An Inappropriate "Thank You" Note?!

I still remember that phone call that my dad got. My mom, on the other line, she is to this day the head of a hospital lab, and she was telling him about the "awful" disease that she herself just discovered I had.

Dad was in tears. I didn't know why. All I heard him say was: "Oh, GOD! She will never be normal. No kids. Not much for food. What CAN she eat?? No life, pretty much. Who knows how long she's got?!" - I will never forget those words, and dad crying.

I didn't get to hear what mom said, and I didn't know about whom they were talking, but I knew it was not good. They had just found out about my genetic disease, and they were preparing for the worst. I had no clue what "the worst" meant, though. I was 6.

From then on, whatever I 'had' became part of my life. Became a lifestyle. I never questioned "why me". I never blamed my parents for it, although they do enough of that themselves. I just took it as it was, just like one gets used to not being a blond, nor tall, nor with antelope legs. Whatever that was, was part of me; and grew with me. Only later in life I suffered because it made me lose men I loved, and kept me from doing things I wanted to do. But that was later. And even then, I accepted my fate.

As part of living my life, the best I was able, I had hundreds if not thousands of doctors' appointments all these years since that phone call. Tests after tests, that "normal" people don't do till they're 65-70-80 or never. Blood drawn every week. Month. Every three months. Every 6 months. What have you. Industrial quantities (only a mild exaggeration) of drugs, always changing, diets, etc. No cure, of course. Just meds to "prolong life", and that's about it. Just fighting the clock. Every year I add to my "resume" is a good year, to brag about to my doctors. Again: my life! I never complain about it, and unless prompted and asked, I don't talk much about it. It's so much who I am, that I almost don't think about mentioning it much to folks.

But there was a huge side effect to it all - aside from the drug-induced ones: I hate doctors! I hate going to see one, I hate their indifference, for the most part, and the way they treat you like a book chapter.Their only merit in me being alive today is that are allowed by law to write prescriptions. I have a TON of respect for pharmacists and researchers, but ... docs ... they're just scriveners with a VERY expensive degree to me. And of course, a very high rate! They are the highest paid spectators of life as it happens, have you noticed that?! And yes, I am generalizing, but trust me: I have seen enough of them to be entitled to this! I have friends who are doctors, and agree with me 100%! And of course, every rule has exceptions, so we won't touch those. But I digress...

I have doctors' appointments like some people go to the grocery store: regularly. And I mean at least 10-15 times a year. Sometimes with "regular" doctors, sometimes (more often) with "specialists".
I am not only used to them, but I also always expect the routine - as it's always the same: give me the co-pay, they shrug, they ALL say "well, *sigh*, you were dealt a bad hand, ma'am. But you LOOK great". And they send me home, with another appointment in hand, and a new combo of meds. And life goes on. And they probably built vacation homes and buy Porches for each member of their families with my money alone, as often as they see me.

So, docs don't phase me anymore. I go to them, like one goes to church, because "the wife makes them", but doesn't "really" believe, you know. But doesn't fight it, either, 'cause they want to "get some" at the end of the week.

Emotionally, I feel no one way or another about them: I don't like them much, but I always go. And I almost always do as they say. Well, this was the case, till this one last time. This last appointment finally stirred some emotion in me. Through my whole Odyssey of doctor appointments , for sooo many years, I never had to be put under - as in given anesthesia, that is... This one last test they did required that. I was terrified, almost, if anything health related can "terrify" me anymore.

A proud control freak (not really "that" proud), I never stomached the idea of total anesthesia! So, I was a little more then apprehensive that you know: I might not make the "trip back". It all went well, thanks to an Iranian anesthesiologist, that was extra careful and probably more afraid of what my body might do than I was myself.

Several days later, I get yet another surprise from this whole frightening experience and also a first for me: I have never, in my life, gotten a "thank you" note from my doctor (any of them) for being their patient... I always felt, and still do, that it might be a bit ... well... inappropriate... "Thank you for being sick"?? - How's that for a recognition?! What should my reaction/ answer be: "Well, you're welcome! I am an encyclopedia your Med School has not written yet, so now, go ahead, have at ME, and plan for your mansion in Palm Springs. You caught a real BIG one this time, you lucky bastard! " ?!

But this time, not only did I get a "thank you" from a doctor, but I did from the first one I was truly afraid to death to make an acquaintance with. And my apprehension left aside, who REALLY needs to be thanked that they were so sick they needed to be put under to do a test?! They didn't even "fix" anything by doing that!

I am still (a little more than) fuzzy on how I should feel about it. This is one of those moments when "nice" is indeed a relative term! Somehow, the fact that I am 33 and I have had to do several MRI's, and a heart cath, and an endoscopy, and a stress test, and several Doppler tests, and hundreds of EKG's and ultrasounds of all my insides, and ... I am not going to go on here... is not a "privilege" to me... I don't care how much business I am providing them, I am really not delighted to find out that they're grateful for it!

I know. Ungrateful till the end, aren't I?! I guess this is a side effect of it all, too. But ask any Poker player: who is EVER grateful or resigned when they've been "dealt a bad hand" and you're allowing everyone else, but yourself, to keep gaining?! Ask them. And get back with me... Till then, I am "fuzzy" still on this letter. I think I'll frame it!

The Legacy

"So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.” (Shakespeare – Sonnet 18)

As most of you know, I have lost my best friend this year. Sure, I have many friends, we all do. But we all have that one person, that’s not a relative, that’s not forced by life or heredity on us, that we choose and pick our own selves to be our friend. It’s a conscious and troublesome search, but when we finally make that choice, it’s like we’ve arrived in this heaven-like place, and nothing can quite go wrong from there on out. It’s much like we must have felt like in the womb, or in mom’s arms when we were a month old! Secure, unconditional love, and acceptance! More than anything: acceptance! Just safety to be whoever we are around them, and assurance that they can return that favor as well.

He has left us on February 21^st and I cannot say the pain or the emptiness that he has left with me has diminished or filled at all yet. I know, I know: it’s not been a year yet, and he was a huge presence and a great person, I need to give it time. But still.

To this day, I have moments when it doesn’t register that he is gone; it does not register that I cannot pick up the phone and call him to give him a hard time about … anything … or just talk about dogs and cats and the weather with him!

I have been playing around dialogues in my head that we would have, when we’d travel, or when we’d find the next best joint for mashed potatoes, or the next best sweet tea flavor – and they are unfortunately going to remain in my head … He loved children, and I would so have wanted to share the wonder of holding my nephew in my arms with him! He would have probably have sent a “slugger” onsie with me to Canada for him! Or even a baseball bat! Most definitely!

Every single day of my life, at one moment or another, he seems to be ever present!

And I have found out that that presence is not mine alone: his family, and many other friends have organized baseball games, and trips and opened a scholarship fund in his memory. The ones left behind have all stayed in touch, and we have been thinking of each other and him on his birthday (July 25^th), we have talked about him, and exchanged stories about who he was, and how different he was for all of us, but in essence, how important to all of us! The fact that we had ever so different and diverse stories on him made us realize what a complex, multi-faceted and whole person he truly was!

This past weekend, one of his good friends (R.) organized a memorial mention of him on the baseball stadium in town. Several co-workers attended, and some of his family, as well, and his two brothers threw the first and second honorary pitches that night.

Jeff's brothers waiting for the go on the pitches

It was a beautiful night, one that even Jeff would approve of: a Southerner who hated the sun (he would argue that the sun hated him!), he would have loved the cool night we had once the sun set on the Grasshoppers Stadium (I’ll call it that, after our local team, although the name keeps changing according to whomever the sponsor bank is that year).

While the honorary pitches were thrown, the announcer went through a brief description of who Jeff was, written by his friend, R., and how you can contribute to his scholarship fund, a sport writing scholarship, with the University of Virginia, while the scoreboard showed pictures of Jeff, his black lab mix, Floyd, and of some of his passions: like The Phillies, and other baseball game pictures.

Scoreboard mention: Jeff and Floyd

It was one minute in time when my heart pretty much stopped and I felt, once again, that maybe he’s there. Baseball was his life. And his love. It was so fitting to commemorate his recent birthday during a baseball game! He’s covered The Grasshoppers numerous times, and he’s listened to the National Anthem, one of his favorite tunes, ring loud on this stadium so many times! He brought his dog to the nights where the stadium organized “bark parks”, so the dog can socialize with other dogs and so he too would be exposed to baseball, you see - maybe?!

To me, it was truly a night just for Jeff. So fitting! The best birthday present we could think of, and I am sure he would agree with that! So, thanks, R. and thanks to his family and folks who came and were there with his spirit!

I’ve had many moments like that since he’s been gone: when I went to DC this summer, when I went to his brother’s house, when I got the word that his house sold, and so forth …

I cherish and treasure those moments! It’s what I have been left with – surely, not enough - it’ll never be enough - since he’s been gone.

And in that moment I was grateful once again to Jeff! He loved harmony. He loved friendship. His dad said at some point that his family was his friends, and once you’ve become his friend, you truly felt that! You truly felt like he’d do anything for you, and will give himself whole just to make you happy.

And this extended family of his continues to live on, even after he’s moved to a higher realm than us. This weekend, more than anything, I have felt the sense of fellowship and friendship that Jeff left behind. It’s wonderful to see how folks who would have definitely not met otherwise, coming from all sorts of walks of life, and cities and states (Raleigh, Durham, Winston, Maryland, Colorado, Greensboro) were sitting there, watching a baseball game (Jeff’s favorite, of course) and chatting and catching up, and sharing Jeff stories.

That is one of the most treasured times I have spent this year! Meaningful hugs from his family almost stopped my breath and made me tear! Every second of this Saturday night, I thanked him for those bonding moments we all shared!

One of his co-workers said at some point, half sarcastically and half caringly: “We won’t let this guy go, will we?!” – well, yeah – we won’t! Why should we?! He’s given us himself. And a great lesson of love, giving, patience and courage. And on top of everything: he’s given us each other.

We all, that we’ve been mourning his passing, have found that we are not alone. That the world is an intricate web and that we’re all connected! That nothing is ever random! He’s united us in pain as well as in laughter, when we recount endless numbers of stories about what a great friend, brother, son, co-worker, life partner he was to all of us. He’s taught us, now, in his absence, that we all can make or break each other … And so far, we’ve been making it through the tragedy of losing him because we’ve been there for one another.

Sometimes I feel guilty and selfish: I feel like through keeping him alive, we’re trying to heal ourselves from hurting so excruciatingly bad for losing him. But I think he would approve! I know he would! The one thing he was most worried about was everyone’s pain that he might cause by leaving us and how he can prevent that from happening. And if keeping him in our thoughts, prayers, activities would heal that pain, he would graciously, as ever, sign off on it!

I just wanted to say, once more, a big huge THANK YOU to Jeff: for everything he’s given us, even after he’s left us: a group of friends, and his family to call our friends, and to share memories in his name with. That is the ultimate gift, I believe, so generous and so him!

The Grasshoppers did poorly. Just like The Nationals in DC this July, for his first memorial game get-together. But like Jeff would say: “It’s just a game. There are winners and losers. Someone’s gotta be one or the other”. And off the field, in the stands, I feel like we’re all winners, because we’ve all known him. And he’s put his graceful hand print on all of us before he’s waved us “good bye”. Such a blessing!

Again, the only thing I can say is: “Thank you” – for the gift, love, inspiration, and friendship. Thank you for ... you.

A beautiful evening and night

Being Scarlett

When I was in maybe 8th grade, which is a long, long time ago, I read Gone with the Wind.
Up to that point my parents were short of killing me or exchanging me for a stray kid (in Romania we have those!!) because I hated to read. Well, that book cured me from that hatred. And gave me a role model for the rest of my life. Pretty much.

I know it sounds corny. And I know it sounds a little girlie and childish, but Scarlett O'Hara has been my role model since 8th grade. I was in love with the woman. I was ready to imitate and incorporate every single eye lash batting and cutesy frown to get my way. I practiced for months, years maybe, how to raise just one eyebrow to let people know I am mad, or I am not getting my way. And more than anything, I have always, consciously or not, been chasing the men I cannot have!

Since that book, I have always dreamed to live in the American South ( I was in Romania when I read it, and knew no one that lived anywhere near America), to seem ever so weak and feeble but but be a tower of strength and power. And if you look back at my life, you can see some resemblance...No, I don't have her money and wealth or entrepreneurial sense, but I have her determination and I follow my dream to completion, that's for darn sure.

Lately, I have thought a lot about Scarlett. Lately, things have become too overwhelming indeed. A family trip with all the emotion packed up; tons of friends you cannot always please; a questionable and very stressful job that you cannot control; health issues you'd rather do without, but can "they" (the health issues) do without you is the question?! And so forth...

True to my Scarlett self, I have pushed through it all, stubbornly, and frowned and raised an eyebrow. And I am still here, weathering the storms of this year. I can't say I have accomplished much so far this year, but I can say I feel strong. And for the storms I cannot overcome, I can say I shoo them away with a shrug, just to keep my sanity, and tell them all to wait till tomorrow and maybe I'll have time then for them.

Even great Scarlett could not solve all the dramas in her life in one day, or several; and her famous last line has been my best friend lately. Most of the things around me, that lately have caused pain, or insecurity have been put off with a shrug till "tomorrow".

I cannot worry about all of them anymore. I know there is a job waiting for me tomorrow. And a home. And somewhere, spread all over the world a loving family, despite all the steam we put out when we meet. For now, I know I am safe. Surely, all of it seems shaky: the economy, and paper business and thus my livelihood can be gone tomorrow, but what's the point in worrying?! No one seems to be hiring now anyway. No one seems to be hiring what I can offer, that is... And the friends will be friends, or if they're lost, they're not worth keeping, right?? So, why worry there?! And you cannot make family mad enough, because they're always there. That's a given. So, for all the things that do worry me, or do make me mad, I'll put it off to worry about it tomorrow.

It's a temporary peace - I know. But it's sooo sweet! And "after all, tomorrow is another day", isn't it?!?

It makes for a peaceful rest of the summer, I tell you!

Just Because They Can !!

I have never claimed to be a very sophisticated human being... Never. I am very simple minded and one of those very rationalistic folks for whom white and black exist, but gray is never an option. I don't like to be lied to, and I have trouble with wishy-washy- ness and half truths. With made up excuses, too!

I find it very difficult to deal with our airline system anymore, because of all those. Everything is fun and games till everything seems like highway robbery, you know!! And I love flying... so this took a lot out of me: after my most recent trip, I really, seriously, thought of driving to Canada next time around!

You've read my rants before, when I was annoyed by the $5 charges for alcohol on international flights, and also annoyed at paying $50 for one extra pound of luggage ... Now, every time I fly I find yet another new charge to add to my spending money! It's almost like paying for the trip twice anymore. And it's getting beyond ridiculous ...

And not just the charges, but everything else: the overbooking, the delayed flights for no reason, other than "the pilot is still asleep" or "we're missing a part" ... The uncertainty of it all, the nightmare of always having to deal with "Oh, my meeting is on the 24th, so I have to leave my home town on the 22nd to make sure I make it by then..." - it's crazy! And counterproductive to all!
And this is JUST in the United Wonderful States of America!!

We claim to be the strongest economical power of the world - really?? We treat our own people, our business people who make our money like THIS?? Because our business people commute maybe more than any business people in the world! It's embarrassing!!

My family and I travel on a number of various airlines, internationally and in Northern America: Air France, Lufthansa, KLM, Canadian Air, Austrian Airlines - and we never experience more delays, more expensive tickets, and more unexpected and unjustified charges, more rude staff, more cancellations than we experience with ANY American Airline we travel with. And we typically use Delta, Northwest, United and US Airways - so, not just one.

To make this not too long, this is my complaint list this time:

We all knew about the checked luggage charges. That, to me, is unjustified and ridiculous! People have ALWAYS had checked luggage!!!! People travel for pleasure as well as for business, the customs form of any country will tell you that! If you take a 2 week vacation with two kids, there is no way in hell you're not going to have checked luggage. Especially in the winter! Especially with the restrictions for traveling with liquids on you. You'll need shampoo, and cologne, and who knows what else?? And we all expected it , always, since the beginning of times (or ... when I started traveling in 1998) to be included in the ticket. God Almighty knows: it costs enough!! To say that you're charging for checked luggage because prices of gas went up is a bunch of stinking bologna and nothing else!

Let me give you just a few numbers - as I said: I am simple minded, I can't get into fancy math here:

- my ticket to Romania used to cost $600 when I first came here, 10 year ago... After 9/11, it went up to $800 - for extra security costs... OK!
- After Katrina and The War and "gas prices going up every year", it went to $1000, and then to $1300 , and now they are $1500 - because, allegedly, gas went up! OK! So, you factored that in, right? Well, wrong!
- The weight limit for a checked luggage went down from 72 lbs to 50 lbs! "Because gas is expensive"... OK!
- Now, you're CHARGING for checked luggage ... because ... well, "gas is more expensive"...
- The food and drinks: we used to get pretzels and peanuts on North American flights (Canada included) - not anymore; can't afford it, you see?? It's the darn gas, again ...
- we still get free sodas (for now, I am sure), but if we want COFFEE ... it's $1 a cup! Beer and wine went from $5 to $7! - at least with US Air; how do you justify ALL these??? You guessed it: "gas is more expensive" - how they are related , beats the crap outta me!!!!

This time around, from my own personal travel experience, I have a whole new laundry list of complaints I want to post:

- $25 charge for each lag of my trip for a second suitcase ($50 total) - although I booked this trip WAY before the checked luggage regulations - they came in sometime in June; I booked the trip in April;
- $66 charge for the airport parking - they "forgot" to update the website with the new rate - I read there that it was only $44 for 11 days, if I park in the overflow lot... WRONG!
- I saved on the coffee I wanted because I didn't get a cup , after my flight mate paid $3 for 3 cups of Minnie-Me cups that looked like dentists' rinsing Dixie cups. And he also got the "I am NOT your servant and I don't make the rules. $1 a cup of coffee - take it or leave it" treatment from the stewardess, too! Just in those words!
- and I have experienced a new American only gem: the double and triple booking. In two of my flights (out of 4 - a 50% chance is all we can ask for in a civilized economy!) the plane was overbooked: in other words, you had 20 seats, and 25 passengers with boarding passes!

The gate folks actually came to the podium, and one time they even had printed material to post (this is an often occurrence you see) that told us that we would be rewarded a free round trip on US Airways if we gave up our boarding pass and boarded a later flight! Forget about what OUR needs were, what OUR meeting, or work schedule was like - they were asking us to "volunteer to give up the seats"... I didn't. I made the reservations in April! I think I was entitled to a seat.

And get this: I typically travel internationally to Canada, Holland, Germany, Romania - mostly ... Any of these countries offer "free" checked luggage ("free" as "included in the ticket") AND free drinks and snacks on their flights. EVEN internally, not only internationally! Even Romania !!! Gas in those countries is ALWAYS, without exception, more expensive than American gas! When I talk to my Romanian parents about $4 a gallon gas prices they laugh! Their gas has been $4 a gallon, since ours was $2.50!!!
I just got back from Canada, where the lowest is $5.20 a gallon!!!

And ALL these charges are occurring, people, when the ticket prices are rising!!!! I used to pay $800 for a trip to Europe. Now, in the off season, it's $1200!! I used to pay $300 for a trip to Canada. Now, it's $600, plus all the crap I told you before: checked luggage, weight limit, more parking and such!
I just rest my case, because I hope you get the picture...

Sure, I understand staying competitive, and market economy and cost of living - I am not a complete idiot by all means! But these are triple and double and quadruple charges for the same excuse. These are insults! What is the purpose of travel if you're expected to travel naked, with nothing but the ticket on you?! And you're expected to live on a plane, for hours on end (some trips take 3-4 hours, right?!) with no food - some layovers are as short as 15 minutes. Who has the time for the McDonald's line in 15 minutes??? These are necessities, and not commodities, when we expect our working class to commute this way!

It's become such a decadent industry this airline business... Sure, they can peel off our skin and say it's for gas as well... I mean: why not?? They already strip us of our "liquids"... America, "the Greatest" is great indeed! We must fly, or else we can't get there fast - because the territory is so vast! So, they've got us by the balls, as my ex-husband so eloquently would put it!

I am just ashamed to admit I live in a country that brags about power and sovereignty and polices the world, but cannot keep its sh^t straight when it comes to at least two basic needs: safe and affordable transportation and health care! It's such a shame!!

In my travels, I thought I have seen it all: canceled flights just because it's Tuesday, change of seats in the last minute, at the gate, just so The Police can accommodate a jailed person traveling (don't we pay taxes for their planes, and cars and such?? - who knows??), decrease of weight in the amount we can pack in the checked luggage, gratuitous rudeness, more charges for just the air we breathe ... but I am telling you: I am keeping this list open for the future! Because I ain't gonna stop flying. I might stop flying to Canada, but I can't stop flying. And I will continue to bitch, as I am sure the list will continue to grow!

People hated and judged Clinton's guts because he admitted he did something "just because he could", on a more or less personal level alone, but I see no one boycotting this bull-sh^t of travel industry that we now present to the world and to all our citizens because they're robbing us blind, just because "they can"...

Times have changed. As they always do!

Staying True to Roots - A Challenge?! Or a Given?!

Or “A rose by any other name…”

More from The Diaper Club’s Journals

One of the many reasons for which I love my faith is the many rituals, and traditions we have associated with it. Nothing is ever done randomly, nothing is ever an accident. Everything has a purpose, and a significance, and to me that makes the Orthodox tradition so rich. Whether you truly believe in these things, or not, it matters little to me. Just the rite of it all gives purpose to each service, and curiosity to what’s next.

One of the downsides to these rites, superstitions, and more-or-less layman’s believes associated with the church is that every church, every village, every county, every family has slightly different rituals and slightly different understandings of these “add-ons”…

And nothing is more confusing, I found, than trying to respect or align all these into a church that’s thousands of miles away from home…

I christened my nephew this weekend, and the service was held in a Romanian Orthodox church called “Inaltarea Domnului” or “The Ascension” in Montreal. I am not sure where the priest is from, originally, what part of Romania that is, but judging by his accent he’s not from the far North East where we’re from. That right there is a first sign that what he believes and what we believe will be different, in terms of ritual, not faith proper. Then, there will be the Canadian imposed “rules”, which surely have changed since the church has moved in North America, several years ago …

Before the Christening, I was completely confused: some of my sister’s friends, who have baptized their children in various Romanian churches here, in Canada, were advising me of certain rituals that I am supposed to attend to, as a Godmother; my own mother was advising me of others, and everyone was butting heads, as none of what we knew or thought we knew matched what everyone around us was telling us:

I was supposed to come to church not only with the baby, but a candle, and ribbon (the longer the ribbon, the longer my nephew’s life), but also a towel for Patrick, my nephew, a towel for the priest, an Orthodox icon to be blessed, or was it a cross according to some?, or a Bible, according to others?, wine, and flour (for wine and bread, Jesus’s blood and body), or was it wine and oil (for wine and myrrh) … soap for the priest …

Others were advising that we need also money, but no one agreed on the amount and who would be responsible for giving it and to whom? Is it the mother and dad that pay to have the child christened? Or the Godmother? Is it $150 or $250? Does the priest take it all, or are the altar boys and the choir entitled to some?

And so forth …

And so we called the priest and played dumb! And the list from the priest was as follows: candle, white or blue (he’s a boy) ribbon (“1 meter long”, the priest said – I guess the priest figured a 1 meter worth of life would be long enough – I brought him 1.5m just to make sure), soap, towel for priest, white towel or cotton sheet for baby, new clothes, olive oil (none of that vegetable, canola crap: after all, in Israel back when Jesus walked the earth there surely was none of that!!) , red sweet wine (when we take communion in my church we don’t fuss around with grape juice, thank you very much; Jesus said wine at the Last Supper, we have wine, by Goodness! And I guess it must be sweet so kids can enjoy it too), a cross on a chain, to be blessed, so the baby will have something to protect him for life, and $150 for the christening charge. As you can imagine: all the “gratuities” were not included.

I was responsible to buy and bring all of the above, except for the gratuities. Since we’re in the family, we split the responsibilities, and my sister and brother in law came up with those.

And we thought we were set! We had the list complete, the baby ready, fed, rested and well … and we headed to church. We never even thought of that the most important thing, um… the name of the baby, would be cause of controversy as well! We never thought twice that what his parents chose for months, what was in all his official papers, from hospital discharge papers to birth certificate and social security card, was going to be an issue!

As the Godmother, I held the baby throughout the service, and every page the priest turned with his reading, he would bow to me and ask: “Are you sure we’re staying JUST with the name ‘Patrick’??” – “Yes, Father!” was my answer. “Just ONE name?” – “Yes, Father!” – “And it is ‘Patrick’??” – he’d add in awe and somewhat disbelief like he didn’t like it … And my relentless “Yes, Father!” would follow.

As you can imagine “Patrick” is not a Romanian name. My sister picked a name that would be OK in Romanian but also would be perfectly easy and convenient for the part of the world where he’d be raised and go to school. They have a very odd and hard to spell and pronounce family name, so she thought a more Western (French and English) first name would be in order. Plus, Patrick is a strong, full of tradition and history, Catholic, Irish name and she loves and respects that culture as well, so it was perfect!

When the priest saw that he had no luck with me, he turned to the parents. He told them point blank that they must pick a “more Romanian name, something to be associated with a Saint, and something to remind Patrick of his true origins”. He assured them the ‘Romanian’ name would be for religious and baptismal purposes only, it will never go to his paperwork, and that will be a name given to him in front of God, it would be sort of a blessed, holy name.

My brother in law laughed, politely, and said: “His name is Patrick, Father!”. My sister’s the impressionable one, and whispered to her husband: “Honey, what about Stefan?” – which is “Stephen” in Romanian. My brother in law sent daggers out of his eyes and said to her : “Absolutely NOT!”. She tried further: “But it won’t be in papers”…. The priest waited with his back towards us, as I was holding the sleeping angel Patrick in between the feuding parents and the awaiting priest, while my brother in law turned to my sister for the last time: “NO!”. The priest turned, question in his eyes: “Well??” – I said: “ One name, Father. Patrick”. And the service went on.

And Patrick it will be. Mom was annoyed as well, as she reminded us that the Romanian Orthodox calendar mentions Saint Patrichie, which is the Romanian for “Patrick” of course, on May 19^th, and that should be his guardian saint and “church” name. That was also the day Patrick was brought home for the first time from the NICU, so that is so fitting.

The following day, after the Sunday service, I took the new Christian to have his first communion and to be taken into the Altar (a privilege only boys have in my faith) by the priest. After the lengthy service (that Sunday we celebrated another feast, of St. Pantelimon, the Healer) the priest came to the podium and along with a long list of demands from the crowd he went into a 10 minute rant about how beautiful the story of St. Pantelimon is, and what an honor for those who have that name, and also how he doesn’t understand how immigrant parents in Canada are already forgetting their roots, and not naming children by Romanian saint names, like tradition orders. And how un-holy of us, immigrant parents, to encourage the children to forget their roots.

My brother in law, who is known for his sarcasm and ability to turn anything into a big joke, now calls his son Patrick-Stefan-Pantelimon, to make the priest, his mother and all the Archangels happy!

Of course, you can argue this in 1000 different ways! But I have a firm belief that we’re all God’s children. And as Patrick will come to God, in pure thought, prayer and with humility, things which only we as parents and family can teach and encourage, he will receive God’s blessing whether his name will be Patrick, or Jimmy, or Bottleneck! It doesn’t matter … I think …

And trust me, with two Romanian speaking parents, 40 Romanian speaking friends of the family and two Romanian families, it does not matter where he’ll live: as long as he has all of that around him, he will never forget he’s Romanian. I can make sure of that!

For God’s sake, this child will be raised on borsch and mamaliga, on sarmale and mici, while his pals at school will eat burgers and hotdogs – you REALLY think he won’t know where his roots are??? Doubtful!

God bless you, my love, and I know you’ll make that name proud!

Pictures here: share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0BcOWLFs1bsWFW

The Only Cover I’ll Ever Be On

So, The Diaper Club Journals continue…

In less than 48 hours, I will see my new nephew. Finally. He’s been born almost 3 months ago , and since then I have been holding my heart in my hand, trying not to let it escape and fly on its own to Canada …

It’s amazing what a little bundle of life, scream-age and whims can make you do! Silly things, like talk to the computer screen in the night, and buy things you’ve never thought of buying, like 14 kinds of receiving blankets, because you’re not sure which one he’d like the best, or 30 onsies, because you’re not sure which one his momma’s gonna like, or 50 pairs of socks, because surely, he needs that many … and so forth…

And I don’t even know him yet! When I do get to hold him, and worse yet, when he’s going to talk to me and tell me what he likes, wishes, wants, it will probably be time for a second job to entertain his wish list . Anything for Patrick! That’s for sure … Just half kidding on the second job, though.

This weekend, we’ll both share another milestone: I’ll get to make him a Christian. I know that doesn’t mean much for the non-believers out there, but to me, whom I have been close to God all my life, and whom I owe everything I am today to Him it means that this is the biggest gift I get to ever give him! Or at least that I think I am ever able to give him!

No matter how many pairs of socks and how many gadgets he’ll get from me in a lifetime, no matter how many trips I’ll take him on, with his mom’s and dad’s approval, of course, no matter how many books I’ll read to him, or how many scratches and scrapes I’ll get to tend to, I could never, ever make him a better, more profound and everlasting gift than introducing him to God.

I am so excited, I am about to have a heart attack.

I have been a Godmother before, about 11 years ago (that shows my age), but I shared that duty with 3 other people. But this time, I am alone, in front of the priest, and God. And he’s my first nephew, and the first born in my family, and I feel like the whole weight of the world is resting on me. I just hope I am worthy of the job!

My favorite teacher emailed me the other day and she asked what I think am I going to feel when I’ll hold him, in church, naked, in front of God. My first nephew. The only son of my only sister?! I was paralyzed with emotion. It’s a daunting job, and like I said: I hope and pray I am up for it …

I love him already, that much I know. And I am proud and moved that I was given this “job”, and I was chosen to lead him this way. I will pray for him, till he’ll be able to pray himself; I will pray with him, when he’ll be able to pray on his own. And I hope he will pray for me, when I will be gone and not able to pray for myself. And in the meantime, I’ll try to show him life, and happiness, the only way I know how: in freedom, and with love. I will teach him honesty, and strength, and how he has everything in his own self, he just needs to be quiet enough to listen and find it out. And that is a promise and a commitment. I will teach him about life, and its beauty, and about God, and how graceful and giving He is, although sometimes, through hidden ways.

Of course, he’ll always have his parents. But I am proud to share the “job” with them.

Surely, they will give him not only the inherent gift of genetics, and day-to-day upbringing, and they are plenty gifted there, not only will they give him unlimited love, and care; but I am happy they chose me to give him some gifts of the soul, too. And some of the mind, too – I hope.

I am also honored to share the “cover” with them, in the birth and baptism announcement they put together … And I will wear that cover (can I say that??) proud. After all, it might be the only one I’ll ever be on.

I took my name out of this picture, but as you can imagine, it was under the “Godmother” portion. I am just not sure why it says “tell all”. I am not telling anyone anything. I will just be numb with emotion, and too much love and awe …

For more Patrick pics, click here:

http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0BcOWLFs1bsWEw

And wish me luck ...

Office Anti-Perks, or The Disgruntled Bathroom Goer

Warning: this can be offensive to some

I have unique friends. They make me laugh. They make me cry. They never make me wonder why I am their friend. It's simple: they're unique. And I take that over boredom any day of the week.

Until recently, I thought only I and my good friend C., can enjoy crude, "bathroom humor", we call it . But as I have discovered, my other friend, A., is joining in as a new (to me) and keen observer of the daily routine in such a mundane place as our own office bathrooms.

Just like C. and me, A. is also a Landmark employee, and his observations on their bathroom situation in VA are poignant while hysterical.

With the hope that I can make some of you smile... I am posting his latest update about their office bathroom and his amusing, but also desperate plea for a change.

And my own add-on: after reading both C's and A's bathroom diaries, I must admit: I never knew boys were so complicated! I always figured they were just meant by God to forever pee against a tree... It so happens they can be so very picky about their "private rooms"...

Who whoudavthunkit??

Here he follows:

We have the most messed-up men’s room situation.

Way back, eons and eons ago, when they flew me out here to interview and see the place, the physical assets of the building turned me off right away. My fold office, before I moved to VA, had a “nice” feel about. It was a 100-year-old building too, but it had been updated nicely. We had nice cubes, nice public areas, nice workspaces, I had a nice office, the restrooms were spacious and modern and, well “nice”. In VA things were old, tired and worn out. R., my soon-to-be-boss at the time apologized about how sad things looked and indicated that a remodel was coming in a few months – in fact one of my first assignments, should I chose to accept it, would be to shop for and select the new furniture for the newsroom. He particularly apologized for the men’s room.

Yes, bathrooms are the places where we do our dirty business. They’re not vacation villas. That much I know (even though my dad’s sister once went into the wrong restroom at the mall and mistook the urinal for a special hand-washing sink...and the urinal cake for a bar of soap). But this facility was not only dirty but dangerous.

There were tiles missing from the ceiling so that you could peer upward many long and lonely feet. I’m sure that late at night the bats would escape through those gaping holes in the ceiling to nibble the hair on the men seated below (fortunately, being fur-challenged, I never had an incident...but I heard the stories!).

The room had the feeling that it had once been used for something else and that adding toilets and sinks was some sort of emergency measure...mandated by some far-away pagan deity. Everything was crammed in there. Six toilet stalls for example where only four should be placed. The frames around the doors were so broken and out of alignment that the doors either wouldn’t close or if they came close, they wouldn’t latch. One got very clever using sophisticated postures to keep the door closed whilst taking care of personal business (particularly difficult of the stresses of the day called for an afternoon quick-jerk).

The plumbing leaked, too. From minor drips to the occasional Niagara burst, we had it all. You could almost always count on the floor being slippery and wet...all the while hoping it was just good old H20 and not the offcast of vision-impaired senior men.

Soap? You want soap? We had no soap dispensers. Instead, cakes of bar soap. Six sinks, too. SIX! Cheek-by-jowl as they say. Too many, too close. But there only ever seemed to be a single bar of soap. And it was wet and soft and small. And who wants to use a bar of soap in a situation like that? No me, I’m here to tell ya! Talk about a cootie farm!

Of the six aforementioned toilet partitions, only three had functional toilet paper dispensers. So if you were a visitor and not well-versed in second-floor men’s room navigation, you could easily find yourself in a messy situation. Of those that remained, they were of some odd 1950s vintage...originally made of NASA-designed plastic. Over time the plastic had become brittle and cracked and broken...leaving razor-sharp edges poking out hither and yon. I don’t mind confessing that my thighs were more than once bloodied and scraped by those gnawing guards-of-the-roll.

Speaking of paper, if you wanted to dry your hands, you had better hope you were using the facilities shortly after what’s-her-bucket the cleaning lady had visited. Otherwise the tiny and precarious “shelf” that held a small supply of folded towels would be a vast wasteland and you’d be left to shake your hands in the air like a giddy Valley Girl or you’d do a quick wipe-down on your trousers.

One of the stalls, the first you encountered upon entering, was for the use of the handicapped. Wider, deeper and with hand-rails, it was intended to be helpful to those in a wheelchair. Only it wasn’t even the same width as a wheelchair! Once I saw a poor kid desperately try to get in there but it was clear the chair wasn’t going to fit. Upon my thusly observation he left the chair outside and hobbled in to take care of his business. Humiliation was added to his humiliation.

This restroom is in a public part of the building...near where advertising customers and visitors to the newsroom traverse. So members of the public were joyfully received by this horrendous facility. Many such visitors have bags, briefcases, papers – the accouterments of business. But where might they place such articles while needing both hands free? On the wet floor of course!

My final observation would be around the dozens (hundreds perhaps) of missing tiles on the floor. Big, gaping holes, revealing concrete, lint and traces of The Plague, littered the floor. Catch the toe of your shoe on such a precipice and you could be getting your next drink from the current plumbing leak.

Ancient history you say! Surely, A. whines about pre-2000 conditions! Certainly enlightened management has since corrected these ills!

Well, recently, even with the horrible budget situation, they announced that the facility would be totally remodeled and brought up to standard. The penis-toting population of our building rejoiced! Furthermore, the powers that be decided to solicit feedback from the employees about what should be done since it was to be a “total remodel”. Being a proactive and solution-minded individual, I submitted the following very helpful suggestions:

*) Five toilets instead of six...use the space evenly so each stall has plenty of room...and so the handicapped stall will accommodate a wheelchair.

*) Build a shelf system with some hooks so people have a place to put their “stuff” and jackets and the like.

*) Cut the number of sinks in half – there are too many and they’re too close.

*) Install liquid soap dispensers.

*) Install a couple of paper-towel dispensers.

*) Install a couple of trash cans (oh, I can’t believe I forgot to mention that the only trash receptacle before was a hole in the wall with a garbage bag in it...as Dave Barry would say, I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP! The hole in the wall was so ragged that the trash bag was always ripped and torn, thus all kinds of incredibly nasty stuff leaked out into the wall cavity).

I learned from colleagues that my ideas were not unique.

So a little while back the room was closed. Off limits. Need to “go”? ”Go” to another floor. Men came. Men left. Noises were made. Dust was raised. Equipment came. Equipment went. Time went on. Days passed. Weeks passed. The room was locked up each night. Months passed.

Ta Da! Without ceremony the room was reopened.

Now what do we have? Well, remember those gaps in the floor where the tile was missing? They poured Plaster-O-Paris or something in those. Looks like a big old turd dried up in the gap. And after only a few weeks, that patch job is now breaking loose.

Remember the leaking plumbing? Well, it still drips and leaks. But everything has been replaced with battery-operated automatic flushers! And they like to “automatically flush” while you’ve got your ass parked on the seat...mid-deposit so to speak! For your convenience of course.

Oh, and they replaced the partitions!! But they put them in the exact same place on the same mountings...so they’re a different color but still don’t work.

Oh, but I shouldn’t complain. Because every stall now has a toilet paper dispenser! Yea! Mounted about six inches off the ground so you have to bend over and reach below your line of site. And reach UPWARDS, into the mystery cavern inside the dark, smoky plastic device, to try and find the tail of paper (and Buddha help you if it’s a fresh roll and that tail is still glued down!). And of course after a few hours you’re successful in gaining possession of the tail and you yank with glee...only to have three tiny, single-ply squares of 180-grit sandpaper break off in your grip...not nearly the manly-sized wad any good American needs.

But we did get soap dispensers. Foam soap dispensers. They are battery-operated, too (I hope they included battery-replacement in their budget). And they eject the tiniest little “splurtz” of foam. It takes about eight such “splurtzes” to even think about cleaning anything (I’m one of three employees who washes his hands). But it’s on a timer so you have to stick your paw under the electronic eye, wait two seconds, remove paw, wait two seconds, and repeat.

And because our company cares about our health and the spread of Bird Flu, they turned off the cold water. Because as you know, washing with cold water doesn’t kill the bugs. So they welded the cold-water taps shut, BUT DIDN’T TELL ANYONE! So until you’re clued in, you bust a wrist trying to get cold water...for refreshing your face for example on a smeltzy day like today. And the hot water...it is hot...autoclave hot! Cook the beans hot!

I guess that’s about it. We can still see the bats, still don’t have a place to put papers and jackets and those auto-flushers flush the night away, even when nobody’s home.

Boss: “A., where have you been, the meeting started 45 minutes ago!”

A.: “I was taking a piss.”

Boss: “Oh, sorry, I completely understand....”

Debt Pictures: DC

A couple of weeks back, not quite, I have posted a piece about the Washington, DC trip, but I still owe the pictures to all.
Here's the link:
share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0BcOWLFs1bsWES
Enjoy!

A Thought on Technology … Again

Dali once said : “Don't bother about being modern. Unfortunately it is the one thing that, whatever you do, you cannot avoid.”

I believe the same thing about technology. We cannot escape it: from the way we fill up our tanks, to the way we dial numbers from a pay phone anymore, to the way we work the credit card machines at WalMart, we are surrounded by it, and we would not make it through the day, had we not a clue how to use it.

I realized we cannot escape technology any longer, when about a month ago, my 58 year old aunt was … texting me at 2 AM from Paris. I realized that if a 58 year old Romanian woman can learn how to … text of all things, and she is bright enough to get an international roaming phone to be able to use it anywhere in the world, we cannot help but being … well… techy!

But there is a difference with me between need and obsession. I have a cell phone, a cable connection, internet, a desktop and a laptop (and a work laptop, so I guess I AM a victim of computers there, if you wish). I have a dvd player, digital camera, and a video camera, and dad is getting a dvd recording video camera for his birthday. I have an MP3 player, with 100 songs tops, and plenty happy with it.

I don’t have and I am not planning to get any of these any time soon: a flat screen tv, a blackberry, a palm pilot (are those outdated? – not sure!!), any sort of video game device, including a WII, an IPod nor its millions hook-ups, digital cable, a digital picture frame.

I am contemplating to get, maybe, if I wake up on the left side of the bed one morning, MAYBE: a dvd recorder -vhs combo, a digital camera that’s more than 3.2 MegaPixel, which is what I have now.

And yet, although most people around me have all these gadgets – some of which I have not even mentioned – I don’t feel deprived. I also don’t feel deprived (annoyed is what I am) when the random guy wants to “text” me (I am still having trouble using that word as a verb – but then again, I am a broken record here) and I tell him I don’t text. Then they look at me like I ate their steak, meaning: “What planet am I from??”. A planet where we like to meet and chat over dinner and a glass of wine – that’s what planet.

I feel pretty accomplished, and pretty happy without all the other “stuff”. And let me tell you, I have been fortunate to dine with princes and paupers. I have been to births and funerals of people who make anywhere between millions of dollars a year and minus thousands of dollars a year. I have seen families in laughter and in sorrow, from all walks of life. And at the very end of the day, or life, all that matters is humanity!

We all cry, and laugh the same. The pain is similar to all in all walks of life. What unites us all has been sown millions of years ago in each and every one of us, and we inherit it the minute we take our first breath. We cannot escape it, and we’re not going to find it at Best Buy. That, I know. What we do need is to attend to that: to what’s permanent, and to what’s human, and to what makes us whole as a being. The rest are just accessories.

So, with that said, I will keep jumping in my 2001 Toyota in search of that humanity rather than search of the next gadget; my Toyota with crank-up windows, and no remote power locks, I will keep using just 50 peak minutes a month on my cell, which has no camera, nor “texting” capabilities, to call for emergencies, and I will listen to my music on cd’s in my car, without the XM radio nor the mp3 player hooked up anywhere.

Now, maybe, just maybe, I might get a 12 MegaPixel camera to accompany me in my wanderings … But just maybe. In the meantime, I’ll just look for the perfect light, like Ansel Adams used to do!

This is a shot of the Capitol on my recent trip to DC. I really like it: it’s … unsettled but such a presence, much like me, lately…

Hectic American Journey Continues - and More

Rachael Ray was right: at the end of a crazy day, after way too many people step on your nerves, the best thing you can do to relieve stress is to give a healthy whack to a clove of garlic. Some people want to head for the shooting range after a stressful day at the office. I come home and crush garlic cloves with a healthy whack.
It always works! Stress is gone, at the end of a fresh pot of soup!

Not that everyone really pisses me off lately, not really, anyway, but things have been quite hectic, with a house guest (my aunt) and more trips that I can handle and plenty of get-together's to plan or attend as well, on top of my full time job and regular routine ... In a nutshell - a busy summer. No, I am not complaining. Just wish I had 36 hour days, that's all.

A couple of weeks back, we took a trip to our Nation's Capital, and that was fantastic! It was packed with fun, and walking (man, I missed walking), and new and interesting things ...

I was complaining to a friend just before that trip that I indeed don't have a "good best friend", as Forrest Gump says about Bubba .... But in DC I found out I do have one. It's called a map. Any map that's well done and detailed enough to show you the way; even the one way streets . I managed not to get lost in DC, nor in MD and that was a huge milestone for me. And I drove everywhere. No Metro, and no buses. Just driving. Or walking - which was such a blessing. I had no one to direct me but my map and my common sense. I am still contemplating a GPS, however. I am even thinking that might come before the camera I desperately want! We'll see ...

I have blogged about DC before, so I won't do it now. I will only say this: everyone seems to visit The Mall, when they're there, and all the War memorials , which are great, of course ... But then they all get tired (or lazy) and walk JUST right up the reflecting pond in front of The Capitol, snatch a picture of the Capitol in the background and turn away from the City, calling that a trip. My advice: skip The White House - there is not much there anyhow, but instead ... walk PAST The Capitol and make it JUST behind it, to The Library of Congress! It's not a book deposit. It's "an art museum - as one of my friends so eloquently put it. It's amazing! It's like all Europe's museums got dumped into ONE and you're just lost in wonderment, like Alice in Wonderland in the middle of it. It's beautiful, tastefully done and exquisite. Thousands of tons of every color of marble you can think of, and mosaics, and tiles, and murals and tapestries ... So worth walking the extra block!

Another piece of advice: check out the ad-hoc exhibits in the tents at The Mall. They are sometimes more interesting than the museums themselves. We visited a Buddhist temple, complete with murals, music, monks, and altars with offerings, and we had some great Bhutanese food there as well ...

Visiting America for the first time, my aunt wanted to see anything and everything that is, well, American - so we went to the Museum of the American Indian. She then made me realize how Native Americans, to me, the "true Americans", are perceived across the world, when she said that she never knew the "Natives wore clothes". She's "always seen them naked in movies" (mostly American movies, so ... that says something about our own movie culture and the way they represent our history, don't you think?!). But she found out how intricate and how versatile their clothes and weavings are. She was blown away at how creative they were with their port. And how "well dressed". The museum is very well done and in a way emotional - to me, who has a soft heart for their story, it was, for the second time.

The weekend after the DC trip, we celebrated July 4th with everyone else . It was a fun-filled weekend, but somewhat incomplete because we missed the fireworks. They say we still need the rain. I would say: too much of even a good thing is still too much: I've had enough and it better stop. I am sick of driving in it already, every weekend!!

But the rain could not put a damper on our weekend. We celebrated America's Day the right way: grilled food, and lots of friends, funnel cake and Ben and Jerry's Downtown - what more could we want??

To extend the celebration of American life, we'll see a bluegrass concert this week. And this weekend, we're driving up to the Blueridge Parkway, another American staple.

And so the beat goes on. And thus my aunt's journey to America is almost coming to an end.
I hope I have contributed just an iota to her memories, and her understanding of this culture that has been so generous to adopt me.

I have been glad and proud I could share my adopted land with my blood family. It's an honorable feeling and another dream come true. Being the link between two worlds is so daunting, and so uplifting, such a privilege to live.

I hope everyone had a Happy and Safe Fourth!

Pictures from trips to be posted later, so check back.

Why I Prefer Cats to Humans

I got maced! Yes, for the first time ever. No, I am not kidding and no, I was not in the wrong spot at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing, as you would expect. Or was I?!

I was in fact enjoying a beautiful evening with my aunt and a couple of friends on the patio of Cafe Europa when all of sudden and completely out of nowhere, this misty cloud came over all of us on the patio and choked us to tears! Before it happened, we didn't hear anything. Didn't see anything. It seemed to have come from the street, as the people most affected were sitting at the tables closest to it. But there was no smoke, no exhaustion running. It was just a mysterious "puff" that pretty much choked us.

We never really confirmed that it was pepper spray, as most of us looked like the laid back, non-aggressive types that would not mess with such dangerous things on a boring Sunday afternoon, but after a quick poll of the crowd and after gagging and choking, and the painful burning sensation of all our air passages, we agreed it could be nothing else.

I am not sure if you've ever experienced pepper spray, but it hurts! It stings like a poison! Your tongue gets all heavy and stings, your throat gets dry and also stings. Your eyes tear out of control, and the air you breathe is like burning fire going through your nostrils! It's horrible. You get light headed and you cannot breathe. The air becomes your worse enemy. I'll have to say: this stuff is effective when you want to incapacitate someone, but I would not spray it for fun.
It was also strange to see 20+ people gagging and choking and looking helplessly around for some answers. What needed to be a fun-filled evening and gathering turned fast in a desperate cry for help and gasping for air. It was eerie. Was this really happening?!

Now, that the pain is gone, and the dryness in my throat somewhat cured, I cannot help but wonder who in the world, would do such a thing and why in the world would they ?!? Is this town so boring that people need to come up with such cruel plans to entertain themselves?! Would it be better to move to a more happening town if you're THAT bored?! Is cruelty that rampant in our society? Why?! Whatever the reason, it was disappointing for the humankind, as far as I'm concerned.

I have lived here for close to 10 years, and Greensboro has always been a low key, friendly town. Downtown at midnight can be shady, but not at 8.30 PM on a summer night, the night before Fun Fourth kicks off and all people inundate it. No way. Definitely not at Cafe Europa, for sure!! It's a fine establishment, in Greensboro's Cultural Arts Center - a place that you would think is earthy enough and peace-loving enough to keep such gratuitously violent people at bay ...

I have no idea who or why this happened, but it surely screwed up a beautiful night ... And you know I always welcome new and strange experiences, but I'd have to say: pepper spray is one I would gladly pass!

Another Kind of Beach Trip, Another First ...

"The Five S's" - we called the day, I and my friend Aa.: sun, sand, sweat, skin ... and smoke: that's about what I can say for my past Saturday (which would make it the 6th "s": just a coincidence - don't think so).

I traveled to VA Beach to see my friend and also show my aunt The Ocean. She's never seen it before. She's never dipped her foot in it. She is 58. It was a small step for us all, but a huge one for her.

The beach was your usual overcrowded affair at this time of the year, with plenty of skin sightings, some that should be seen and some, better not. But, hey, who am I to judge, right?!
We didn't lay out, but we walked on the beach (man, how is walking on HOT sand not a torture task in Survivor by now?!), on the boardwalk, we had lunch on a sunny patio, we ate waaayyy too much ice cream (my fix for the year, for sure; or maybe for a couple of years) and we shopped in cheesy stores, for cheesy things, as you’re supposed to, at the beach! For the day, we locked up "class" somewhere back in Suffolk, and we turned into your regular tourist.

What was unusual about the beach this time was the smoke. My Goodness, the wild fires in NC have been smoldering for a while now, and that thick, smoky, airy goop still persists in the Hampton Roads area. The wind and humidity made it unbearable! I cannot image what people that live closer to the actual fires have been breathing for the past few weeks, but I sure as heck can tell you it's not good! The air was thick, and smelled like bacon. It was heavy and there was no clear horizon if you looked out the Ocean. The freedom you normally feel on the beach was not there that day. You felt trapped, and your chest was heavy.

When the wind picked up and it also started pouring out of nowhere, we said 'good bye' to the smoky-sandy-sunny-sweaty skins and headed home.

The next day was a whole lot clearer, in Norfolk, and the harbor cruise was picture perfect. No more sand. No more smoke, I was actually asking myself where it all went?! I was shocked at how huge the Norfolk bay is. We went out for miles and miles, and we kept seeing land, and more towns, and bridges, and more ships docked in the NIT (Norfolk International Terminal). The land would just not let go!

With all those impressive military ships, that carry anything from coal to submarines and nuclear weapons, the one boat that fascinated me was the "vacuum cleaner" boat: a boat that sucks sediment off of the bottom of the golf, and through this complicated pipe system, takes it at the end of it, and deposits it into what looks like a natural sand barrier. Amazing! It was the most colorful boat, too, orange and green and maroon. Unlike all the other carriers this boat had personality: it had color and it had a full time job. They think of everything, don't they?!

Other things worth mentioning would be that I did get my fix for fresh seafood, at Pisces in Suffolk. My flounder was fresh, but my friend got the rockfish special and it was out of this world! Gotta love nuts, though!

One thing that sets this trip apart from all my other wanderings is that I did get to hold guns for the first time in my life. Not to shoot them (yet), but to hold them, so ... it was a first for me. They are everything I expected them to be: cold, unfriendly, and rejectful of flesh! But they smell good. They smell ... "technical", and you have all night to figure out what that means! I used to think I want to shoot them, when stressed, but ... now, I am not sure. We'll see ...

Another first was that I saw a “no swearing” sign in VA Beach. At least that’s what my friend calls them and even if they’re not that, I think of them as that, and they’re pretty cool! I am a sucker for original signs, like a bar with the longest name (also on this trip) and the “no swearing” sign which also made my picture collage. Because of the "no swearing", a store could not be called anything but "Oh... Fudge".

What I would do differently next time?! My poor fried skin tells me to remember the sun lotion next time, and my growing hips to stay miles away from any kind of ice cream! Man, that was disgusting, thinking about it...

I should sign this piece: "A., the occasional sweets hater", but I won't! People do silly things when under pressure, let me tell you!

For pictures, please click here.

The Cat Thing

I am sure I am not the only odd one out there, to be loving her family, but yet still on some days wish that I was adopted, because I cannot and would not relate to any of their weirdness. I am sure I am not alone in this. So, I hope these lines hit some friendly ears.

So the few hours of my aunt's trip have passed by and no, I am not quite on the edge yet, but some feathers have been ruffled, as you can imagine. Thanks to my wonderful friends, M and R, I will try to remember that you cannot choose family and they always mean well, even when they soap up the dishes with no water, or turn off the A/C because it's too draughty in the middle of a Southern summer.

I will try, I said, and that's about the best I can do.

Some things I do love about her visit so far: I am enjoying seeing all things through her eyes, and get a perspective that would be otherwise unknown to me, if she were not here. I am enjoying practicing English with her. It's really a lot of fun when you try to teach a 58 year old retired accountant a foreign language and explain to her the "logic" or ... hhmmm ... lack of ... of irregular verbs. You're trying to tell her all she needs to memorize them is well, a good memory, and she looks at you like you just shot her cat!

Speaking of cats. And of lack of memory. Although I reiterated to her about 1000 times that the only rule of the house (I try not to be the Wicked Witch of the East to my guests and try to give them freedom and not to impose too many rules on them, but I do have ONE) is NOT to let the cats out on the back patio, or on the front porch, anywhere. At any time. No matter how much they beg to be out, they are never, and I repeated, "NEVER", to be under the naked sky! Well, last night, while having dinner on the patio she asked me why don't I let the door open so the cats can join us. I was flabbergasted! "Why?!? Why?!?" You need me to explain to you "why???"???
For how many times???Oh, I am so neurotic!

It's also a lot of fun to have a piece of family there. I live alone. Not just in the house. Nor the town or the State. Just alone in this country. Sure, I have friends, and I am grateful for each one of them, but I have no one that I can call family, much less "blood relation" here, in The States. I am used to it, and I think I've adapted well! But once in a great while I miss "family"! I miss, as I have said before, hugs from people who really mean them! And trust me: that nagging momma of yours, or that hard-to-please dad, or that forgetful grandma, or that seemingly selfish aunt who counts her pennies three times before she writes a check on your birthday, DO mean them! You feel the love in their veins as they hug you whispering at you. It's comforting, and sweet, just like ... coming home. No surprise at all what they say about blood being thicker! You just know! So, I am enjoying that! It makes me feel human again. And "soft". And, well, loved.

All our home-made meals are good: good food, good drinks, great conversation, which is the staple trait in my family. We all love to talk and we're witty and funny. But last night's dinner was extra special. She was not as tired as her first night, and it was not as late, so the mood was right. We put together a tapas plate, with home made pate, and eggplant spread, on fresh bread, with lots of black olives and cheese and salami, Romanian style. A salad on the side ... and a glass of my dad's home made, oh so heavenly, honey-like, nectar sweet white wine. And we stayed on the patio, and chatted way into the night, about our crazy family and about genetics, and about my crazy life here. It was priceless!

And I am grateful that she could make this trip for those moments like last night. I am sure those things will remain with me, 10 years from now, and not the dishwashing ritual, nor her rules about eating strawberries, gargling with baking soda, “disinfecting the stomach” or wearing hats.

Now, if she lets out one of the cats, however ... that's another story altogether and entirely!

The Cat Thing

I am sure I am not the only odd one out there, to be loving her family, but yet still on some days wish that I was adopted, because I cannot and would not relate to any of their weirdness. I am sure I am not alone in this. So, I hope these lines hit some friendly ears.

So the few hours of my aunt's trip have passed by and no, I am not quite on the edge yet, but some feathers have been ruffled, as you can imagine. Thanks to my wonderful friends, M and R, I will try to remember that you cannot choose family and they always mean well, even when they soap up the dishes with no water, or turn off the A/C because it's too draughty in the middle of a Southern summer.

I will try, I said, and that's about the best I can do.

Some things I do love about her visit so far: I am enjoying seeing all things through her eyes, and get a perspective that would be otherwise unknown to me, if she were not here. I am enjoying practicing English with her. It's really a lot of fun when you try to teach a 58 year old retired accountant a foreign language and explain to her the "logic" or ... hhmmm ... lack of ... of irregular verbs. You're trying to tell her all she needs to memorize them is well, a good memory, and she looks at you like you just shot her cat!

Speaking of cats. And of lack of memory. Although I reiterated to her about 1000 times that the only rule of the house (I try not to be the Wicked Witch of the East to my guests and try to give them freedom and not to impose too many rules on them, but I do have ONE) is NOT to let the cats out on the back patio, or on the front porch, anywhere. At any time. No matter how much they beg to be out, they are never, and I repeated, "NEVER", to be under the naked sky! Well, last night, while having dinner on the patio she asked me why don't I let the door open so the cats can join us. I was flabbergasted! "Why?!? Why?!?" You need me to explain to you "why???"???
For how many times???Oh, I am so neurotic!

It's also a lot of fun to have a piece of family there. I live alone. Not just in the house. Nor the town or the State. Just alone in this country. Sure, I have friends, and I am grateful for each one of them, but I have no one that I can call family, much less "blood relation" here, in The States. I am used to it, and I think I've adapted well! But once in a great while I miss "family"! I miss, as I have said before, hugs from people who really mean them! And trust me: that nagging momma of yours, or that hard-to-please dad, or that forgetful grandma, or that seemingly selfish aunt who counts her pennies three times before she writes a check on your birthday, DO mean them! You feel the love in their veins as they hug you whispering at you. It's comforting, and sweet, just like ... coming home. No surprise at all what they say about blood being thicker! You just know! So, I am enjoying that! It makes me feel human again. And "soft". And, well, loved.

All our home-made meals are good: good food, good drinks, great conversation, which is the staple trait in my family. We all love to talk and we're witty and funny. But last night's dinner was extra special. She was not as tired as her first night, and it was not as late, so the mood was right. We put together a tapas plate, with home made pate, and eggplant spread, on fresh bread, with lots of black olives and cheese and salami, Romanian style. A salad on the side ... and a glass of my dad's home made, oh so heavenly, honey-like, nectar sweet white wine. And we stayed on the patio, and chatted way into the night, about our crazy family and about genetics, and about my crazy life here. It was priceless!

And I am grateful that she could make this trip for those moments like last night. I am sure those things will remain with me, 10 years from now, and not the dishwashing ritual, nor her rules about eating strawberries, gargling with baking soda, “disinfecting the stomach” or wearing hats.

Now, if she lets out one of the cats, however ... that's another story altogether and entirely!

With Apprehension

My aunt is scheduled to come visit me tomorrow. Unlike all the “American visits” (I call them) you might be familiar with, this one will last a month. Still think your in-laws coming over for Thanksgiving is too much?!?

Someone asked me the other day why a month, and I honestly don’t know. But whenever my family visits, they stay for at least a month, sometimes 6 weeks; sometimes 8. I guess it’s a combination of trying to make their money worth while (it’s a long and expensive trip) and having so much vacation time (it’s Europe, you see, they work AND rest, unlike The States) that you can afford to take that much time off.

My aunt has traveled all over Europe, and to Turkey and The Mediterranean, but this is her first time across The Pond. I am excited for her, but also apprehensive about everything. Will she make it here OK? (I have no clue how much “large airport” experience she has, nor how much English she can speak or read), will she like it?, will she be OK with the hot, humid weather?, will she like the food?, will she be jetlagged for days? Weeks? What if she gets sick?! How healthy is she, really?! With dad that’s easy: he’s a walking timed bomb, so … anything can blow up at any minute. She’s older than dad, and says she is healthier. Maybe (hopefully) she did get grandma’s genes!

I also cannot help but wonder, in a very selfish way, what she will think of my life here. Of how far I’ve come, since I packed up and left Romania 10 years ago, with a suitcase and $4000 of her money. Will she think what I’ve accomplished so far is not enough? Just right? Way too much and will she be proud?! Will she think that the American me is much different than the Romanian me?!

I am sure I’ll answer all these questions and so many more in the next month or so. So, all I can say is: stay tuned if you’re curious about the answers.

One thing I know for sure is that she will think I don’t have enough food in my fridge! My family (and Romanians in general) are obsessed with food! You know about my dad’s feasts for “just the family” crowds. Compared to that, my 5 courses awaiting for her in the fridge seem puny! But “with the little I have” and in my humble abode, I cannot wait to welcome her here! I just hope she will come back!!

Love Letters To/ From My Family

Someone said : “In true love the smallest distance is too great, and the greatest distance can be bridged.”

Many people ask me how my relationship with my family has changed over the years, ever since I moved to The States. I tell them, with confidence, that it has actually become closer and much more honest ever since. And it is true.

Because of the distance, and the huge phone charges, we get very limited time of actual chatting, and we want to make it worth while. We don’t BS each other about things we don’t mean. Plus, distance makes you wonder: when would be the last time I talk to that person?! Maybe they will pass before my weekly check-in, or for others, my monthly check-in?! So, every second spent on that phone, every email we spend writing is precious, and every word that much more meaningful.

Yes, we still p…s one another off – of course we do! We’re a normal family, with our mood swings and bad days. But we have time to think about forgiveness, too, in-between calls, and next time we chat or write, we do ask for it. Without fault!

I think love is deeper, and every emotion in fact is stronger when distance is involved. The routine of having one another there and taking each other for granted has almost completely become foreign to me!

The way we’re located is typically like this: me - in The US, my sister – in Montreal; my parents – in Romania (my sister’s in-laws - in Germany but I’ll leave them out for this piece). Because of the new baby in Montreal, mom has been stationed for the next two months to help my sister get a start on motherhood. So, that leaves dad alone, at home, for two months.

Now, my dad is a God given, I think, to any house! He is a very responsible, totally a chore man! He does anything and everything in the house, minus mopping and ironing (he would gladly go without either of those, if mom were not around). Everything! (hence my difficulty in respecting men who argue about taking trash out!). He cooks more than my mom, with a passion I have never seen in any other human (maybe Emeril comes close), and if he is not the point person in all the house chores, he helps mom 50% or more with everything!

So, if he misses mom, now that she’s away, it’s not because there is no one there to cook him a hot meal, or make the bed in the morning. No, he misses her because his lonely, and he has no one to listen to him blab (if you ever wonder whom I take after, never do anymore: it’s definitely him!).

And the blabbing daughter that I am myself, I can relate to him: the best part of the day for me is to come home and to tell “someone” about every little detail in my existence in the past 10 hours. That’s where mom comes in for dad.

Now, he comes home to an empty house, and he’s so melancholy and lost. Very rarely, he will carve up a couple of minutes of his busy days, and write us a line about how he is doing.

But when he does, his letters are so emotional, and so full of love! When mom and dad are under the same roof, there is nothing but arguing and nagging. But now, since he’s far away from her for so long, he’s lost without her. And the love seeps through. These are some snippets from his last 2 letters:

“ June 6. I am writing for both the 5^th and the 6^th, as I don’t have time to do it every day.

Yesterday, I shopped in the morning. Then, I took a nap, and in the afternoon I cooked for tomorrow, when I invited a few friends for dinner. (…)

June 7. The guests arrived around 4 and left around 9. This was the menu I prepared for them: ham, 2-3 kinds of cheeses, meatloaf, olives and caviar, eggplant salad with fresh tomatoes, stuffed grape leaves and polenta, grilled chicken, sausages and cabbage salad, sautéed lamb chops, roasted potatoes, tiramisu, ice cream and fresh cherry preserves, and various fruits from the back yard. To drink, we had tzuika, cherry liqueur, white and red wine, beer and water. All I was missing at the end was a check for all my efforts. I had planned this for four people, but I ended up with 8, so, it’s a good thing I cooked a lot. (…)

(then, he goes on and on about how he helped other friends with their cars and water heater, etc).

This is the story of my two days of loneliness. Other than that, all I can say is that I am alone in this immensity, which is our house; our house which is now empty of our discussions, and our fights, and our love for each other, empty of our routines. Sometimes I feel like she (my mom) is in the office working on the computer and I start talking to her, out loud. Other times, I reach for her in bed, at night, hoping to find her … And this is just the beginning of my loneliness, and maybe I’ll become used to it.

It’s tough. But everything has an end.

I wish you all much health, lots of pounds to Patrick (the new baby), (…)a peaceful heart to A. (me), and to An. (mom), lots of happiness amongst her children and with her new grandson. Bye, kids, and much love.

June 8. (after giving us details about all his accomplished chores: farmers’ market, church, another set of guests, etc). The life of a lonely man can be tumultuous and full, indeed. Full of aloneness, that is. As you can tell, there is no room for boredom. But room for a woman?! Room for my woman?? Where, I wonder, is she?!”

Yeah, he’s a goof, too. Anyways, no matter how we are spread all over the world, we miss each other, and love each other that much more. And we pretty much write each other every day (except for dad who writes every other day or so, but consolidates his “reports” so we won’t miss any of his daily happenings). Even apart, we always keep each other in mind.

And, trust me, dad, I feel your pain!

Not only “the life of a lonely man” can be “tumultuous and full”, but also that of a lonely woman. And no matter how much activity fills my days, the joy of relating that to someone at the end of it is still missing. That’s why, I never go do bed anymore, before I email my parents and my sister. Every day, with religiousness, and with love. Because I need my 2 minutes of updates to all. And that’s what family and love should be all about.

Communication and love wishes.

And with that being said, I hope one never looks at this, as a simple truism; it’s just so much deeper than just that: “Distance makes the heart grow fonder “.

Hoping for Love - A Taboo?!

If someone tells me this one more time: "You find love when you stop looking for it. Always, it just happens out of the blue, when you don't expect it to happen at all." - I am going to scream!!

I want to find at least one person who is brave enough to admit that that statement is bogus.

Because I would love to meet just one person (not more) that is single and never thinks, honestly, that there "might be" someone there for them. Maybe. One day. Even long from now, just one day ... there will be someone with whom to share the omelet on a Sunday morning, and the paper.

I am not saying that we, single people, are thinking about that obsessively, and can't function fine independently. But alone at night, in our beds, when we're craving a hug, or a back rub, or when we forget to switch off the light ourselves, or one day, when we plan a cruise all alone, or a tour around Europe, we think that "it might be nice to share the dreams, and the lonely moments", and to find someone that can finish our sentences and guess our order at our favorite restaurant ... And if we say publicly otherwise, it's nothing but a lie, I think.

Look at the "Sex and the City" phenomenon! I mean, my God, there is a whole culture around nothing but looking for love, finding love, losing love, and finding it again, and hoping it'll be back one day, to stay forever. There is this "looking for love" phenomenon out there that lasted years on the small screen (six seasons' worth) and now it's out in the theaters and people are still coming to feed from it. No, no, they're not just lukewarm about it either: the movie made it to number one at the box office in its first weekend.

You tell me, then, that I am a dreamer or I should stop hoping?! What about all that?! And don't say "it's just a movie", because it's "just a movie that people evidently can relate too", so it's not just me, it's millions out there like me.

I am not sure who in actuality can give up "expecting" and "hoping". How do you turn off the "hope switch", anyhow?! I don't think that anyone in the mainstream, dating adult population is truly capable of that shut-off when it comes to finding someone. I don't think humans can ever give up hope when they're in need or want of something - end of discussion.

Humans are social beings, and we're born to mate. And we'll be looking for that other half to complete us till we find it. True, for some of us the other half might have been rotten or underdeveloped and never shows up. But do we know that? No! So, we don't stop hoping, and waiting, and thinking about it.

That's actually all we have control over to do: the only freedom we have is over our minds (as long as we still have them): and that's where the hoping, and the dreaming goes on. The only certainty we have is of a dream, that maybe one day, we won't be alone, like God and nature and humanity intended. I'm still trying to figure out why we can't, in our culture, admit to that dreaming.

It's what we're designed to do: we wait to be complete. And till then, we feel crippled. And don't tell me that cripple people stop hoping. Or stopped believing in miracles, even. Because you know better!