When the Earth Breathes – A Full Moon Ride

“This is the place where it all started.” (Robert Redford)

There are many, way too many, my memories of growing up in the mountains … There is a whole lifetime buried in their rocky peaks and grassy sides. There are land chores, and foods, and cyclical seasons and many a people that could tell the story of a girl growing up by city life the rest of the year, and by mountain sides in the summers. It’s who I was then – just a mountain girl, “part time”. Nowadays, I might become “full time”.

Today, that I live in the mountains, and an ocean, two continents and several thousands of miles away from my original ones, I never cease to be amazed at how much I find, again, right here, in my new home of what I have learned way back when in my childhood about living in paradise.

The air smells familiar, the people walk just as slow as then, and the time seems to have stopped for a bit, to savor in the sights. There are many favorite times of day and of night and of seasons to me, in the mountains, but if one time stands out, that is the very short pause between when the sun goes to bed and the moon rises.

Back in the day of my childhood, that’s when things, and our lives got a chance to slow down. And breathe. Along with the tired earth, everything quieted down and relaxed for the day. You could almost hear the grass sigh. The cows sighed the loudest, as they laid down in the stables. And the chickens were quiet, for once! There was nothing, almost, moving, not even the pine needles in the trees. Nothing speaking but the crickets and the occasional frog.

Once the sun sets, the air gets crisp and fresh. You breathe in and you breathe pure health. None of the day’s heat and exhaustion is left. Only peace, restful and refreshing.

This moment, between day and pure night is one of those few times when I can almost see heaven!

Last night, Aa. and I went to Sundance, the place “where everything started”, and all these amazing sensations and peaceful feelings were there, as we took a lift ride under the full moon.

Everything was perfect after that ride – as everything looks more beautiful and more tender in the soothing light of the moon. The mountains were once again protecting us, and the sky was a cool, clear blanket over our worries, massaging our temples with clean air of wellness …

I left all the drain of a day and the load of a stressful life lately into those peaks. They all seeped through the tall branches of the pine and aspen trees, and returned to the earth, where they belonged. And as the good mother that it is, the earth exhaled once more, and said warmly and familiarly: “you’re welcome”.

Felt so good that after all this searching I could return home once again … *sigh*.

That very moment of "crossover" between day and night: can you hear the silence?!
(Please click on the picture for the whole album)

Babies, and Then, They Talk ...

I have said this before, and I will say it again: I am just never going to be done being amazed at how babies develop into toddlers and then into real humans. It’s a mystery to me how they figure everything out to become more or less integrated adults. Just fascinating how their brains work to understand the mysteries of life around them.

I know it’s just the course of nature, and life, but watching it gives me chills and humbles me.

It's almost hard to find a picture of him not smiling with his entire face. He is a happy kid.

I have not written about my nephew for a long time now, and I have kind of missed it. I think of him every single minute of every day, and I talk about him often, as I await, hungrily, for the news to come from my sister with new details of what else he did today. He’s a bit over two years old now, and as you can imagine, a handful.

He was here for my wedding this April and I could not get over the fact that he was a totally different kid than the kid I last saw just the fall before: you could communicate more with him, you could talk at him and he could actually understand you, although in April he was not able to say too many words.

A rare "serious" moment. He is fearless around animals.

And in just four months, it seems like years have passed! He is talking almost in full sentences now, and he can communicate with all adults around him, family or not, to tell them what his needs are. There are many milestones in the life of a human, and I guess discovering full sentence speech is a major one. And trust me: it should be, because it’s amazing! It’s not just that you hear full sentences where cries and whines were before, but it’s the thought behind those sentences that’s mind boggling!

On a mission: "Someone, please feed these animals NOW!"

As my sister was noticing, his “terrible two’s” crises are virtually gone now. Because instead of thumping his food and having a fit when he wants something, he communicate now, in our own language and he now asks for it by name.

It’s amazing to me that he is indeed the same kid that was just born two years ago, frail and small, and just figuring out how to breathe yet! He has come so far in seemingly no time at all, and has evolved into this “real human”, as I call them … (and, yes, I realize they are all “real humans”).

He is determined and stubborn, he is a fast learner and a helpful little hand around the kitchen. He loves to wash dishes, and help out. More than anything, he loves to talk! He truly is sprung from genes my family provided, for sure. We’re never at a loss for words. And yes, he blabs! About everything around him, and things he makes up. He is even asking his daycare lady to let him tell the story for “story time” and asking my sister the same at night – he remembers stories and wants to retell them “himself”, or invents something when he feels like it, and he has a pretty rich imagination for a two year old.

"Patrick, the Clown" - the kid has absolutely hated pacifiers since he was a day old. Has never used them, but he will pick one up to make adults laugh and get a reaction. And of course, his best friend: the ball!

He is a clown in school, performing for the rest of the class and making them laugh while standing up on a table. As it has always been the case, he also loves music. He dances and watches “ So, you think you can dance “ on TV intently. He loves sports, especially soccer and tennis, now. He watches hockey. And he is so good at them, too! He is so poised when he kicks a soccer ball! I wish I had a video of that, but some pictures are telling of how focused and agile he is when kicking a ball!

"The soccer star" - focusing on the next kick.

He prefers playing tennis with his dad to whom he announces that “mami can’t play tennis”, when my sister just attempted to play it with him. He also has a refreshing curiosity that we adults have so long ago lost! He is a venturesome eater, and whereas kids prefer pizzas and burgers and mac and cheeses, he eats everything from sausages, salmon (which is his favorite), broccoli and yogurt. As agile as he can be with a soccer ball, he is a klutz on the playground, falling and breaking skin every chance he gets! He is not a very graceful faller, either. His knees are full of scrapes and his forehead, nose and lips are usually blue, bruised or busted somehow. And yet, he picks up and tries again, of course, there are things to learn and discover yet!

Yummy broccoli! - eating all by myself!

This week he’s made a statement that as simple as it was and superbly funny, it was a milestone for us around him. He had fallen on the grounds, in the park, and hurt his backside. When my sister asked him to sit in the stroller, so she can wheel him back home for the day, he sat himself down in the “vehicle” and turned to her and said, matter-of-factly: “Push slow. My butt hurts”. So, now, he can tell us! So, now, he won’t scream for 20 minutes while adults are trying to force him into the stroller to take him home, wondering “what the heck is wrong with the kid? He’s changed! He’s fed! WHY won’t he want to go into the darn stroller! WHAT is his problem?!” …And now, he knows that pushing harder and faster makes the bumps in the road hurt his back. And he can tell us. In human words!

A new era has come, for his parents, I am sure: one where he has perfect reasons for doing or not doing things! I am sure it’s refreshing, “cracking the code” and saving the drama, but also challenging, for when he’ll start giving them fairytale reasons for not eating his veggies.

Either way, every day is a miracle, and a mystery. And we are so blessed to see it through him.

One of the pictures I have in my head when I fall asleep at night: the world is a beautiful place with Patrick's smile in it!

Taming the Desert ?! Well, ...

Plants are an investment. I have learned that quick and early all the way back in first grade. Mom wanted to teach us how beans sprout. So, we put dried beans in cotton balls, watered them and waited to see what happened. Sure, then, it was just a water and time kind of investment, but extrapolating that experiment through planting various things during later years, I have learned a lot about growing plants. I have learned that you put time, money, effort into your yard, and something will come out, and another thing will not, and a whole different thing will come out only to die a few weeks later.

And for some sick reason, as filthy cheap as I usually am, I do spend cash on plants and soil! Now, sure, some folks out there (husband included) don’t get it to save their lives. I guess it’s just the (very hidden and small) mother in me or something that loves to nurture and care for “something”, and since God didn’t put the bio clock in me, for me, it’s tending to plants. I love to see healthy, beautiful flowers, trees and herbs, and just … any greenery around me that it’s the direct result of my efforts to keep them healthy. I love to work for it, sweat for it, and wait. Yeah, me, who also hates waiting, love to watch plants grow and bloom. Go figure!

You do remember, perhaps, that when I moved to “the desert”, back in May, I had to learn not only a new way to garden (because of the dry climate), but a new way to handle a very different kind of soil: a hard, rocky, sandy, dirty, debris filled soil … I was sure it’ll take me years to have just grass growing in it … Well, several months later, and trying not to pay attention to the husband’s (or the friends’ or the neighbors’) rolling of the eyes and serious doubts that I can in fact grow anything around us, I am happy to say the place looks a bit different. Not much, but to me, some.

Our small flower bed, in front of the house

We do have grass! Alas, we have grass AND weeds growing on this bald spot that used to be a dumping site for the neighborhood … And I did venture out to have one flower bed. A small and contained bed, manageable for now. We also have beautiful, custom made, wooden planters (my awesome husband’s contribution to my “yard project”), full of healthy, gorgeous, green plants, some desert loving, some lush. We have pots and planters around the home, and even a tomato plant, upside down, because I went crazy trying to find home grown tomatoes in this area, so I finally decided to plant my own, late and hot as it may be right now! Our dill and basil sort of fried out there in the sun, and so did the ice plants. But everything else looks pretty healthy, as you can see.

Detail on wooden planter (built by Aa. from scratch) with healthy greenery in it.



I think my favorite: frail and healthy (fast growing) ivy and cedar detail.

The still very frail and timid presence of these “live” things just makes me smile and makes me feel like I am finally at home.

We will get good soil, along with fertilizer, in the fall, but till then, our pots and planters have healthy dirt that will keep the very few things I have planted happy. I hope. And just like investment goes: you gain some and you lose some, but you can always count on learning a good lesson! And so, I am learning, day by day … the challenges and the beauty of having plants in the desert. And I am not done yet. This is merely the beginning …

Color, color and more color!



Can you smell it?! Probably my second favorite: lavender.



No, you don't need to flip it around: topsy-turvy tomato, or "the new kid".



Details from planter and flower bed, respectively: they call these "hen and chicks", but I call them "desert roses". They are sooo pretty!

"Hello, Utah - Good Bye, Privacy!"

Or: Confessions of a Bad Neighbor
Warning: offensive to most "good" neighbors


“Hello, all. My name is Alina and I am a bad neighbor”.

No, not “bad” in the sense that I would throw my trash into your yard, or blow my leaves there, for that matter, not “bad” in the sense that I will let my dog (if I had it) or my cats (if they were ever outside) pee on your landscape, nor my kids (if I had them) scream and shoot hoops in the driveway till 2 AM , but “bad” in the “not so friendly” sense of the word.

I do not want to share my life’s story with you, as a neighbor, nor am I interested in hearing about yours. I have friends and family, thank you very much. I just live here! It’s just chance that you and I share a fence, or a street, not a cause to celebrate! As much as I will be able to make it possible, I will try to live so that you can see and hear as little of me as possible.

I have never been really good friends with neighbors, anywhere I lived. I have not invited them over for bbq’s, nor offered to baby sit their kids or pets. And as convenient as I admit this might have been to do, sometimes, I don’t ask them any favors either. I won’t knock on the door to ask you if you have an extra egg, and I will not ask you to look after my house when I am on vacation. I am definitely never going to ask you to buy anything that I might be selling. And I would appreciate if you reciprocate!

I know I am the freak here, though, because everywhere I have lived, neighbors want to know my business and want to share theirs with me. Mind you: other than “hello” and “good bye” when they make eye contact, I am not interested in chatting with them at all! But they ask me everything: anything from where I am from, am I married, do I have kids, what I am doing this weekend, or if I want to buy cookies from their kids. Once, one of them asked me to drive her and her toddler girl to the ER at 9 PM, another one asked me to sit their cat over the Christmas holiday (I evidently had no life!), and one even gave me money and a shopping list to do her shopping at Wal-Mart, when her car died.

And whereas I did come half way on all these requests, and I did all of them as asked, I did so begrudgedly, and hoping I am just trying not to p…o… Karma! But you have to be really lucky to get me while I am between my car and my door to ask me to do any of these, because I have been known to not open the door if you ring or knock. Unless you’re ridiculously persistent. That is, unless you were ridiculously persistent, because that changed when I moved to UT. Here, my dear neighbors, I am tempted to not ever answer the door even if I smell smoke on the other side of it!

Let me explain. When I moved here, my husband (also a “bad neighbor”) reminded me that we live in a (large) family kind of neighborhood, in the middle of super Mormon country (aka Utah County), with an LDS church in the middle of the carefully planned out, cookie-cutter kind of community (yeah, some people have a community pool, a tennis court or a club house in the middle of their suburban neighborhood, we have a church!). As a result, he said, we will get knocks on the door frequently from people to ask us to buy things their (many) kids sell at school (like cookies, chocolate, wrapping paper, what have you), or from people to “kindly” invite us to church, or give us cookies to welcome us to the neighborhood AND invite us to church.

I figured “well, how bad could it be?!”. Well, I am here to tell you, dear people, that it’s BAD!
Every day, rain or shine (who am I kidding?? We live in the desert. There is NO rain here!), someone knocks on the door. They don’t do it on Sundays (they are hermits out here on Sundays, as I’ve said before), and Saturdays, we’re usually out doing something, but every single weekday, I get at least one knock on the door, or sometimes up to three or four in the same day! Every single day! I am not kidding, nor exaggerating!

It started with just unanswered knocks and they’d plainly leave. Then, they began leaving all sorts of stuff at the door. Sure, I have gotten your regular pizza or Chinese special flyer before in other places I have lived, but this is very different.

Anything from pieces of paper to announce their “cause” or social event to bags asking us to fill them with stuff for the needy; from plain colored pieces of paper (if we have a natural disaster, we’re supposed to put a plain red piece of paper in the front window if we need help, but a green one if we’re OK! – no, I am not making this up) to FOOD! Yes, you read it correctly: food. One day, we found a paper bag full of what looked like leftovers from a family: used, beat-up containers of sour cream and butter filled with “taco fixings”, we think. We just chalked that up to someone having the wrong address for meals-on-wheels, but seriously: if someone you know needs food because they can’t go to the grocery store is not answering, either call 911 or check your address!

Since our yard is only partially fenced in, we get many visits from other “folks” in the neighborhood as well: like dogs who seem to have made our yard their home – there is a small one across the (very busy!) street in the back of our house that crosses the street with all the crazy traffic on it JUST to come to our yard to pee. And then he crosses it right back! Another big black dog tracked across our yard the other night. Kids throw their ball over the fence between our houses and then just prance in the yard, and pick it up just like it’s theirs or like the fence were a volleyball net or something (we did keep one ball, but ... they have more than one!). Some days I just feel like we’re all living on a compound and we just share our yard and our front porch with the entire community! Not very cool, nor funny!

So, Aa. and I are trying to think what kind of sign we could put in the yard to keep at least humans away! The one to four knocks on the front door, the bags and loads of papers to clean up need to stop! We don’t need cookies, we’re on a diet. We have our gods, so we’re looking for none of those. We don’t need “savings cards to local stores” (one of the solicitors offered that for sale one day when I was working in the yard), we would pick them up at the very stores, if you should need them! We don’t need to help other people’s causes, because we have our own causes to support, and it’s a recession, people, there is only so much spare cash to go around!

So, what kind of sign can be friendly enough (we don’t want our house burned down next time we travel!) but clear enough to keep those folks away?! Sitting out there with a rifle in our hand is not an option, either! So, we are both at a loss – and yes, we’re taking ideas! We’re willing to make it “nice” and maybe like a “decoration piece”, but we do need to send the message loud and clear, that they all need to move right along. Or maybe we should make our own "Beware of (bad) neighbor" or "Bad neighbor" since we don't have a dog. How many people would get it?!

And no, the fact that we never answer the door although our cars are visibly there, and they hear us talking on the other side of the door does not stop the knocking! Not at all. Since May, when I moved here, the knocking has not ceased!

I guess, in a way, I should stop bitching, as it’s all a very “democratic” affair: they have the right to knock on people’s doors whenever they so please, I have the right to not respond. Everyone’s happy. But there are business in town with “no solicitation” signs in the window, so why would those signs be frowned upon when on a private property?! Not to mention that the littering needs to stop!

Welcome home: three of the neighborhood "offerings" left behind one day this week.

A “Silly” Weekend

"The best things in life are silly." (Scott Adams)

Well, it was not really a whole weekend of silliness but Sunday was pretty chuckly!

I have seen this street festival in Park City advertised everywhere ever since I came to UT – it’s called “Park Silly Sunday Market”. And I kept wondering: “Now, how silly can Utah be?! Really!”. True, Park City is not the “mainstream” Utah, it is more hip, with lots of arts and open minded people, lots of hippies and even breweries within less than miles from each other, a tourist town, too, with ski slopes descending right down to Main Street where people from all over the world flock in the winter to get a feel for “the greatest snow on earth”. So, I guess it has some potential for something other than kids and straight up Mormons which we’re seeing around our neighborhood!

But still, this was a Sunday, when everything else is dead in Utah, so, how riotous can it get?! Well, there was only one way to find out. We headed up there and what follows is a sneak peek into what the streets showed us.

Save from some brief comments, I’ll let the pictures tell the story. Hope you find our little journey as silly as it wanted to be.

Out of all the many “silly” puppies at the event, this was my favorite! However cliché this might sound, he was a poster child for Beethoven! Just everything you ever think of a Saint Bernard and then some. All 250 pounds of it!

Book in the window of a store, or … Utah in a nutshell?! Made me smile to picture “lonely” surrounded by 1000 screaming kids!

As explosively delish as this sounds, I like the disclaimer above it better: “All ingredients are organic, in season, local, whenever possible”. I am SO GLAD there are people our there who do not take all this “organic – local – all natural – I am better than you for eating tasteless dirt” mumbo-jumbo so seriously sometimes!

I thought I saw it all a few years back when I had garlic ice cream! But this is a close contender to that. One question though: WHY in the world would you ruin precious, delicious pig with chocolate, pray tell?! Oh, that’s right: ‘just to be silly’, perhaps! *Eye roll and sigh*

Now, I have never tasted “passion” nor “integrity”, but they smelled pretty good!

Well, at least you can’t sue them for false advertising!! – on a T-shirt in a gift store.
*Chuckle-chuckle*

We did have some street food at the festival, as it was mandatory, of course – bbq pork, smoked sausage and corn on the cob lathered in butter. But the true gastronomic win of the day was indoors: Wasatch Brewery (or is it Squatters??? – don’t get me started, it’s confusing!) had this coconut beer (ale) battered shrimp on green papaya (and carrots) salad with red chili aioli. Oh, my God, was it a trip between tastes in your mouth: savory-and-sweet-and-tangy-and-spicy-and-…YEAH!!! The beer find was great, too: they call it “nitro cream ale”, and it has no fizz, it’s almost room temperature and it’s just like drinking a smoothie – VERY creamy!

The above mentioned indoor "feast"

And as everywhere in Utah … there were a lot of short people! All running around getting caught in stranger’s legs, and tripping on even shorter puppies! Whining about the heat, or munching on street fare. Trying to “navigate” the sea of little ones is always my (and not to mention Aa’s) biggest challenge! No, it’s not their fault, it’s the mindless parents, of course! And this is why this sign made my day and was my favorite silly note of the trip. It was like whoever made it heard my pain loud and clear:

“Take them home, now, lady mom and mister pop, sir, and YOU deal with them!”

After walking around in smoldering heat, we sought refuge in the Kimball Art Center which displayed three galleries, of various media (paint, photography, quilting, digital printing, food art etc). I always love checking out local galleries in places I travel, because almost always you find things you would never see anywhere else. The exhibit of various wall hanging quilts was my favorite, but Bridget Conn’s art was truly unusual, and unforgettable, in a skin – crawling, jaw - clenching kind of way, at times.

When I first told people I am moving to Utah, they all told me “Wow! Well, that’s great, but don’t expect much diversity there! It’s all one color in every way”. And weekends like these make me prove them wrong every single time. So much to see, so little time! And despite popular belief: we are lucky to have them so close to us!

Click on the picture to see the whole album of the “Park Silly Sunday Market”.

I Did It!

I keep waiting for the day, as I grow older, where nothing will be such a big deal to me anymore. I am waiting for the day, when I won’t get nervous about a job interview, about meeting someone new, when I won’t have knots in my stomach when I fly over the Atlantic or pack up for a weekend road trip, when I don’t think that someone will break into my house every time I head for the grocery store. The day when I’ll stop worrying for trivial things like these.

One of the things I hate most about myself is being a worrywart! Hate it with a passion. I was brought up to believe that if there is anything that can go wrong, it will go wrong and I need to be five minutes smarter than life to be prepared for everything. It’s really a curse! And it’s a rotten way to live, I am telling you! I blame it for my high blood pressure and chronically accelerated pulse! My migraines, too!

I have lived in Utah now for over two months. And for that long, every day, I have dreaded the day I will have to go in and get a Utah driver’s license. I know – it’s comical! 16 year olds do it! 15 year olds get a learner’s permit! And I was literally sick to my stomach, afraid of going in and applying for one! Why?! Because in Utah, along with a loooong laundry list of documents you have to provide, they also make you take the written test all over again.

So, to me, it was like having a real exam. And I hate exams! My nerves hate them more. So, like a pathetic, self doubting fool that I am, I have been keeping up at night, worrying that I might miss too many questions to pass, I might not be of “legal enough” status for Utah to apply for one (they ask you for proof of citizenship, and whereas my passport does say I am an American, it still stays I was born elsewhere!), I have feared that they won’t like the bank statements which are the only “bills” I have in my name with my Utah residence on them, and they’d like to see a mortgage bill or utility bill, which are not in my name… and so forth!

So, for weeks, I have studied the road book – yes, I have read it cover to cover – and I have panicked! My poor, amazing husband has put up with my *yawn* boring stories about what the book says and how easily one can miss a question, because everything in that book is so relative, about how I don’t get what the heck a CFI is nor a single point urban interchange … and the likes.

The fact that the exam is open book meant absolutely nothing to me! What if I am too nervous to be able to find the answer in the book? What?! They let you use an actual book? Well, if it were in pdf format, on the computer, you could do a Ctrl+F and find what you’re looking for, but in a book?! The fact that there was no time limit on the exam, and you could take three hours to answer all the 25 (I know: 25!!!) questions meant nothing to me. And as I have said – the fact that ADHD children of 15 PASS this test every day, without having 12 years of driving experience behind them like me meant nothing to me also.

Worry. Worry. Worry. That was the only thing I did for two months.

Till today. Because I did brace myself, closed my eyes and “jumped” sorta - kinda, a couple of weeks back when I made an appointment for the DMV for today, to go pass the darn thing! And I did. After having “the breakfast of champions” (mom always told me to eat a hard boiled egg every time before an exam – “it will keep you focused”, she said – and I listened) and several cups of coffee to make sure I am awake when I browse that book, I drove to the only town in our county that allows you to obtain an “original” Utah driver’s license and that facilitates “the exam”! I got 100% of answers right, and I only looked up in the book maybe two of them, and just for double checking. And miracle of all miracles, I did find them in the book! Must be all that coffee.

I wondered all this time whether there was more behind this irrational, unexplainable fear. Maybe secretly I was not ready to say “good bye” to my (always) beloved NC, and my second home on this planet. I am still not completely sure that there was not more to it. But truth is, from where I saw it, it was complete and utter, paralyzing fear of failure and having to deal with the consequences of re-taking the test and all and bureaucracy of it.

But it’s over. I did it! I passed it, and now, my NC license has two punch holes in it to mean it’s not the “real” one anymore. And I have a temporary, paper Utah license in addition to it - with my new Utah Address and everything. I feel just a little bit more legal in my new home state. And just a little bit less worried, maybe?! Well, let’s not push it quite yet!

Registering the car in UT is next, and the fear of … oh, I don’t know … not passing inspection, maybe, or making my insurance agent mad when I cancel the NC insurance and get on Aa’s UT insurance is next too … Are you chuckling and shaking your head?! Remind me one day to tell you about how I felt when I had to go in for a heart cath! Which I had put off for FIVE years before I built the courage to actually do it! Now, that’s a story …

As I have said: still waiting for that day when I grow up and grow out of the worrywart stage and become more … blasé. Man, what a celebration that will be!

The proof: the "hole punched" NC license, and just a hint of the new temporary UT license underneath.

The Dollar Tree Experience ...

... and not the kind you'd think ...

I remember distinctively my last trip to The Dollar Tree store on Lawndale in Greensboro, NC. The dialogue between me and the sales lady went something like this:

The Lady (big smile, eye contact and all): “How you doin’, honey?”
Me: ” I am fine, thank you. And you?”
The Lady (with the same smile, head shake and Southern drawl): “Oh, I am great, baby! Thank you. A bit tired. My momma collapsed last night in the bathroom, and I had to drive to Wilmington this morning to see her in a hospital, then back, ‘cause my shift was startin’, so I am a bit tired. But thank The Lord, she’s all right, and I am just great.” (bearing white teeth at me in a large smile to probably convince me that she is indeed “great”).

Didn’t know what to do with all that. Just mumbled “feel better and have a nice day” as I was hurriedly grabbing my change and rolling my inside eyes, with a (fake) smile on my face, of course, like a (then) good Southern gal.

Today, at another Dollar Tree store, in Spanish Fork, UT – the experience was a bit different.

The (other, serious, Utah) Lady: “How are you?”
Me: “I am good, thanks. You?”
The (U) Lady: “Oh, I am fine. (pause). Well, no, not really!!” - frowns and shakes head.
We both stared at each other, me smiling, she, still serious.
She continues: “Oh, that was not nice, was it?! Well, but it was true!”

We both burst into laughter and wished each other a better day.

Changes in altitudes and attitudes, indeed!

Close to Home and Yet So Foreign

A weekend adventure ...

This past long weekend, our plan was to know our surroundings a little bit more. And we did get to accomplish that. A little bit … too much, maybe?! But first thing’s first.

For a long weekend, and for two travelers, my husband and I had very loose plans this weekend. We kinda wanted to go to The Grand Canyon. And we kinda flirted with going to Las Vegas, too. But we ended up just staying home and taking short day trips here and there, learning more about Utah’s history, its capital and discovering more nature trails that make this state so unique.

We started Friday night, with an Indian dinner (nothing says “America” as Indian food, does it?!) and a walk through the Downtown of the city of Provo. It was entirely too hot to be completely comfortable in the midst of booths, strollers, skateboarders and absent minded parents, so, after a quick look over the “Fun Fourth” booths, we headed towards the more quiet streets where some galleries were open for the monthly “Gallery Stroll”.

On Saturday, we went to Salt Lake to … be tourists. He is more familiar with this area than I am (having lived here for over a year before my arrival, and having researched this area for many years before that), so the “touristy” demand came from me. I just wanted us to go to Salt Lake and visit some landmarks that I could send home with the label “SL,UT” - as a t-shirt showed it in a store window – infer your own acronym from there, if you may.

So, tourists we were. We parked first at Pioneer Park, where The Salt Lake City Farmers’ Market was in full swing (pictures start here) . We walked about the park, listened to the live music (pretty good, actually), browsed the arts booths and tents (metal sculptures, photography, woodworking, beading and the likes), bought some fresh goat cheese and some sopressata, sampled everything from honey butter to wild boar salami and of course people watched. A nice high of 77 with a mixture of sun and shade made for a refreshing start of the day.

We then drove to The Gateway Mall , located adjacent to the historic Union Pacific Train Depot. The historic train station is a beautifully kept turn of the century building, with gorgeous murals and painted windows telling visual stories of the settling of the Mormon pioneers (1847) and of the accomplishment of the first trans continental rail road (1869), as well as displaying various scenes of the Western landscape (pictures start here).

True to our tourist demands, we had lunch at The Mall, and were surprised to find a delicious chain restaurant that offered Hawaiian fare – Rumbi. The pulled pork is the best I have had in a long while.

After lunch, we drove up a very steep hill indeed (never been to San Francisco, but … it seemed like driving through it instead!) up to The Capitol of the State of Utah. Reading more about the building after we saw it, I can tell you now that we saw the South - South - East side of the structure, with its front lawn, stairs, view of the city, and we also saw the monument dedicated to the Mormon Battalion, to the right of The Capitol.

The place looked like most Capitols you have seen, stately, majestic, sort of intimidating, I’d say, but this particular building and its grounds surprised me as extremely quiet for such a huge construction, and arguably an important tourist attraction on a holiday weekend. Pictures start here.

In search for more Mormon history, on we went to Temple Square . I can probably write a whole day about this area so revered by LDS folks and such a staple of Utah, and of Mormon culture. But I will let you research it at your own convenience, and see it through my and Aa’s lens, here .

What also amazed me was how quiet and scarce the crowds were, again, for a holiday weekend. The architecture of all the buildings comprising The Square is beautiful, and the gardens breathtaking. As you may know, we are not allowed to visit The Temple, as non-Mormons, but the visitors’ center does a good job of explaining the fundamentals of the faith, and they also offer videos of some of the inside details. Definitely include this sight in your future trips to SLC.

On Sunday, it was return to nature day! Aa. had planned for us to drive The Diamond Fork Canyon for a while now – a campground and scenic route only minutes from our house – and we finally got to it on July Fourth! The ride through the Canyon is as many Utah rides are – beautiful, surprising, colorful, serene, very diverse in landscape and mostly wild. These folks know how to keep things wild, and I love that! The isolation, quietude and freshness say “hello” at every turn. We didn’t see much wildlife this time (pictures here), but we did see a lot more varied grasses and flowers than elsewhere before. Also, lots of camping opportunities, whether in organized, beautifully kept campgrounds, or just along the Diamond Fork river, on the side of the road, with big signs welcoming us: “Camping allowed. No fees required”.

A surprising thing on this particular drive was the fact that at some a vile smell floods the car. After turning yet another corner, you see white streams coming down from the mountains – there are sulfur (hot) springs in this Canyon. They surely are pretty, but they smell just like rotten eggs – breathtaking, but not in the desired way, for sure!

Later on, upon reading about these parts, we discovered that the Hot Pots of Diamond Canyon are a popular destination not only for people who seek tranquility and a return to nature, but also for … nudist hikers.

Our shock is only bigger than those of folks who have never been to Utah and can’t comprehend the degree of … conservatism (for lack of a better word) this state is capable of displaying in most day-to-day life situations – like buying coffee being frowned upon, or trashing empty bottles of beer after a cook out, or driving for 10+ miles from anywhere for a bottle of wine. No, not liquor – wine!

So, yeah, to hear about the “illegal but tolerated” behavior of bathing nude in a national forest was a bit daunting indeed. Not only that, but I stumbled upon another surprising fact: there is a “forum” out there for LDS skinny dippers (seriously - just google it!). OK, so maybe I have been sheltered, and I am the only one surprised by these seemingly contradictory findings, so I will refrain from comment. I guess a true Garden of Eden this state is! The things you learn as a tourist in your back yard are sometimes worth ten trips around the world.

I will just conclude that Diamond Fork Canyon is a gorgeous ride and park (as you can tell from the pictures), it’s mostly clean, very well maintained, the roads are nicely paved, and all the campgrounds look spacious, safe, wood stocked and most of them are shaded or have picnic gazebos, fire pits and grills. Just beautiful country, as you have come to expect from Utah so far.

On Monday, we came down to our less escapist lives, and we just shopped around our town and the towns around us – Orem and Provo, in particular. It was a hot day, and being mostly in the air conditioned stores just browsing and brainstorming about what else we might need to make our house a home was just what we needed to round up a full weekend.

The only thing absent from our weekend were the fireworks. Sunday is too small a day for two holidays in Utah County, and Church always wins: all the displays were Saturday (on the 3^rd), so we missed them. Given the heat of the springs and the somewhat explosive news surrounding them, I declared myself happy with the kind of “fireworks” we did run into.

Hope everyone had a fun and safe holiday. I don’t have a job yet, but I am ready for the next long weekend! I am … holding my breath for what else Utah has in store for us. Who knows where the next … sulfur spring might pop up, if you know what I mean.

Cainele care latra numai la pisici

For the English version, please click here.

De ce o facem?! De ce vrem sa avem animale de casa? Stim ca ne atasam sufleteste de ele. Stim ca ele se vor duce inaintea noastra si ca vom suferi cand le vom pierde. Si cu toate acestea le dorim. In mod constient. Cu ochii deschisi le cautam ani de zile si ne deschidem usile si inimile catre ele, atunci cand ne caute ele pe noi. De ce?!

Cred ca o facem din aceleasi motive pentru care vrem sa avem copii, desi stim ca nu ii vom putea proteja intreaga lor viata – e o lege inexplicabila a naturii. Simtim nevoia sa ne conectam sufleteste. Sa dam si sa primim dragoste, neconditionata. E superflua explicatia acestui fapt natural. O facem pentru a ne onora umanitatea!

Tatal meu si-a dorit dintotdeauna un caine. Mereu a vrut sa aiba un caine ciobanesc german. Dar cand eram noi copii, a iubit mereu cainii altora, pentru ca mama nu voia animale in apartementul in care am crescut. Cand a costruit in sfarsit o casa, primul lucru pe care l-a dorit in curte a fost un catel. Astfel, catelul va putea sta afara, fara sa murdareasca in casa si sa o supere pe mama.

Si asa a facut – tata a adoptat in sfarsit un catel. In august sunt 10 ani de cand a adoptat un caine ciobanesc german de la un prieten de al lui caruia ii fatase cateaua. L-a numit Bobby. Sau mai précis “Bobby Capucino”, datorita culorii maronii. Tata voia sa aiba un caine care arata fioros, pentru ca strainii sa se teama de el, si sa nu se apropie de casa. Bobby arata fioros, dar era departe de a fi fioros.

Bobby a fost cel mai tacut si supus catel din cati am vazut eu vreodata. Iubea oamenii, prieteni si straini, deopotriva. Si desi tata il voise la inceput pentru a latra tare la persoanele straine, asa cum o fac de obicei cainii ciobanesti germani, Bobby nu latra niciodata la nimeni, decat la pisici. Niciodata nu latra la oameni. Manca din mana oricui, se sprijinea de piciorul oricarui om statea la masa, spunea “buna ziua” la oricine intra in curte, si ii conducea frumos la bucatarie, sau oriunde erau cei de ai casei.

Era mereu in preajma tatei, desi tata fusese rau cu el in anumite ocazii, cand i-a calcat gradina de legume, sau cand a disparut de acasa si nu l-a gasit decat dupa ore intregi, speriindu-l pe tata care credea ca il calcase vreo masina.

Bobby a fost mereu dezlegat. Niciodata nu a fost legat cu lantul, asa cum o fac multi oameni in Romania. Si dupa ce si-a invatat teritoriul, Bobby era extrem de ascultator si cuminte, si nu mergea unde nu avea voie.

Vremuri mai sanatoase si mai fericite: Bobby in fata bucatariei si a portii

Ca orice animal de casa, Bobby a devenit parte din familia noastra. In primul weekend pe care l-a petrecut la noi in casa, a fost nunta sorei mele. A fost cu noi cand a murit maia; era mereu langa noi cand veneam in vizita, si mancam pe terasa; a fost langa mama si tata cand a murit Dolly, pisica noastra; era mereu langa tata cand facea gratar; a fost acolo cand l-am dus pe Patrick in Romania pentru prima data. Era mereu tacut si daca nu il vedeai, nu stiai ca exista caine la casa parintilor mei. Sau daca nu era cate o pisica vagaboanda prin curte si atunci ii auzeai scheunatul. Ca nu era chiar ca un latrat. Era mai mult ca un suspin sau oftat!

Nu prea se pricepea la tinut pisicile afara din curte. Suspinul lui frustrat cand le vedea insemna mai mult ca le atentiona ca desi primesc mancare acolo, curtea ii apartine lui.

Bobby a fost fara discutie cel mai destept caine din cati am vazut vreodata. Grija cu care se misca pe langa copiii mici, obedienta tacita fata de adulti, discretia cu care statea sub masa fara a cere flagrant de mancare, il aratau ca pe un caine destept. Si, fara discutie, a fost un caine plin de dragoste, pentru toti cei care l-au intalnit. Dragoste si umilinta.

Cred ca tacerea lui i-au cauzat si moartea, poate, pe de o parte. Parintii mei nu si-au dat seama cat este de bolnav pana a fost prea tarziu, pentru ca nu se plangea de a-I fi rau.

Bobby a murit astazi. Avea doar 10 ani. Si spun “doar” pentru ca ar fi trebuit sa traiasca mult mai mult! A murit la fel de silentios cum a trait. Asa cum a zis si mama, a fost ca si copilul lor; chiar daca l-am mai certat, l-am iubit, asa cum iubesti si certi un copil.

Deci, la dupa doar 10 ani, noi, si mai ales tata care si l-a dorit timp de peste 40 de ani, nu suntem pregatiti sa ii spunem “la revedere”. Dar adevarul este, cand oare suntem pregatiti sa spunem la revedere unui “copil”, unei parti de familie, unui animal de casa?!

Sper ca daca exista vreun “rai ai cateilor”, Bobby alearga acum liber si fara durere prin el, rastindu-se doar din cand in cand la pisicile care ii ies in cale. O sa imi fie dor de tine, Dle. Capucino. Esti de neinlocuit!

Mai putin "servitor si stapan" si mai mult "prieten si prieten" - tata, cu Bobby