people who read them.
Good bye, (Greensboro) Borders! And thank you for the memories.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Visiting the Neighbors
On a day like today, I remember my dad saying: "Damn, America is beautiful!". And he is not known for positivity, nor being too generous with compliments!
It was a cold day today. Maybe it got up to low 40's, but out there, on The (Utah) Lake, it felt like low 30's. It was a bright day, one of those many days in Utah where you cannot tell whether your eyes are going bad or the sun is really too brutal for them.
On such a day, I saw a glimpse of a promise of another year of great outdoors shooting in this beautiful back yard of ours that we call our state. We didn't go far. Maybe 20 miles from our house, maybe less. But there was breathtaking beauty everywhere.
I'll let our pictures tell you the story of a gorgeous late winter-early spring day. Many thanks to my husband, Aa., for his contributions to this album.
Enjoy!
Utah Lake was half frozen and dead and half alive with calm, fresh waters, under a clear blue sky, with just enough clouds to make it interesting:
Some of the feathered creatures were out, and they were very happy for the sun:
On our way back home, we took some farm pictures - we wake up with this under our bedroom window, every morning. Yep, we made it out West, undoubtedly:
(I love this red tractor! It looks beautiful in any season, against the mountains ...)
Click on this last picture, to see the whole day.
It was a cold day today. Maybe it got up to low 40's, but out there, on The (Utah) Lake, it felt like low 30's. It was a bright day, one of those many days in Utah where you cannot tell whether your eyes are going bad or the sun is really too brutal for them.
On such a day, I saw a glimpse of a promise of another year of great outdoors shooting in this beautiful back yard of ours that we call our state. We didn't go far. Maybe 20 miles from our house, maybe less. But there was breathtaking beauty everywhere.
I'll let our pictures tell you the story of a gorgeous late winter-early spring day. Many thanks to my husband, Aa., for his contributions to this album.
Enjoy!
Utah Lake was half frozen and dead and half alive with calm, fresh waters, under a clear blue sky, with just enough clouds to make it interesting:
Not many people at the lake today, but some footprints on its frozen part of it gave them away:
Some of the feathered creatures were out, and they were very happy for the sun:
(I love this red tractor! It looks beautiful in any season, against the mountains ...)
What can spell "Utah" more clearly, other than mountains, cowboys riding, seagulls and prairie grass?!
Click on this last picture, to see the whole day.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
To Watch or Not to Watch …
The mystery of movies ...
I have never considered myself a true “movie buff”. I like some movies, for various reasons (mainly if they tell a good story), and I have watched almost every Oscar ceremony live for the past 15 or 20 years of my life. I am seriously picky about what I watch, though, and would not watch almost anything because “it’s hip”, or “in” or because “of great special effects”.
But I very rarely recognize lines from movies, as so many hundreds of people do. This renders me socially inept at many gatherings. And I can totally forget 50% or more of a movie I even loved (“Good Will Hunting” comes to mind) over time. I forget names of actors and confuse directors, too.
But I love going to see a good movie, and I can appreciate it (luckily, still) as art.
One thing that always puzzled me was the relativism and subjectivity of the rating system, though. Why are people so concerned with “how the movie was rated” before they take their kids, or even themselves, to the movie is beyond me. And truthfully, I think that a bit retrograde and limiting.
I have always been of the opinion that folks just stunt their (and their children’s) intellectual growth by limiting themselves based on simply the ratings. After all, we do not rate D.H. Lawrence. Nor James Joyce. Nor Hemingway – as we shouldn’t.
To support my confusion of ratings, I was shocked to find out that “The King’s Speech” was rated R, whereas “True Grit” was a PG-13. And seeing them both, I could not understand why. And then, I thought … “what would I do if I had a kid?”. Would I take them to a movie where they hear 10 seconds of “f*ck, sh*t, t*ts, b*lls”, things they would hear at the mall on a Sunday anyway?! Or would I take them to a movie where they show human fingers being severed from the hand and people killing people or talking about killing people throughout the 2 hours?!
I have no hesitation to answer: the former! “The King’s Speech” is not only a well done movie, but also it also offers great many a lessons about responsibility, duty, perseverance, pride, loyalty, and humanity and last but not least, it’s history – some of which kids nowadays need an incredible amount more of. “True Grit” is beautifully done as well, but do our kids really need more exposure to killings and death?!
So, my humble take: take your kids to an R rated movie sometimes, folks! It won’t hurt! I promise.
On another note, what in the world is an “appropriate audience”?! I think most of us are peeved by the “mandatory previews” that you cannot fast forward through at the movie theater. And they start by saying that “This preview has been approved for appropriate audiences”. What exactly is an “appropriate audience”?! Who decides that?! And isn’t’ that a big assumption?! I think based on my view of R rated movies alone some parents, for instance, might consider me less than appropriate, don’t you think?! And if I am not appropriate – what happens? I leave the room or you stop the previews now?!
It’s all a mystery, indeed.
I have never considered myself a true “movie buff”. I like some movies, for various reasons (mainly if they tell a good story), and I have watched almost every Oscar ceremony live for the past 15 or 20 years of my life. I am seriously picky about what I watch, though, and would not watch almost anything because “it’s hip”, or “in” or because “of great special effects”.
But I very rarely recognize lines from movies, as so many hundreds of people do. This renders me socially inept at many gatherings. And I can totally forget 50% or more of a movie I even loved (“Good Will Hunting” comes to mind) over time. I forget names of actors and confuse directors, too.
But I love going to see a good movie, and I can appreciate it (luckily, still) as art.
One thing that always puzzled me was the relativism and subjectivity of the rating system, though. Why are people so concerned with “how the movie was rated” before they take their kids, or even themselves, to the movie is beyond me. And truthfully, I think that a bit retrograde and limiting.
I have always been of the opinion that folks just stunt their (and their children’s) intellectual growth by limiting themselves based on simply the ratings. After all, we do not rate D.H. Lawrence. Nor James Joyce. Nor Hemingway – as we shouldn’t.
To support my confusion of ratings, I was shocked to find out that “The King’s Speech” was rated R, whereas “True Grit” was a PG-13. And seeing them both, I could not understand why. And then, I thought … “what would I do if I had a kid?”. Would I take them to a movie where they hear 10 seconds of “f*ck, sh*t, t*ts, b*lls”, things they would hear at the mall on a Sunday anyway?! Or would I take them to a movie where they show human fingers being severed from the hand and people killing people or talking about killing people throughout the 2 hours?!
I have no hesitation to answer: the former! “The King’s Speech” is not only a well done movie, but also it also offers great many a lessons about responsibility, duty, perseverance, pride, loyalty, and humanity and last but not least, it’s history – some of which kids nowadays need an incredible amount more of. “True Grit” is beautifully done as well, but do our kids really need more exposure to killings and death?!
So, my humble take: take your kids to an R rated movie sometimes, folks! It won’t hurt! I promise.
On another note, what in the world is an “appropriate audience”?! I think most of us are peeved by the “mandatory previews” that you cannot fast forward through at the movie theater. And they start by saying that “This preview has been approved for appropriate audiences”. What exactly is an “appropriate audience”?! Who decides that?! And isn’t’ that a big assumption?! I think based on my view of R rated movies alone some parents, for instance, might consider me less than appropriate, don’t you think?! And if I am not appropriate – what happens? I leave the room or you stop the previews now?!
It’s all a mystery, indeed.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
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!
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!
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
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”.
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”.
Saturday, February 05, 2011
"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.
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.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
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.
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 ...
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.
Monday, January 24, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
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.
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.
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