The Mirage City

We’re walking down a loud road, Harmon Ave, I believe, from our hotel, The Alexis Park, towards the downtown. The sidewalks are narrow and we keep dodging a couple of other people here and there, coming or going in the same general direction as ours. Apart from the traffic and the buses, the big city sounds and feels lonely.

It’s a crisp February morning, the desert wind whipping our cheeks and leaving us breathless. We can hardly hear ourselves think much less talk to each other from the noise of the traffic driving by – cars, delivery trucks, cabs, limos. A lot of limos.

We walk on a wide open street, maybe 6 or 8 lane wide, lined with tall palm trees and withered landscape, full of junk – McDonalds wrappers and empty beer bottles mostly. A drainage ditch. A “loading only” street. A couple of homeless people. And the city noise, whizzing by. You still retain a feeling of identity – you are a small soul trying to find your way into this big, open noise. You hear your heart distinctively asking you what is her new place in the world. You’re not sure where you are, how long till the destination, but you still talk to your inner self, and it is there. You’re taking it all in and try to find a place for you …

Once we finish our one and a half mile walk (or so my iPhone says) to Las Vegas Blvd we dive into a completely new world – polished high rises, all glass and steel, we almost fall backwards trying to look up to take them in. More traffic. And music. Lots and lots of super powerful, surround sound blasting speaker systems absolutely deafening. Sort of a Time Square gone Western style. Hundreds of pedestrians bump into you, jostling you left and right, front and back. Almost all of them are under dressed and carry a huge cocktail in their hands while walking, talking, laughing, shopping. Some, just a beer – the shy ones.

The first reaction is: this is complete and utter chaos! There is an almost immediate loss of who you are now. You no longer know anything about your soul and where it’s coming from, and where it’s going. You hardly remember why you set off on this journey at all. Right here, on The Boulevard, the sense of identity is immediately and irrefutably lost. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the crowdedness of the population floods your soul, your body, your mind, and they completely take over. Your only “worry” is where to look next?!

It’s like losing your foothold, but you’re carried away on a wave, so you feel eerily safe – and you let go. Temptations abound. Miles and miles of malls, entertainment halls, outdoor patios, restaurants, strip clubs, and oh, yes, casinos scream at you “come on in” at every corner. What in the world to do? What in the world to do first?!

Yes, we are in Las Vegas, NV. A city of many names and master of none. Before I got there, I had no idea why so many euphemisms and insults were attempted at defining this city in the desert, but once you go, you get it! It’s a city like I have never seen before. It has the feeling that it never sleeps. Whether it’s 8 AM or 1 AM, the music is pounding the streets and the crowds are walking back and forth in a disorganized walking pattern. You have the streets, but then you have the aerial walkways, above the streets, to “fluidize” the traffic – always too much. It also has the feeling that no one really works. It’s like vacation, 24-7. There are entertainment opportunities in every alley – everyone wants to amuse you, relax you, impress you, corrupt you and everyone loves your cash!

It’s all a freak show, contrived and promiscuous, to lure you in and get your wallet. They say everything is bigger in Texas, but I think everything is bigger in Vegas. The billboards are bigger than I have ever seen, the lights brighter, the music louder, prices higher.

As we walked the city for two and a half days, we had the feeling that we’re walking in a dream. A couple of resorts remind you of Italy, with Roman inspired architecture, marble statues, even a river and singing gondoliers (Caesars Palace and The Venetian). The “Eiffel Tower” and restaurants like “Mon Ami, Gabi!” and “Paris” make you believe you’re in France. Restaurants like Sushi Roku and Tao remind you of Hong Kong, maybe, or Japan. The displays celebrating the New Chinese Year reminded you of The Far East.

On one end of The Strip you’re in Europe – on the other you’re in New York, Hollywood or Disney , or even Egypt – when you find yourself staring at ‘The Statue of Liberty’, the impressive MGM resort with probably the hugest bronze statue I will ever see, or The Luxor, with its pyramid shaped hotel and Sphinx sitting quietly in front.

Everything is everything else but American, and definitely everything else but Western. It’s the biggest adult playground I have ever seen or imagined. I called it “Disney for Grownups”, because it’s that much adult fun and endless entertainment.

Everything in Vegas is “too much of”. Too many lights, too much noise, too much drinking, too much of too much.

Maybe, in a way, looking back, everything IS American: looking back to The Old Continent and incorporating it into the New World, the glitz and glamour of people who have reached so much affluence that they shamelessly flaunt it, and the all American made concept of entertainment brought to gargantuan proportions. Opulence. Exaggeration. Polish. Your dreams can come true. Even walking through Rome and Venice, right here, at home.

I was imagining it to be very cheesy – and it is, but it’s cheese brought to hallucinatory perfection. As much gaudiness as your pupils are forced to absorb, nothing seems out of place! You get it, although it’s preposterously decadent and you feel violated and dirty! But you strangely enjoy it. All the hard work back home, and the money, the trouble to travel so long and see this “creation” of human imagination – all is all worth it. You feel enlightened, although you know that it’s all for the strangest reasons of all.

OK! Enough of that. I hope you get it. What we did?! We walked the streets and took hundreds of pictures – of people, of places, of things that will live now in our minds and our albums. We ate the best pizza in a long time, in the heart of The Venetian at Trattoria Reggiano and the freshest sushi in a while, too, at Sushi Roku. Our hotel served the best crepes (sorry, dad!) I have ever had, stuffed with ricotta cheese and drenched in blueberry preserves. We also had the best cocktails we have savored in a while – as you would normally expect from a party town.

We took the Monorail, but it was less exciting than the one in Seattle. It was almost empty. I guess no one wants to be cooped up in a train when there is so much to see pedestrian-style. We visited the Titanic Exhibit, at The Luxor, and that was fascinating (sorry, no pictures allowed). It was extremely well done. The sounds and the pictures brought the mighty ship and its story to life. It was moving. The perfect condition of the objects they brought back from the wreckage was unbelievable. And not just china and jewelry, but journals and newspapers, and documents, too. Just astonishing.

We watched the water show at The Bellagio and again – that was incredibly “too much”, but incredibly well done, as well. Just a splendor of music, lights and water architecture – amazing when water can take shape. We spent some time in a night bar to sip cocktails made by real professionals and lounge on comfy, oversized couches, and of course we gambled. A little. I saw a gambling table where a poor victim (sorry, I judge) laid down 12 $100 bills for his bet. I thought I was going to be sick. They were real bills – I have never seen that much cash at once go away and show nothing for it. Nothing but thrill, that is.

You feel like a movie star no matter what you do in Vegas – disco music beats everywhere, and lots and lots of lights and polish. And lots of money, of course: the cars, the cash, the outfits on some folks, the prices of everything. Everyone is more than willing to make sure you have the best time. Price is just a number – you made it this far, you might as well give in and enjoy it.

We took way too many pictures of posters and billboards announcing concerts, but we didn’t make it to a show – Elton John, Celine Dion, David Copperfield, and way too many look-alike shows, presenting “Michael Jackson”, “Elvis Pressley” and even “The Beatles”. What is Vegas without its illusion, right?!

They kept telling me before going there, “go to Vegas and just get it out of your system”. But the truth is, for me, it’s not out of my system. I just felt like it just got into my system. There is something dangerously addictive about this city. Just like a sweet drug and enters your body slowly and makes you feel good, warm, cozy, free, special, carefree, wanted, adored, rich, on top of the world, … (insert your favorite drug high here) …, you know you’ll want to come here, again and again. Maybe not admit it. Maybe keep it hidden from your family and friends, but looking forward to every single sinful drop of pleasure you get out of it. After all, don't we all need some decadence in our lives?!

It’s a mirage of a city! After driving in the open desert for hours, with nothing but brush and cacti lining the road, with no sign of human existence for miles, you arrive at this citadel of steel and glass, bustling, throbbing of people, of life, of money, of sin, and pleasure, with bountiful water fountains and even a river running through it. It really makes you wonder whether it’s real at all or you just slipped and hurt your head and ended up in Wonderland. And in a way, I am sure you did.

Las Vegas - in one image: palm trees, sunny skies, circus, farce, music, gold, lights, gamble - click on the picture to enjoy more ...

Such a Gift

Happy birthday, Gabi!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Romania, 2007

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

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

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

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

Much love,

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

One Year. One Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Many hugs.

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

Enjoy, everyone:

Click here to watch his birthday video ...

Food so Good (and Much) It’s Stupid

The gist of this entry ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Small Lives. Big Lessons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Hibernation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Year's Wrap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy a peek at our wonderful 2011:

A City Alive - Postcards from Seattle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanksgiving. It’s All in the Food.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disrespectful Thoughts on Flying Respectfully

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Good and the Bad on a Not so Bad Trip

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

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

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

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

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

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

I guess this is what Jim Cantore must feel like!

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

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

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

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

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

The glitz and glamor of Niagara Falls, Ontario

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

The quaint charm of Niagara-on-the-Lake

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Canadian Falls, ON

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

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

Biggest Halloween Ever!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Autumn Drive. A Random Thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Burning Issue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know … I am trifling.