To Find Oneself, One Must Travel – A Camping Trip in the Spring

"Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you.”
(Frank Lloyd Wright)

Did you know that cardinals eat bacon? I swear they do! Got a picture to prove it!

Did you know that raccoons are so friendly as to come visit within 5-6 feet from humans and a burning fire? My dad always told me that fires scare creatures. Apparently not raccoons. Either that or the smell of food is worth the risk to them.

Did you know that oak trees have some of the most beautiful blooms in the late spring? I guess they’re always so tall and majestic, we don’t get a chance to live at “eye-level” with them, and we forget they are actually blooming trees …

I found out all these and so much more this weekend, on my recent camping trip to Kerr Lake. The lake is claimed by both VA and NC as a huge body of water lying just off of I-85 on the border of those states. The park is huge, perfect for the water sports folks, but also perfect for the more laid back campers who would like to just commune with nature for a day or two.

I have been at war with my spirit, my mind and body all year, trying to find the right track, and trying to refill my batteries. No matter what relaxation technique I have tried, it’s not getting me there. And just as Lloyd Wright says and as I have known my entire life, “nature never fails me”. Nature gives me time and space to do nothing but to listen to myself.

Awake, at night, in a tent in the middle of the woods, with waves splashing the lake shores, and owls carrying on their frightful and menacing conversations, crickets calling each other by name (thanks, A.), and lizards and frogs jumping through dead leaves just within a earshot of my tent, under a black sky full of stars and a semi-full moon you have nothing to distract you or carry you away. You’re alone, and exposed. Nothing between you and the elements but a flimsy piece of cloth. And there, “naked” and exposed, and quiet, with no distractions, you have only yourself to answer to. And you figure out a plan. Only there, I could find my peace. Only there, I could empty out my murky brain filled with disappointment and loaded with pain, clean it out, sanitize it and fill it back up with nothing but fresh air. It was like spring cleaning for my whole being.

I try to take very little of the civilized world with me when I camp, and luckily, my camping buddy did the same. He didn’t even bring a fire starter fluid. He wanted to build a fire the good ol’ way, and as you can see in the pictures, we didn’t lack fire at all.

Mohandas Gandhi says that “to forget how to dig the earth and to tend to the soil is to forget ourselves”. So is to forget how to make a fire, I believe. The most basic skill of survival in the wild. And thank you, A., for forgetting the lantern! It was in the stars, or should I say "in the moon", as it was plenty bright!

The only drawback to the whole nature experiment, is, you guessed it: humans! Humans who seem to compete with each other over who pollutes the nature more: bigger trucks, bigger campers, bigger boats and noisier too… That’s the letdown of a State Park camp ground: you get to share it with humans. And not only that: they also bring radios, and cells which go off when you least want them to. Even hair dryers.

But I could very well block off their presence, and just enjoy our stories around the fire, and the woods, and the swishy wind through the young oak leaves, and the woodpeckers, cardinals and squirrels. I could have watched them all and listened to the wind and the waves for 10 more days. I was too thirsty for it all, and the random “human made” noises were not to interfere with my healing, and they didn’t.

Even the food helped. Mainly, we fed on basic things: meats, potatoes, corn and beans, and we somehow got everything perfectly cooked by throwing everything in the fire. Not too much work, not a stove, not too much cooking, nor trash. Paper plates were added to the fire, for cleanup. So were paper cups.

I hope the Earth can say we didn’t disturb it much. I would hate it if we did. Maybe a couple of dead ants, but those happen.

I drifted away from the lake more peaceful and quieter. I even drove slower, and I came home to a nap. My skull seems to be an empty pot again, fresh and clean, ready to be filled up by whatever the springs of life have in store for me for the rest of the year. The batteries are full; and the bucket is cleansed.

One last thought came to mind while I was thinking about the getaway on my ride home: this is my parting thought for you: from William Blake:

“ To see a word in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
An eternity in an hour”.

Click here for pictures, and enjoy.

A 'Makes-No-Sense' World

I used to work with this gentleman; he was one of my favorite people in the world to work with. Very impatient, and brilliant, and after a while you kind of understood what he meant by the way he fluttered his arms and frowned his brows. Impatience is what we had in common. He used to say this when things got a tad fuzzy (and for him, a man of order and a control freak, as myself, that happened a lot), in the sweetest Southern accent you’ve ever heard: “This don’t make no sense!”. (followed by puzzled frown)

There was something endearing and although pretty helpless and hopeless, also re-assuring about it.

I thought of him often this week, as I seemed to come across quite a few things that, well… “don’t make no sense”…

Here’s to B.:

Shin splints. I have never heard of shin splints till I moved to America. Just like I never heard of a pink eye, nor removal of your wisdom teeth. Those are American afflictions, I figured, and I have trouble defining them to my parents. But shin splints are different. Shin splints, in seems, are excuses for people not to exercise nowadays. Sure, we all know the “real” excuses: it’s the diabetes, or the thyroid, or whatever … legitimate, sure. At least it sounds like it But when you look healthy, and you check out healthy, and the doc’s telling you, get out and RUN, you have no escape. No excuse. But, like a good old friend you can rely on, here they are: you’ll always have shin splints!

I am still fuzzy on what they actually are… But I know a handful of people who have them! According to my personal statistics, for every 10 Americans you know, there are about 8 with shin splints! It’s an epidemic.

And when I started wondering if it’s actually a disease that has some claim to existence was this weekend: mom and teen son are running in the park. Mom’s giving up and saying to son: “You go ahead! I’ll walk. I can’t”. Son in disappointed and asks: ”Why can’t you?”. She goes: “I don’t know. I guess shin splints”. She “guesses”. She’s not sure. But hey, she needs a diagnosis, right now and here, or else she cannot convince herself that she is medically unfit to run – and that’s the best excuse of all … Oh, be aware of those splints, man! They sound serious!

On the same “medical” note: I don’t get the pregnancy test commercials presented by … oh so confident … men. Oh, “it’s 99.99% accurate. It works in the most cases. Plan your life according to them”. Because why? YOU - A GUY – tried them and they worked?? For you?! – NOT!!!! Wow! What are they thinking??!!

At the bookstore the other day. I browse the bargain shelf, and I find a book for children titled “My First Words”. This is a book for toddlers, and all pictures, to teach them to say their first (mind you) words. On the cover of this book there is the picture and the name of a “tricycle”. And I sit there in awe. This kid is just now learning how to say “mom” and “dad” and “cat” and “dog”, maybe “apple”, probably “bee”. But I am not sure “tricycle” would make the cut as one of the “first” words I would want my kid to learn! And then we’re whining the kid has an issue with everyone wanting them to be perfect! Self-esteem and stuff. Society!!! No sense, I tell you!

And this is from The Master Himself. Shakespeare, that is:
“Isn’t it odd that desire lasts so much longer than the ability to perform?”. (Henry IV)
Humanity’s oldest question, isn’t it?! Still puzzled!

The Single Life

Ah! What a day to day affair life is. (Jules Laforgue)

Days come and close with the exactness of a clock.

Rearview mirror, but no reverse. Just straight drive. That’s what life is, after all, isn’t it?!
Filling up time and hours with the solitude of a single life’s plans: groceries, walk in the park, yoga mat, feed the cats, pay bills, call family during the weekend, meet random friends for dinner during the week, work.
Nothing more. Nor less.

A year of coming of age. Maybe more than a year. Maybe immensely more than a year. And of finding that foothold once again.

For ten years now, I feel like I have been moving along pushed in one direction or another by men who have entered and exited my life. For the first time, I feel free and swimming on my own. I’ve been floating, mostly, this year. But I feel, for the first time, in the freshness of a spring afternoon, watching the playful and free geese in the park, that I am slowly swimming, not just letting myself float. Baby strokes, yet, but I am swimming…

Not sure yet where I am headed, but as long as my breath keeps me alive and my arms above water, I’ll continue to swim.

There is literally no limit to what you can do with yourself when you’re single. You have no one to wake up in the morning for, no one to ask for permission to listen to music, nor anyone to ask what they would like to have for dinner. No one to clean after in the bathroom, either …

The walk in the park seems endless. Could be endless. No one but the cats to come home to. And the cats can surely wait for days. Maybe I’ll do a movie today, but I am not bound by any commitments, so, I might skip it – with no remorse.

The visit to the bookstore, or to Hallmark has no time boundaries, either. Why should they?! As my friend, A., said: “I am free to just ‘be’”. And I am taking full advantage of that, trust me!
The weekend is wide open, a white canvas waiting to be smeared. Dinner could be leftovers, or sushi from the Harris Teeter counter, or a burger and fries at the neighborhood pub.

Like swimming in a calm lake. Being in a relationship, I guess, would be swimming in marshes, thick and full of algae, the mud and vegetation dragging you down. But the water lilies and lotuses smell so good!

I can sit on my back porch and watch my petunias, and lilac tree, and azaleas, and lilies, and carnations for hours. No one inside to call me in for lunch. Or dinner. Or ever.

And this no-commitments and no-strings life is so curative. So stripping you down to bare bones to ask you every day: “do you like what you see in the mirror?”. You have plenty, way plenty opportunities (and time!!!) for this question to haunt you daily for sure! So therapeutic! Because the first pimple you see, it’s cleaning time!

The night falls calm, fresh and soft like a velvet veil … Over it all a saddening and deafening silence. It seems with no ending. But I secretly know that the sun will, in fact, rise again tomorrow, over a much similar new day. For now, I get lost in the night. A confused bird is trying to break the silence. So does a scared dog.

But other than that my soul is one with the silence. And the darkness. A lone soul, and quiet one, too. Submissive. Alone but not lonely. Enjoying the companionship of the darkness and the silence. Filling up with nothing but presence! Bountiful! And plump with life.

Thinking of people I once knew. And marshes I once floated over.

How I Lightened up my Friday

Thanks, C.!

I have been kind of down lately, and needed a good laugh. So, I emailed my friend C. because I know he has some ready made crack up joke and I’ll be guaranteed at least one chuckle. And he comes back with the story below. It was so good, it made me laugh so hard, I had to share it – with his approval, of course.

Sorry, C.! This made me think of Mr. Bean! And also: next time this happens, I am not sure lighting a match will be advised in that small room!

Enjoy, everyone!

Here's the basic story: I was at my friend J.'s house setting up for a church group function with a few friends. It was a co-ed group and there was one girl there that I'd been flirting with and was trying to impress.

Well, my stomach was a little upset that day and I found myself in the bathroom. I get this knock on the door and it's this girl, K., who needs to come in and use the bathroom after me. Of course, I was mortified that ANYBODY would have to come in the bathroom after me, especially in light of my upset tummy. I figure I'll light the candle on the back of the toilet, figuring the match would cover the odor.

I figure if there's a candle, there MUST be matches lying around somewhere. My first instinct is to check the medicine cabinet so I grab the mirror to open it and check. Well, the mirror doesn't pull to the side as I expected. It pulls up from the bottom. Now, at this point, most people would figure out that there isn't a medicine cabinet there at all. It's just a mirror. Not me.

I say to myself. "Hmmm. I've never seen a medicine cabinet open from the bottom before. That's kinda' cool." So I grab it from the bottom with both hands and lift up to get to the contents of the cabinet.

That's when the mirror pulls away from the wall entirely and I'm left holding a mirror and staring at the blank wall underneath. So now, instead of just having to deal with a smelly bathroom, K. has to deal with a smelly bathroom and no mirror above the sink in which to check her makeup or whatever! When I pulled the mirror, the little fasteners on the back came away entirely! I had to put the mirror on the floor. And I still haven't found matches!

So I'm tearing the place apart looking for matches and finally discover a pack in the closet. I light the candle and leave. Of course, NOW I have to explain why the mirror that used to be above the sink is now on the floor. And I can't lie. So I have to tell the whole story to the girl I was trying to hide it from in the first place! AND I have to call the owner of the house (who wasn't there at the time) to explain to him why he no longer has a mirror in his guest bathroom.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

J. (owner): "Hey, man. What's up?"
Me: "Hey, buddy. Listen, you know that medicine cabinet in your guest bathroom?"
J.: (Pause) "Um...I don't have a medicine cabinet in my guest bathroom.
"Me: "Exactly!"

From the Heart ...

For Patrick, with big love …

August 11, 1978. Maia and bubu (my grandparents) and I were walking down the street in Constanta, a beach town in Romania. I was a little over 3 years old. Maia said: “She has another girl. Andreea is her name. She is small, bluish-black, underweight and full of hair”. And then there was silence. And footsteps down pavements. We were all thinking. I could not figure out whether “your sister” is supposed to live with you, or she kind of stays in the hospital, where they were telling me she “came”.

That is my first memory about my sister.

Through almost 30 years of life, growing pains, sisterly bickerness, competitiveness and sweetness, we grew up into women, into loving, giving and accomplished women. We grew up to be each other soul’s mates. She is probably the love of my life. I have never been able to love someone else so unconditionally, so fully, and desperately like I grew to love her. So completely!

And today, her son was born. This is her first. How this puts your life into perspective! I have been trying all day to come up with something intelligent to say about this miracle, but I don’t think miracles are of the mind: they are of the heart, and they should stay there, where they belong.

So, here it is… straight from my heart…

She always wanted an Aries baby. She tried so hard to conceive him just so he can be feisty and determined, just like her sister. But her due date was set for June 11. Oh, well. Like every pregnant woman, she said to herself: “I want him healthy and happy, not Aries”. But he was to have a mind of his own from the tummy already and not just by not being an Aries.

He moved when he wanted to, not when she wanted him to; he was hard to measure, throwing his own due date around all over the month of June for every doctor that’s seen him: June 11, June 10, June 21, June 18 – he was the first baby with no set due date. Headstrong and early, just like his dad, he turned head first at week 28. Ready to go somewhere. He was beautiful in the 3D movies, and he was shameless, he even peed in one. He had his “gentleman”-ly moments though, according to her: “He never kicked too hard”, she’d say.

Any baby is special, but he wanted to be extra-so! He broke the water on Resurrection night of the Eastern Orthodox Easter, April 26 – more than 6 weeks before his earliest “due date”. Doctors wanted to keep him in for days and weeks, but he was determined. He will humor his mom and aunt after all, and be an April baby. Sure, he’ll pick Taurus, just like it’s fitting for a stubborn child (I can’t blame him: less impulsive is always a plus!), but he wanted to be out by end of the month.

He was born today, the last day of Easter. They say a baby is a good omen, but a baby for Easter, when the Heavens are wide open, and God’s light floods the Earth, you can feel the holiness in the air like liquid honey, so sweet and light and yellow, is absolutely angelic!

He is a preemie, but the largest preemie in the NICU of a Montreal hospital, at 4.2 lbs. He even breathes on his own, pretty much. Preventive oxygen tube or not, he is perfect! He is pink and vivacious. He has a wide chest and broad shoulders, just like a man should: to be the support of this family and weak mom, in older years. He has a big foot, like his dad, and a good mouth, like him, too. And all in all, again, he is perfect.

I have a million questions for God and Life right now… and I am sure in time, I’ll get my answers. I do know that he will have the best care and the most love any baby in our family ever had. As his aunt and Godmother, I can promise that!

I am pretty sure, he will have his parents youthful looks for a while, and their well defined features. He will be culturally sophisticated, like them, and bright like them, also. He will be funny, like everyone in our families, and enjoy life. He will speak at least 3 languages, and he will be well traveled. Again, I can promise that! Will be an artist like his grandfather? A gardener like his grandma, or an animal lover or chemist like the other grandparents? Will he be a lawyer or an accountant like his parents? Or, in his perfectly rebel spirit, will he just choose to do something totally unrelated to all? Will he choose Europe or North America to live?! Will he like to fish like his dad? Or will he like cats like his mom? Will he have blue eyes or brown?! Curly hair? Wavy or straight?

Will he like fries like his mommy, or mashed potatoes like his aunt?

Right now, I am looking at his picture and crying … He has so much LIFE packed in those 4.2 pounds! So much curiosity! So much verve and determination! They hooked him up to tubes and he’s clutching on them. He can’t even suck on a bottle, but he’s clutching onto things! He’s a feeler, you see.

I have been melting away with love all day, in splendor of this one shot of him. I want to feel him close, to smell him and touch him, and kiss his feet.

He’s molecule by molecule part of my sister and her husband. They made him from love, and she made him grow from the first ultrasound of a pulsating spot into this whole human, with all the right features.

I asked my sister about him and she said “he has the biggest and softest feet” – and started crying instantaneously… They don’t call this a miracle for nothing, you see. It’s like this door just opened for all of us, and just like after Jesus’ Resurrection the world was never the same place again, so after each birth the world is a little bit more different … A little bit more hopeful, for sure, and a little brighter.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day: clear blue crystal sky and crisp April air. Half asleep drivers almost ran me over twice this morning, and I underdressed, as usual during this month, because it’s so fickle! “April is the cruelest month”, Elliot said, but is it now?! Cruelest-sweetest. Maybe.

His life will be nothing like ours was growing up. Born in the Free World my dad talked to us about like he was telling us a fairy tale. This world is his now. And the possibilities are endless. A woman running for president is on the front cover of the paper today. And so the torch passes on. And so I feel grayer today. My smiles are wrinkled at the eyes. But happier, and hopeful, that there is a man in our family, a new man, who brings hope and support. Just simple hope that life will live on. That our blood will forever live.

It’s strange: I don’t feel like half of my heart that has been dedicated solely for my sister my entire life is now halved to make room for him. I feel, instead, that my heart exploded, and it’s twice as big, and gives them both the same amount of love I’ve given her for 30 years.

Now, I know babies don’t just live at the hospital, where “they come”. Thank God, they come home with us, to brighten our lives and rooms, and to make us more loving, more tender, and more forgiving. To teach us responsibility and kindness.

I just hope I can live the day when I see his baby, just like I see him today. So that I can see him one day as happy as I have seen my sister today. Their love, bond and happiness will fuel me for another 30 years, to be sure.

Thank you, guys, all three of you, for letting me be part of this!

Romanian version here. Please click. _Pentru versiunea romaneasca dati click aici.

First picture of Patrick_ Prima fotografie:

Din Inima ...

Pentru Patrick, cu dragoste mare ...

11 august 1978. Maia si bubu (bunicii mei) si cu mine mergeam pe strazile Constantei. Eu aveam un pic mai mult de 3 ani. Maia spune, la un moment dat: “Are inca o fata. O cheama Andreea. E mica tare, neagra si plina de par”. Apoi se facu tacere. Nu se auzeau decat pasii pe caldaram. Eram plini de ganduri. Eu ma intrebam daca “surorile” vin sa traiasca cu tine, sau stau la “spital” unde erau “aduse”.

Aceasta este prima mea amintire despre sora mea.

Dupa aproape 30 de ani de viata, de dureri de crestere, de rivalitate frateasca si de dulcegarii, am crescut amandoua, si ne-am transformat in femei, in doua femei pline de dragoste, in doua femei implinite. Am crescut si am devenit surori de inima, nu numai de sange. Ea este, probabil, dragostea vietii mele. Nu am mai fost in stare sa iubesc niciodata atat de complet, de neconditionat, si de disperat cum o iubesc pe ea!

Iar astazi, s-a nascut fiul ei. Primul ei fiu. Cum sunt puse lucrurile in perspectiva acum!Am incercat toata ziua sa scriu ceva inteligent despre acest miracol, dar nu cred ca miracolele tin de intelect. Ele tin de inima, si acolo ar trebui sa ramana.

Asa ca … din toata inima scriu aceste randuri…

Ea isi dorea un copil in Berbec. A incercat sa il conceapa in asa fel incat sa fie Berbec, si sa fie luptator, si hotarat, asa ca sora ei. Dar data probabila de nastere i s-a fixat pe 11 iunie. Ei, bine! Ca orice femeie gravida, si-a zis: “lasa, sa fie el sanatos si fericit, si ce daca nu e Berbec”. Dar el avea sa aiba planurile lui inca din burta si nu numai prin a nu fi Berbec!

Se misca atunci cand avea chef, nu cand voia ea; era greu de masurat: toti doctorii care l-au vazut i-au tot mutat data probabila a nasterii, bazata pe masuratori: ba pe 10, ba pe 11 iunie, ba pe 21, ba pe 18. Era primul copil de care am auzit fara data fixa probabila a nasterii. Incapatanat si devreme, ca tatal sau, s-a intors cu capul in jos de pe la 28 de saptamani aproape. Era gata de venire! Era superb in filmuletele tridimensionale de la ecograf, si era fara rusine, ca la unul chiar a facut si pipi. Dar era si “gentleman”, dupa spusele mamei lui, ca “nu lovea tare” cand se misca.

Orice nou nascut e deosebit, dar el voia sa fie si-mai-si! A rupt apa in noaptea Invierii, pe 26 aprilie, cu 6 saptamani inainte de cea mai devreme data probabila a nasterii lui. Desi doctorii tot au vrut sa il tina in pantec cat mai mult, zile si chiar saptamani la rand, el era gata de venit! La urma urmei, ii va face placerea mamei si a matusii lui, sa se nasca in aprilie. Bineinteles ca a ales zodia mai buna, Taurul, lipsa de impulsivitate fata de Berbec e oricum mai buna!

Asa ca s-a nascut astazi, ultima zi de Paste. Se spune ca noii nascuti aduc bucurii, dar noii nascuti de Paste, cand Raiul este deschis si lumina dumnezeiasca inunda pamantul, si poti simti sfintenia in aer, ca o miere aurie, sunt de-a dreptul angelici!

E un copil prematur, desigur, dar e cel mai vanjos prematur din spitalul din Montreal, la 1 kg si 900. Chiar si respira singur. Fie ca are tub de oxigen preventiv sau nu, e un copil perfect! E roz si plin de viata. Are un piept lat si umeri lati, asa cum sta bine la un barbat: sa sustina familia, si pe mama lui mica, atunci cand va fi batrana. Are picioare mari, ca tatal sau, si gura frumoasa, tot ca el. Si, in genere, ma repet, dar e perfect!

Am un milion de intrebari la adresa lui Dumnezeu si a Vietii, in genere, si stiu ca in timp, imi vor fi raspunse.Stiu cu siguranta ca va fi extrem de bine ingrijit si se va bucura de cea mai multa dragoste si grija din partea tuturor celor in familiile noastre! Ii promit eu asta, ca matusa si nasa lui.

Sunt sigura ca isi va pastra frumos tineretea, asa ca parintii lui, si le va semana, prin trasaturi frumoase si bine definite. Va fi sofisticat din punct de vedere cultural, asa cum sunt si ei, si destept. Va fi comic, ca multi din familiile noastre si ii va place viata! Va vorbi cel putin 3 limbi si va calatori mult! Asta e sigur! Dar va fi oare un artist, ca unul din bunici? Sau ii va place gradinaritul, ca bunica? Sau ii vor place animalele, sa gateasca sau stiinta, ca ceilalti doi bunici? Sau, in spiritul sau rebel, oare va face ceva cu totul diferit, si fara nici o legatura cu inaintasii lui?! Va alege sa locuiasca in Europa, sau in America de Nord? Ii va place sa pescuiasca, precum tatei lui? Sau ii vor place pisicile, ca mama? Oare va avea ochi albastri? Sau caprui? Parul cret? Ondulat? Sau drept?

Ii vor place cartofii prajiti ca mama lui, sau pure-ul, ca matusa lui?

Acuma, ma uit la o poza cu el si plang. Pare ca are atata VIATA inmagazinata in acel 1 kg si 900 de grame! Are atata curiozitate! Verva si hotarare. Cand avea tuburi pe el, tine cu manuta de ele. Nici nu poate suge la biberon, dar vrea sa simta el cu manuta lui tuburile. Vezi, ca e sensibil, ii place sa atinga lucrurile.

M-am topit toata ziua de dragostea pe care o simt in splendoarea unei fotografii. As vrea sa il am aproape, sa il miros, si sa il ating, si sa ii sarut picioarele!

Molecula cu molecula, e parte din sora mea si sotul ei. L-au conceput din dragoste si ea l-a facut sa creasca, luna de luna, dintr-un punctisor pulsativ pe ecograf intr-o fiinta umana completa, cu 10 degete la maini si 10 la picioare!

Cand am intrebat-o pe sora mea cum arata, a zis ca are picioare mari si asa de fine!!!! – si a inceput sa planga instantaneu. Nu degeaba se spune ca sunt miracole copiii!

E ca si cum o usa s-a deschis pentru noi toti si asa cum lumea era transformata dupa Invierea lui Iisus, asa si lumea e putin transformata dupa nasterea unui copil! Un pic mai plina de speranta, si de lumina!

Se anunta a fi o zi obisnuita: un cer senin, fara nor pe el, cu aer proaspat si rece de aprilie. Soferi pe jumate adormiti aproape ca m-au accidentat de 2 ori dimineata, iar eu m-am imbracat prea subtire, cum fac mereu in aprilie, ca luna asta e asa de capricioasa. T.S.Elliot spune ca “Aprilie e luna cea mai cruda”. Dar oare este? Cea mai cruda si cea mai dulce, se pare! Poate.

Viata lui nu va semana deloc cu a mea si a sorei mele. El e nascut in Lumea Libera, despre care tata ne vorbea ca si cum ne zicea o poveste. Dar aceasta lume de basm este lumea lui acum. Iar oportunitatile sunt fara limita aici. Pe prima pagina a ziarului de azi este o femeie candidand pentru presedentie. Si asa dam faclia mai departe. Si asa ma simt si mai albita. Zambetele mele au acum riduri la ochi! Dar zambesc, pentru ca sunt fericita. Fericita ca acum avem un barbat in familie care va aduce speranta, si sprijin mai tarziu. Viata merge inainte! Iar sangele nostru merge mai departe.

E ciudat: nu ma simt ca si cand jumate din inima mea care a purtat dragostea pentru sora mea atatia ani a fost injumatatita azi, ca sa ii faca loc si lui Patrick; dar mai degraba ma simt ca si cum inima mi-ar fi explodat si e de doua ori mai mare, si astfel le port amandurora aceeasi cantitate de dragoste pe care am simtit-o pentru ea timp de 30 de ani.

Acum stiu ca noii-nascuti nu traiesc la spital, unde “vin”. Multumesc lui Dumnezeu ca vin acasa cu noi si ne lumineaza vietile si casele si ne fac mai iubitori, mai buni si mai iertatori. Ne invata responsabilitate si dragoste.

Ma rog sa traiesc de ajuns ca sa vad ziua in care va avea si el un copil. Ca sa il vad si pe el la fel de fericit cum e sora mea astazi. Sa le vad si lor dragostea si legatura solida si plina de iubire pe care am vazut-o azi intre ea si el. Ma voi hrani din vederea acestei legaturi inca 30 de ani, cu siguranta!

Dragii mei, va multumesc la toti trei, pentru ca mi-ati ingaduit sa fiu parte din aceasta experienta unica!

Just Observing the World

Random thoughts on a quiet April night … of all sorts ...
Apologies in advance for those feathers which will be ruffled or those eyes which will be polluted.

I have a nest of birdies above my door. I love them, as I love my plants and my cats, almost! I guess the maternal instinct in me loves to watch things “grow” and live. There used to be one birdie in the nest. She looked frazzled and skittish. Every time I’d open the door, she’d fly away. Now there are two. I am guessing, she found a mate. Woo-hoo! I’ll have babies next to watch! I cannot wait. Now, every time I look up at the nest, one birdie always looks asleep, and the other is on the lookout for noises and what might happen next. I am (almost) betting my yearly paycheck the one on the lookout is the momma, and the daddy is just asleep and lazy. But then again, I might be wrong.

I found a wine at the store, whose name is “Oops…”. The “subtitle” (can wines have those?) is “Mistakes Happen”. Hhmm… I guess that’s what you should have to drink before a one night stand you’ll regret for the rest of your life, or before you get knocked up. They’ll ask you: “what happened?”, and it’ll be fun to say: “well, we both had a glass of Oops and that did it!”. It’s all in the wine – isn’t that what Romans taught us?!

Browsing the fish counter in the store, I read the salmon label: “Fresh Atlantic Salmon. All Natural. Color added”. Hhhmm… Why in the hell would you add “color” to fish?! You don’t add preservatives to keep it fresh; you don’t even freeze it to keep it fresh; but people are worried it’s not pink (or orange) enough?!? There are some folks out there in marketing that are terribly confused, I think. I just cannot imagine this: you send out a survey, with this question: “What is the main reason you didn’t buy Atlantic Salmon at Harris Teeter in the past 6 months: a)freshness; b)price; c)not interested in that fish; d) the salmon is not pink enough” – and a bazillion Americans check d). I just cannot see that!

I apologize in advance to my very good friend whom I love dearly and who’s been giving me crap about me making fun of fat people. Because I know I am going to piss her off. But sometimes I just cannot help it and … I MUST say this! It kills me!
I know there are folks out there who are large because of some medical condition, and I am definitely never talking about those. But it’s the folks who have no common sense and no measure of what they eat that I refer to in my pet-peeves. There should be no excuses for folks who come to class with a McHeartAttack for breakfast and a supersized milkshake, AND have TWO (not one) enormous chocolate brownies (they eat them with a fork, like it’s a freakin’ cake) for snacks during the day as to why they’re large; that’s on top of lunch, of course. And yep, you guessed it: in a class of 10, they’re the only one taking the elevator for a one story building. Now, that’s lazy-fat to me, not medical-fat.
Also, till today, I never thought you COULD get “to go boxes” at a buffet. It’s an “all you can eat Chinese buffet”. And the woman (again in the 300+ range) has been eating for about 30 minutes, plateful after plateful, and after that … she asks for a “to go box” and fills it up with food. No, not just one spring roll. It’s another … plateful of fried rice and sesame chicken. Again: that’s your fault for being 300+ lbs, don’t even try to squeeze into my plane seat next time, or else!

I noticed while in a public restroom today, that the doors of the stall (at least the logo I am referring to was just on the door, not the walls of the stall, too) was provided by this company called “Hiny Hiders”. After a quick chuckle and thinking: “Wow! That’s the best thing I have heard since ‘The Happy Can’ Porta-Jon company in Atlanta.” – and trying to figure out whether that’s creative or purely too graphic for my taste – I noticed that the logo featured a man using the bathroom: he was standing behind the door that’s provided by “Hiny Hiders”, facing the toilet, of course, in the tiny logo picture. I wondered what the company would be called if they featured a woman doing the same action?! Hhmmm …

The Beach

“A friend will bail you out of jail … a redneck friend will be sitting next to you saying: ‘Dang, that was fun!’”.

I wish sometimes I were a beach gal. No, I really do! This blog would meet the expectations of beach going folks everywhere then! So, I really wish I got a kick out of going to the beach, and the salty air, and the crispy skin in the summer, and the shell-shaped necklaces and the flop-flops, and the funky, flimsy tanks showing your nipples, and the big tall drinks with the cute umbrellas in them, and the cups you get to keep, and all that sand coming off in the shower, and the pools and the hot tubs, oh, joy! … But I have wiry hair that hates the sun and the humidity and the salt in the air. And fair skin that never, but I mean never tans, but always burns! And I am a beer chick. I cannot swim, either. And let’s not talk about the nipples! I am shy, too! So, the beach does nothing for me!

I do want to live within weekend driving distance from the ocean, though, because occasionally, I like to visit it, even for just a change of scenery. The ocean, also, helps me think! When I see that whole world, hidden under waters, as well as seeing the waves coming and going, all that passing, renewing … just like the tides of life – that puts things into perspective, and into motion for me. So, I like to visit.

This spring’s beach trip was not just helpful for my life perspective. But also intrinsic to fill up my dry girlie well. Let me explain!

This trip was all about being with the girls and being a girl. No boys to worry about. Plenty of room to drink beer, feel bloated, burp and do it all over again … Plenty of time to shop till I dropped (you all know I am an anti-shopping crank year-round) and not worry about the bottom line. Everyone else was doing it, so why should I worry?!?

And who cares if you’re too drunk or tired to put on your lipstick or mascara, or whatever, we’re all friends: we’ll tell you it looks like crap, we’ll even take pictures to prove it and then help you put it on right!

Plenty of opportunities to gossip till we feel like we just ran out of victims in the whole wide world! And boy were we mean: from people we couldn’t stand, to people who we felt sorry for! We were ruthless. And plenty, oh, plenty of opportunities to see how fortunate and loved I truly am to have such friends to do it with! Sometimes it’s just good to kick back and just speak out loud about people you withhold about all day long, because of darn political correctness!

Yeah, they told me I am a “damn Aries” who can’t keep her mouth shut most times, and they made fun of my hatred for sweets (what girl hates chocolate, right??), and they told me that I like dull people, otherwise I can’t fall in love, and that my hair might look like a “skunk” in a couple of months, when my gray streaks will really be huge enough to tell … and one day they even told me I looked bloated! Burp!!!

And I felt free to tell them back: that they are fashion Nazi’s, that they are judgmental and gossipy, that they are geeks, that they snore and I am happy we’re not sharing rooms! It was all in good fun and good laughter (I hope!!).

It was such a great, rejuvenating weekend of just being silly and “worrying about” silly things. When would I ever have time to shop around the gift shops in Greensboro and just browse and laugh at goofy signs, like “Feng-Shui is Chinese for moving your husband’s crap in the garage”, or “After my last relationship I fell in love with food, and now I can’t get in my own pants!” ?! I tell you: I do not know of many great guys out there who would have gotten this and laughed with me as hard as the girls did!

And then, of course, we talked about “girlie” stuff, which is not to be mentioned here, but it’s to be imagined, I am assuming, by … imaginative minds.

We people watched, and gossiped, just like only girls know how to, pointing out the gorgeous “bimbo” and the old man couple at the raw fish bar who were looking pretty out of place, kinky and drunk, or the crazy men on the pier who were trying to hit on us with lame lines which must have died probably 50 years ago, not that they seemed to have caught up on that; we met new people, for some, like the pier guy, a happy and drunk ol’ man, who had a story for every day he’s spent there, whose tales were as colorful as the drinks he was having mixed for himself at 10 AM every morning. Aww, all good times! Never to forget!

And guys, seriously: do you really not know when your hairy butt crack is hanging out smiling at the sky from under your pants?! Or you do, but you really think that’s sexy? I tell you: it’s NOT! It’s funny, yeah, but not sexy! I wondered if our ancestors who actually fished to survive impressed their lasses with a free viewing of their buttocks?! Wonder if by evolution, we, girls of today, just lost the meaning of it all?!? Hhmmm…

Thank God for friends who think that’s as funny as I do, and even snapped a shot of that awkward view! And even as a non-ocean chick, ladies, I am up for another round the next time we all get a chance! Thanks all for coming and building the memories!

Enjoy some pictures here.

Birthday Blues

My philosophy teacher in high school had a birthday wish that has been my favorite ever since. He used to say: “I wish you precisely what you wish yourself today!”. It’s a bit of a cop out, but it’s so selfless, too!

There is something that makes your heart jump when the age on your MySpace profile rolls over from one number to the next overnight. You hold your breath, you dig out all the tax documents, the Cosmo magazines, the market surveys you’ve been emailed over time and which are stored by the thousands in the Junk email folder and you want to know: “Oh, hell, did I slide over in a different bracket now??? Is a whole new (older) generation of men going to hit on me now?!”. And you breathe a sigh of relief when you realize that … nope, not yet: you got one more year… or two… But you know you’re old enough!

If you know me at all, you know that I somehow insist to be sad on my birthday every year. Not sure why, but I am! I am not making myself sad, it just happens that way …

The passing of time, the hopeless irreversibility of it, I guess, does it every time. I am usually pretty happy with what I have done so far in my life, and where I have been. Maybe the fact that I can’t do the last year or years all over again brings sadness?!

To soothe the melancholy about becoming older, God (an ironic and clever one too) put next to my dinner table a group of 20 some year old girls who were talking about life (hhmmm…yeah, they thought so!), dating and weekend plans. Of course I eavesdropped! Every 3 words that came out of their mouths was followed by “like”. They were not “cold”, they were “like cold”. And the sushi was “like expensive”. Their next boyfriend “MUST adore sushi, or else he doesn’t make the cut. Because, you see, that’s like important to me!” – one said. And I thought I had dating issues!
Then, I also found out that 20 some year olds are grossed out by the thought of sharing food. Even appetizers or sushi. Hhmm… That sense of fierce individualism and selfishness and over-protectiveness is indeed getting the next generation: always on the lookout for what to fear next; the next cataclysm that can potentially kill them, like germs from each other, maybe?!

And that’s when I thought: my bracket might not be the first one listed in the surveys anymore, and I won’t get hunks to hit on me anymore, but I would not give anything to go back in time, not even 10 years. Not even 5 !!! I’m enjoying the little bit of sophistication I am showing for my years. Just like wine, you know what they say! Oh, the insecurities, and fears, and cheap talk… Not missing them much!

This year, my birthday came with good and bad surprises, as always. People that I even forgot they knew my name emailed and sent me cards. And people I thought I mean a lot to forgot it altogether.
I always wondered how to take the fact that some ex’es forget my birthday? As a compliment: they know I hate my birthdays and they don’t want to remind me?! Or as an insult: that we can’t even be friends, since I don't need to be remembered by them not even once a year, on my day?! Still debating, but I think they’re screwed!

I will probably still not enjoy my birthdays as much as my mom does! She tells me the story of my birth all over again, every year, with renewed enthusiasm, like it’s the first time, and she throws two parties, one for her friends and one for work, although I’ve lived on a different continent for 10 years now. (Aren’t people having kids for such selfish reasons?!)
But I can’t be too sad nor complain much this April, either: I’ve eaten my favorite food, got nice presents from my closest friends and family, I missed a dear friend I lost, was remembered by long forgotten friends, traveled, of course, even had a cake, even shopped just like a girl should on her birthday.

And although a lot of folks said a lot of nice things indeed, the nicest, most wonderful wish I have received was from a total stranger. And although it was directed to my group of girlfriends, I took it personally, as the birthday timing seemed appropriate to do so. Instead of “good bye”, the funny man on the pier said this weekend: “May every day be a party, and every meal be a picnic!”

And that is all I am wishing myself for the next year!

An Unplanned Trip - Atlanta

Thank you, C.!

There is one common feeling that unites all my trips, no matter how long, or where the destination, or whether I travel by land or air. And that is the feeling of unbounded gratefulness. To God, nature, and Life: that I have a body that allows me (still) to pick up and go; that there is a certain amount of safety I feel when I launch off my front porch; that I have the means to do it; that there are friends out there who either do it with me, or host my crazy outings.

Sometimes I’d pick up and go with a definite plan in mind, an itinerary and a defined timetable. And other times, when the town I live in becomes claustrophobic, I just play it by ear. Like this past weekend when all I wanted is to visit my friend in Atlanta. He’s funny and he can pack hours of entertaining just by being locked up in a room with him and listening to his fibs. That’s all I wanted: I wanted the road trip, to put some distance between daily routine and myself and to listen to my friend C. crack me up.

And, as it happens, on adventures like these, I got so much more.

I got to finally drive myself, all alone to a big city and actually not get terribly lost. One road fear down, 1000 to go! Hey, it’s the first step that counts!

I got to experience one of the quirkiest, and equally delicious restaurants I have ever been to: R. Thomas and Son. Funny name aside and all (kind of like a law office, but not ...), the place is unique: wind chimes and parrots and beads hanging from the purple ceiling, the place which is tucked under a tent, it reminded me of Key West, or some place in the Caribbean, but also of Amsterdam, for it’s eclectic-ness . They’re open 24/7 and they have breakfast round the clock.

I was not surprised that C. knew about the best place in town that has “breakfast 24/7”: we always used to go to Cracker Barrel in Greensboro, and he always used to order breakfast, no matter the time. I am glad some things don’t change so much over the years.

R. Thomas also had caged birds outside, that said “Bye” when you left, and “Hello” when you were heading in …

The food was all organic, and it tasted fresh, delicious and extremely non-greasy and non-stuffy, much, much unlike a MacBiscuit, or whatever they call those nowadays…

In this little quirky joint, I also discovered blue corn and how much I love it indeed and how that now opens the door for new culinary adventures, as I will learn everything about it: where you find it, how you cook it, how you season it, what you serve with it, you name it. It was the most basic dish you have ever seen or tasted: nothing like corn, nor beans, but somewhere in the middle. It was earthy, and simple and delicious! One hour of breakfast, one forgetful waiter later, I got more than a mouthful – as you can tell.

Also with no plans, we got to see the Georgia Aquarium, as the skies look cold and menacing, and drippy. It prides itself as “the largest aquarium in the world”, and I’d have to say: I was expecting “the” largest to be much larger than that. I guess in the number of kids and toddlers it can accommodate in 2 hours, yeah, it beats anything I have ever seen!

I had never seen Beluga whales nor whale sharks before, so there was another first. I also didn’t know about the electric eels. I’ll have to admit: I thought that’s a horrible name of a band in the 80’s, but they’re actual creatures!

We then walked to the CNN center not for the tour, which both of us have done before, and found it sort of dull (well, we both work for media people, so I guess we’re tougher to impress!). We went to CNN for snacks. I needed my ice cream and nuts fix for the year and C. wanted some donuts. About 3 disgustingly delicious ones!

I also found out about the Georgians’ sense of humor: their PortaJons are called either “Happy Can” or “Pit Stop”. I thought “Happy Can” was quite funny!

We also had a couple of large gatherings with friends; most notably one in a Mexican restaurant where you can watch tortillas being made fresh from dough, and where they recycle beer bottles by building chandeliers out of them. All I can say is: Paige Davis, eat your heart out!

But just the road tripping was welcome: to weave in and out 3-4-5 lanes amongst crazy centipede-like tractor trailers, which are completely unaware of their weight and size and speed on I-85 at speeds I am scared to tackle; just taking the Atlanta skyline in and architecture – would have been enough!

Historic houses, reminiscent of Scarlett O’Hara’s days right next to high rises or California-like modern homes, the woods of magnolia trees and dogwoods at every street corner – would have been plenty, just to rinse my retina of routine images I have been looking at here, at home, since my last trip!

Those and just to re-discover a very dear friend, the way I remembered him was priceless. We talked about our lives, relationships, loves and lost hopes and some newly gained ones, future plans and future dreams. We realized that years and physical distances matter not when the heart holds a stronger bond. Being an immigrant, I knew that – but it was nice to be reminded.

C’s stories, laughter and silliness – would have been divine! And his wisdom, too!

But it was so much more. As usual, a trip never disappoints. And again: I am rested and recharged, but most than anything: I am grateful. And looking forward, very much, to the next one.

For pictures, click here.

PS: The fact that I didn't go on and on about what the weather was like (awful, to sum it up!) should tell you that the trip was a hit!

The Y Chromosome

"Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.". (Kate Hepburn)

A very wise male friend of mine once told me quoting a prophet, I think, that "if you argue about religion, you're both wrong". Amen to that, folks!
I like this statement so much I wonder if we can use it for other things. And sometimes, I found things where paraphrases would work swimmingly. Some other times, they are doubtful.

Like: can we say the same about the ages old argument between men and women and the way they feel about each other?!
Hhmmm...

Last night, at Target, while I was shopping for baby clothes and cat litter and scanning the aisles for clearances, this evidently stressed and spread-too-thin lady carrying an overflowing basket of home goods, while walking the aisles half-out of breath and screaming in her cell phone to most likely her significant other crosses my path. It could not have been her kid, because they were talking alcohol. So... Just being presumptive there, but just a wild guess...

And the conversation went something like this: "No, John, she doesn't! No, she... Good Lord, NO! John, don't do THAT!" (rolling her eyes and waiting for the person on the other line to reply while she's putting down the basket and trying to straighten up her sweat blouse, while throwing some Dial soap in the pile and nodding her head). "John, she does NOT and I repeat DOES NOT NEED A BEER! All she needs is a WALK!" - she was screaming these all caps words to be emphatic, while sounding desperate.

She continues: "John, I will NOT give a dog beer! I am telling you: she just needs a walk" - now she's hyperventilating and panting just like a dog, out of breath, rushing to the register, while still not willing to let the phone go: her speech is now precipitated and very emphatic: "John,-- just -- take -- her -- for -- a -- SHORT -- walk. She is fine if you take her out. Please don't give THE DOG beer!"- desperate and begging now, and given up and seemed like her priority has suddenly changed and she needed not the Dial and the Pantene and the ScotchBrite and the cereal, but most importantly, she needed to get home faster so she won't find her dog comatose from alcohol.
Hhhmmm...

Today, I go to lunch with a friend. It's Friday, it's nice out, so we stroll to a sports bar, close to the office. There are maybe 10-12 tv sets hanging on the walls, all flat panels, all bigger than anything I will ever afford. There is a full house, too, everyone watching the basketball game. One game - the same game on all the tv's... These two guys, 20-some-year-olds walk in, sit at the bar, and start scanning the joint for chicks. You can tell, you read body language and watch for stares and secret nods between the two of them...

One of them sits a laptop on the bar. No biggie. Lunch break, the young professional would like to not miss the Stock action, in an economy like ours now, sure, understandable...
Only, they don't go to e-trade.com or WallStreet.com.... They go to ... the same basketball game that's playing on the 12 tv's. Not a different one. The very same one. And they start watching they OWN tv show, while all the other tvs are not dignified with their eye ball stares. And they probably suspect, THAT would be such a chick magnet, too... Just a wild guess, again!
Hhmm...

I wonder if I'll ever date again...

Breaking yoga rules: a judgmental approach to yoga

“The true secret of giving advice is, after you have honestly given it, to be perfectly indifferent whenever it is taken or not, and never persist in trying to set people right”.
(Hannah Whitall Smith)

I hate “preachers”, typically. No, not “that” kind, that’s why I used quotations. I don’t hate the kind that stand up on a podium, or in an Altar at church on a Sunday. I love those. I think they’re an intrinsic part of our way too troubled worlds.

I hate the ad-hoc kind that you run into at the store, or at your work, or even the gym or the yoga studio, for that matter. The ones that know it all, have seen it all, have tried it all, and now they are going to make YOU buy it all or else you’re scum and a low piece of doo-doo if you ain’t buying it or if you’re not subscribing completely to their own system of values, right now, here, this minute. NOW! THAT kind of “preachers”.

Here’s the story:

I go to my yoga class tonight and here’s this woman who’s louder than thunder, or so her voice sounds, telling everyone who can hear without a hearing aid about how she got out of jury duty today. Surely, with a lie. And I am floored, because I didn’t know you can do that. So, I lose respect for whatever comes out of her mouth from then on (she breaks rule number 1 of yoga, I think: do not lie). I try to collect my thoughts at the end of the day, but no, the jury duty story barges right in!

Anyway….

At the beginning of the class she tells the teacher “we’re all tired girls here and take it easy”. Not sure who “all” she was referring to, since she didn’t poll me, and I, for once, was not tired; I didn’t hear the other woman in the class saying anything along the same lines, but … Rule number 2 (be truthful) is out the window (random number here, I know this is not what Patanjali intended).

But that’s not why I started writing this.

She set me off, truly, at the end of the class in the hallway. This other woman asked her about the yoga 300 hour program she (the loud one) had just finished and how it was, and … she (loud one) proceeds to share, quite un-shyly and quite loudly that she is a personal trainer and a “spin” instructor, too, but “now she does mostly yoga, because how can you not?!!!" In the same loud voice, she screams: “yoga is everything. I cannot believe you don’t just DO it after the first class, since it changes your life soooo deeply. Yoga is everything. It encompasses everything, and I just don’t know how not everyone doesn’t just do it, all the time. I am ALL about Yoga now, and I love it. And …“ – and she goes on and on about how yoga changed her life and how ALL the people in the world should let yoga do that for them.

And I am sitting there, tying my shoe and breaking another law of yoga: you should not judge! So I am thinking to myself: “you did at least 300 hours of intensive yoga, woman, and you got nothing, not a damn thing, not the first thing out of it!”

If yoga is about anything at all, it is about being a personal , very individualized path for each and every single one of us. And how we should all explore it, and see if it is for us first and in what shape it fits us, if at all, in a VERY personal, very unique way for each soul. It’s not a “one size fits all” solution to happiness and/or fitness. You gotta let everyone find it for themselves. Not judge if they don’t find it. Not scream to find what YOU found in it. Just be quiet and wait. And let yoga speak for itself to anyone out there who’s trying to listen. And they’ll find … whatever … whenever they choose to be ready for … whatever … they might find in it, if anything.

Her loud voice was overwhelming. You know, that voice that is a couple of decibels louder than you can ignore?! Just enough to be intruding and invading. Just enough to enter by force into everyone’s lives uninvited.

And I didn’t know how to get out of there faster. Because she was … invading my privacy and completely ignoring my presence and thoughts. And the other people’s too.

And that’s when I decided to smile, with pity (I know, I screwed up: with judgment too…): she didn’t get it after all. So, it was her loss, not mine, I thought. “Poor thing”!

But wouldn’t you want to correct that in some way?! Hhmm… I would. Or at least, I hoped through the rest of our silences and rushed steps out of there … she would learn. Hopefully.

One day.

We’re not innocent anymore …

“Old dreams and new dreams all wanting the same thing (…)

Playing the same game again

It’s just being so hard to win. (…)

You’ve gotta give in to see, to love and to grieve,

Wipe that slate clean when the morning comes again …”

(Steep Canyon Rangers – “Old Dreams and New Dreams” - hopefully, accurate quotation)

I used to think of my life as having the most of its history back home, in Romania, where the first 23 years of my life were spent. I kept telling myself, I am only a “baby” in America, with no identity yet, not past, no history, no roots.

And that was just till a day or so ago. When I took a ride around town. When everything seemed to change, in two hours.

I passed the place of my first home, where my marriage once flourished and I knew all-encompassing and desperate and unconditional, I thought, love for maybe the first time in my life.

Then I drove past the lawyer’s office where that marriage came apart, and became two separate ways of two very different people.

I then drove by the agency that first hired me for the first official job, here, a Temp agency. They moved their office, but their name will forever stick with me: they were the first listing in the yellow pages, and my name starts with that letter, so I figured, that’s gotta be a good sign. And it was.

I drove by the movie theater that smells like dead chicken, and I remembered how one of my best friends asked me how in the world do I know what dead chicken smell like. Well, when you have a dad that works in a chicken slaughterhouse for years, and takes you there for field trips, starting when your 6, you just know. And remember.

I drove by my first sushi restaurant and I remembered my friend Charlie, who first “challenged” me to eat sushi. Little did he know that was no challenge at all, just pure love at first sight.

I drove past the street where I lived alone, for 5 years, after my divorce; the years where I truly found out what America has to offer to a single, immigrant woman with 3 cats, a head full of dreams and curly hair, and a crappy pay. And somehow, I survived those 5 years. They’re building a shopping center across the street from my former condo, so I am glad I moved, I thought.

Yet, the history remains; imprinted in my heart and brain like hot iron markings. History of friends, and lovers gone by, parties, and margarita mix spilled on the white carpet, of dad making Romanian (and burning it to make the smoke alarm go off) food and getting everyone drunk on tzuika shots; of good friends cursing the peeling of grass-cloth, but peeling it away anyway. First home projects, all on my own. How empowering! And rewarding!

I then drove past this street with a big two story house on it, where I loved and hoped again, at a time when I thought love and hope were not possible anymore. The place that allowed me to love dogs and decide they’re not evil, after all. The house is sold, the love interest has moved away and moved on, but of course, the memories, of tv watching, good music, nipple on national TV on Super bowl night, NJ subs, Auburn games, the bbq dinners, the love and quarrels will remain. Mostly the love and friendship.

I drove past the park that my “second borrowed dog” loved to walk and where ducks run free and children talk about their dogs and how their dogs “don’t get to see their mommy because she went to work”. The second dog moved to Maryland, and I’ll miss him forever! But the park is there, to look back at me, and remind me where I have been, in the past 10 years.

I went to the pharmacy and they had my address from 10 years ago on file! True, I just moved back in the neighborhood, but that woke me up with a jerk: “Wow! 10 years ago!”.

And then I drove past the hospital where my best friend, that I love so dearly still just died! The hospital in which I locked so much hope, and so much love, and so many white nights. Where I watched the Oscars in 2007. And which made The Oscars nights never be about glamour and happiness ever again for me! The hospital that gave me hope, and a year later gave me desperation too. The hospital that gave my own health condition hope and a deadline, too.

I am not innocent anymore. My history has now extended here, in the States. I cannot tell people anymore, “Oh, well, you know, I speak funny English, because I am not from around here.” Or: “I have no clue who Doctor Seuss, or Big Bird, or Captain Kirk were, because I am not American”. I have a history now. And no excuses.

And that “slate” cannot be “wiped clean” as easily! It’s not a dry eraser board anymore. It’s more like a block of stone that’s been dented by all the passings of time and by what those passigns brought along. Not as easy to “wipe” it as it sounds… The marks of time, the history left a deeper mark than just a scratch. Yeah, you can dust it off. But it’ll be dented – to remind you through what it’s been.

And just like any child that loses her innocence … I feel a tad lost … And off centered …

Pain

"People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.” (Jim Morrison)

I noticed pain first in the waiting room. That’s when I felt it like a presence. Like a looming cloud over our heads, waiting to pour down chicken-egg-sized hail on us … Menacing. Not hitting us yet. But there.

With every door that opened, my heart jumped. I was hoping that when every door opened it will let Hope and Life burst out and we’ll be free from the heavy cloud. That he’ll be free from the heavy cloud.

But with every door, and with every doctor and nurse that passed, the knife was being pressed even deeper into my heart! No Hope. No Life. Just waiting. Endless waiting and pain, more pain. I could see the tunnel of what I was being shoved into now deeper, even deeper, with every carefree doctor that passed by. Torture. Hours feeling like days, months …

Herodotus says that “The worst pain a man can suffer is to have insight into much and power over nothing”. It’s how it is: you FEEL all these things abusing you, all your pores are open and you take in malicious things that shoot sharp knifes up your nerve endings and you feel, and you are aware, no enhancers necessary, but there is nothing to stop the afflux of “too much” information from the outside sad news. You’re powerless. You sit. And wait. And take it all as it comes. And pray that your body has the innate immunity to block some of this. And most times, it feels like it doesn’t.

Emotional pain is tricky. You can’t quite describe it. You can’t quite locate it and for sure you can’t quite take Tylenol for it. It’s there, all-encompassing your whole being, , and it’s worse than whatever pain you’ve ever felt, but there is no way to “handle” it.

You hang, feeling it, maybe the most in your chest, between despair and blasphemy and you just demand “justice” and “cure”. But there is nothing in sight.

Emotional pain is the only kind of pain that you just have to “put up with”. You go through it and you keep going. I think Churchill said that “when you find yourself walking through hell, keep walking”. That’s ALL you CAN do through horrible emotional pain. You’ve already lost the war, and it’s pouring ashes and snow, and you’re naked, stripped off the skin you had left, and alone in the field, with the blizzard whipping. And you know, that somehow, in all this madness, you’ll live. You know, somehow, that THIS is necessary and you WILL be ok. But you can’t avoid it. You have to be there, be present. Embrace it, even. It’s part of what will make you-you.

You’re not sure how long it’ll take for this thing to do its thing with you. You pray and you walk, and you burn, and you cry, and you hope … that somehow, you’ll come out of this.

Somehow, at the end of some day, you’ll be left stripped to the bone, and helpless and naked, and alone. And somehow, you’ll stand up and walk away back in the “normal” realm, where everything is warm, and tender, and cozy. Bruised, scarred and lifeless, you will stand up and walk. You’ll never be the same person, but this was necessary! To test the skies, and to test you, this was part of the daily routine we call “life”.

But till then, you bleed in the snow, and the wind and the hail of too much emotion thrown your way. You curse God and you don’t mean to. But who else IS there to blame or listen? Who else is capable of giving us so much pain?! You have questions like these and more, but they are called into the desert. You wait. And you pray. And you cry. And most of anything: you bow, and you’re humble and you’re hoping the sooner you take all that’s given to you the faster the healing will begin. But where does the abusing stop?! How can you tell? You can’t.

Just wait. And pray. And trust!

Missing you …

The world is emptier tonight. A little less bright and a little less hopeful.

I am learning new dimensions of pain. I have lost a best friend and the world has lost a unique and great person. It’s not easy.

I am still stricken with grief, blind with running tears and lonely, terribly lonely. And I am not sure that words can ever describe how I feel, or if I’ll come at the other end of this story coherent at all. I am sure I won’t sound complete by the end of it.

We’ll all read in the next few days about Jeff Carlton the writer, the reporter, the UVA alumnus, and the sports aficionado. But I have had a different experience with Jeff. I knew Jeff, the man, the friend, the devoted confidant, the loving son and brother. I will talk about things few people knew or maybe fewer people noticed.

The man had a “Vault” where he kept all his secrets (you know, Seinfeld style). He told me when I first met him that he “doesn’t just let anyone in the Vault. He lets secrets out one at a time, carefully”. Well, after two condensed years of friendship, that felt like 20 years or a lifetime, I feel like he blew the Vault wide open for me, and let everything bleed out. I have had the fortune, and incredible honor and privilege to know Jeff in ways maybe his parents or brothers didn’t know him. With me, he allowed himself to be vulnerable, weak, strong, stubborn, but also funny, serious, impatient, devoted, sincere, giving, and sometimes quite a bit of a nuisance, too. Never a jerk. Never a bore nor commonplace. Never.

Some of the things I have learned from him and about him will probably go to my grave, with me, because he wanted them “kept in the Vault”. And they’ll stay there.
Loneliness, tears and pain brought us together and made us friends forever. Happiness, joy and unconditional friendship sealed that bond.

I have learned more lessons from him in 2 years that I have learned from life in 33. He lived short. But he lived intensely. He did everything with passion and dedication. He never wasted time. He laughed hard and loud and often. Even if he didn’t feel like laughing, he always smiled. I could not find one picture of him either not talking or not smiling. He was always in mid-sentence and mid-thought. He met everything with a sense of humor. Especially pain!
Always active, and always cooking up some thought. His mind worked overtime, for sure, like he knew he was running out of hours. He loved everything he believed in, and he believed in having fun, being honest, being loving and generous, and in The Phillies, of course (I know that much!). Oh, and being Conservative, too. How he ever survived our Newsroom, I do not know!
Some people said they argued with him on everything. Some said they found at least one thing in common with him, he was that diverse. I did both!

We both loved mashed potatoes, long road trips, U2, good spelling, a cold pillow, and no tomatoes on the sandwich, please. We argued about politics (mostly), the music of the 80’s (I am sorry, but it DOES suck, Jeff!!), about how often he should call his doctor, and about leaving the dog out in the rain.

He was so contradictory, and such a “whole” person, all in all. He lived fully, but quietly. He had no patience for computers, faulty chairs, slow drivers and small airline seats. But he never, ever, not ONCE, lost his patience in trying so hard to explain baseball to me. He did it time and again, with the stoicism of Sisyphus. Nevermind my impossibility to wrap my head around that one. He never once made fun of that or gave up trying to teach me! He used to tell me: "A whole American nation GETS baseball, you'll get it too!". I only wish! I promise I’ll read the book, too, Mr. Jeff, and that I’ll get it, one day!! One day, when we’ll meet again, we’ll both watch a game and you can quiz me. I’ll pass, I promise.

I had a lot of “firsts” with Jeff. No, not “that” kind of “firsts”, but these kind: he took me to my first Major League ballgame, my first soccer and my first hockey game. I loved them all, because I could enjoy them through his eyes! He breathed and lived every game, with nonchalance, fun and a scary (to me) amount of knowledge. Like a fish in the water, he was most at home in the arena. It was fascinating to me to watch him watch every move, every play, and predict almost every game. Well, with the exception of The Phillies, of course.

He was the first man to ever not be afraid of sassing me back. My sarcasm was a cause of divorce in my marriage; it was a requirement to be his friend. I loved him for it! He’d say: “Don’t you sass me, I’ll sass you right back”; and he did. Or “sarcasm is a must to be my friend”. Always witty and original. The most I’ll miss is the way we cracked each other up. Never taking anything defensively, but always talking smack, lovingly and endearingly. I’ll miss his blue eyes, and his well-defined dimples and his writer’s hands. I’ll miss his bear hugs!

The part I am not going to miss is the pain I knew he was in. I am happy and grateful that he’s running free, where gates fling wide open, without broken latches on them, in which he can cut his hand.

The most I learned from him was about pain and accepting it with grace. I learned also about courage and the kind of facing every day like it was your last one to live. One of the last conversations we had was about strength and how he has it, and he should not be afraid. And strong he was, as I have watched first- hand how he dealt with bad news after bad news, and misfortune after misfortune. He kept smiling. And pushing through! Always smiling.
I feel that I am a better, wiser, more complete person, because he was part of my life. He was one of those people one is only lucky to meet once in a lifetime.

I am not sure what I’ll do with myself next time I want company to Boston Market, or want to go to the dog park. I am not really sure what I’ll do when I want to go to the ballgame to actually watch and understand the game, not just to socialize. I am not sure with what I’ll fill up the minutes of every day when I worried sick about him, and wondered how he was; the minutes we talked on the phone, or the times I’d interrupt his deadline work just to see how he’s feeling. He was a part of my life that’ll never come back now. A part – irreplaceable.

I am glad he never listened to me when I told him not to take a trip last year. Now, I know, you gotta take EVERY opportunity you get to do what you want. Life doesn’t give you second chances, and he’s a fine example of that. So, take it or leave it, as hard as it is.
He made me realize once more that riches don’t consist of bank accounts. His wisdom, compassionate understanding of humans, and unconditional friendship made him one of the richest people I know!

And above all, he was humble. He was private, and he kept things fearfully in the “Vault”… I think I was the only human, that I knew in our brief time together, to ever pry the Vault, and he helplessly allowed it. You never knew just how much he suffered. And you never knew how much he hurt. He wanted to keep YOU happy. He was thoughtful and caring. And through it all he used to say, with his innate self-mockery “It’s always about me, you know!”. He made it seem that way, but it wasn’t. I will never forget his last words to me: he wanted me to say ‘hi’ to my cats. On his dying bed, he wanted to greet the cats … He was like that. He died quietly, as he lived, but painfully, as he lived also.

The pain of the emptiness I feel is making my chest hurt. I cannot breathe, and I am not really sure what’s going to fix this.

There will never be another Jeff Carlton. I was lucky, fortunate, blessed beyond belief to have him in my life. He gave me two years of friendship, love, courage, togetherness, understanding, pain and healing. And mostly, he’s taught me forgiveness and hope.
Good bye, my dearest, and I miss you much, always, with love …!

Happier times. My favorite album of pictures of Jeff and Floyd.

Yep! I am chicken!

I hate to sound like a broken record, but you know how much I love my dad. And my dad can be a royal pain in the butt, but sometimes, about some things, he knows best: “sometimes - he says - things help ‘in absentia’ more than they ever will otherwise!”

I almost did it! I “interviewed” all my friends who have met online and got their opinion. I even talked to those who got married as a result of an online date and I was impressed by their recommendations! I have talked to one of my best friends who, I thought, was as skittish (old fashioned, conservative, insert your “guarded” adjective here) as me about online dating and who, recently, turned "modern" and uninhibited on me and started dating "online"... I thought that he and I were the only single souls in America not sold on the online dating craze. But, nope, I was alone ...

I even bought a book (always, my resources!), with a given-up title: "Fine: I’ll Go Online", about why and how you should date online. I even opened up a free account with E-harmony, "just" to see what my profile says and what matches I am being delivered”. Ok, ok, you get the picture: I was still on the fence, but very much over it, too, barely hanging on to it, before I touched the ground on the other side...That is, before I was to start putting myself out there, to try "online" dating, too ... Since the normal, day-to-day kind of dating has not worked for me for a while now ... Not that I am “that” desperate, but weekend trips can be lonely without a partner and cold winter nights even colder. Heck, we ALL need companionship, right?! So, I was sold. Almost. Till tonight anyway...

Tonight, I peeked at my "free of charge" matches from E-harmony. The matches are "real", but you don't get to communicate with them unless you pay, which I haven't yet. And I won't! I won't because one of the matches E-harmony delivered is a guy I know. And a guy that I tried to date. Desperately (almost), crazily single-ly tried to date. A guy that I met in the real world, on a real date, with whom I had many real dates … and who contributed to two of the most frustrating and confusing weeks of my life. He left me with a more bitter taste than bile acids can leave ... and he is now, one of my computer generated (how else??) matches on E-harmony.com. I was flabbergasted, amused, mad, and ... really, really, relieved! Relieved that I didn't sign up for an online dating site, that is... E-harmony is supposed to give you “leads” on relationships that might possibly work for you, with your personality traits… Relationships that will bring you to your "soul mate" and promise happiness for ever. Have you seen those commercials?! But this guy was “a cold trail” as Deputy Andy Brennan, in “Twin Peaks”, says about his love interest. I was amused!

Tonight I realized (yep, I am slow AND naïve), just like the junkie gambler who plays the casino and the machines for years and finally realizes he cannot beat a computer and gives up, that that's all that online dating is! It's a gamble! And just like the junkie gambler, you're playing the computer. It's the computer that "finds your matches", really ... Now, maybe you have some gambling luck to speak of! I don't! With my luck at gambling, thank you very much, I'll pass! Now, if you factor in my luck at dating, I am REALLY screwed! So, I think I'll leave the $120 in my pocket for now, and take myself on some real sushi dates with a movie at the end. At least I'll get the food, and some quality alone time with a bag of popcorn! Now, THAT's real! And to this day, has never disappointed me! Of course, the cold winter nights are still outstanding, so if you know someone out there who would like to join me… please send them this way, and I’ll share the popcorn…For now, no online dating for me, and still just a firm belief in Karma, and Fate and all old-fashioned things my mom used to talk about. At least they are monetarily free...

Of course, you'll hear first if there is a change... For sure. But, boy, was I close to almost being there ... Phew! What a relief!! Thank you, E-harmony! You have noooo idea !!!

The Heritage of Love

My veteran readers are probably wondering what am I going to trash this year for Valentine’s Day? What crazy, sassy, sarcastic blog am I up to for 2008? The thing is, though: I am not in such mood. So sorry to disappoint: I think I’ll be goopy, for a change!
I thought about my parents a lot today. Their love story is a bit unreal and seems out of cheesy paperback novels, and I haven't shared it with many, but here it goes.
They met on a train ride to the beach one summer. They were 17-18 or so. Mom looked very old (as in “mature”) and serious and very beautiful, by dad’s accounts. Dad was a hippy, bell-bottoms and flip-flops. He was passing her compartment, he stopped in awe and he asked her: “Why are you sad?”; in her typical, dry, fatalistic tone, she answered: “I don’t think I will ever, as long as I live, know what happiness is. It’s just the way it goes”. And she looked outside the window, and didn’t smile, like he was bothering her. Then, he sat down and he said, just like that: “Well, that will be my mission in life, then: to make you happy. One day”. That was their first dialogue. And the rest is history. Or the rest is my life ...
We don’t have Valentine’s Day back home, or at least we didn’t when I grew up. But their “love day” was the anniversary of the day they met. That day, on the train ride. And until both my sister and I left home, I don’t remember one such anniversary they celebrated without us.
We never went out. But on their “first date” anniversary, we would go out, the four of us. They didn’t want to be alone, and they didn’t want a party, like they had for any other celebration. They always told us: “On this day, when we celebrate our falling in love, we want to be with the fruits of our love, the two of you (me and my sister)”.
Dad, forever the romantic, Beatnik hippie, used to tell me and my sister: “Your mom and I are part of the ‘Love Story’ generation: little money and lots of love will keep us going forever”.
And thus years passed and we always knew to be prepared to go out with them for “love day”. And I really felt that for ONE day, at least, that I could tell … mom was happy. They both were. Happy and in love.
And so, today, when the world (or at least the American one) celebrates love, I give thanks to all the loves in my life, in memory of theirs. Even if single (again, I know: broken record), I can feel love and taste love, and smell it around me. And I am grateful for it.
And I am starting with the parents.
Hopefully, we’re all here because of love, or at least pleasure, and that’s one thing we can think about and appreciate on our own, without having to “share” it with “someone else”. We can just enjoy it, on our own. I am grateful for that every day of my life: that I am a “result” of love.
I try to give that feeling back to everything else in my life: my house, my family, my food, my friends, people I work with, books I read, every day that I open my eyes to, my cats, the way I cook, the way I plant my flowers, the way I write, and everything else I do or come across with. Love is mindfulness and respect towards all that, for me, and I share it freely. With all of you.
Mom and dad are still married, after 34 years of love, cat-and-dog style. She nags and is “serious” and “bitter”; he tries, relentlessly, to make her happy. Children are gone now, far, far away, but he buys her gifts on their love day, or just flowers, while she sighs with sad eyes, looking out the window. And I am sure they both feel the happiness, and bask in it. It’s there. Even if they don’t “call” it that!
Give love and feel it. It’s always there. You just need to be still and find it, listen to it, taste it.
And as my dad would want me to, I will end with the most absolute (if “absolute” can have a comparison degree!) definition of love: the one that John Lennon left us:

“Love is real, real is love
Love is feeling, feeling love
Love is wanting to be loved
Love is touch, touch is love

Love is reaching, reaching love
Love is asking to be loved
Love is you
You and me

Love is knowing
We can be
Love is free, free is love
Love is living, living love
Love is needing to be loved”

Happy Love Day, everyone!
And remember: we’re all loved, somewhere, and also “lots of love and little money can keep you going forever”. And we all come from it! So, just enjoy it, and be happy for it, and tread gently …

A Communication Misfit …

“A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.” (Oscar Wilde)


I was thinking the other day that since I am such light years behind everyone else in the means of communication I use, I should make a somewhat “public” note of this …
I am sort of trying to tell everyone that despite what their perception is, no, I am not rude (not trying to be, anyway), no, I am not anti-social (not much), and no, I don’t hate them, either …
I simply use methods that are a tad less mainstream – just like I do with a bunch of other things in my life …
So, here we go, in case you're trying to get in touch with me ...
I don’t have caller ID on my home phone. Never have. I am not even ever considering having it, because it costs and it’s a luxury I can do without. So, I don’t screen your calls. If I don’t answer, it’s because I am not home yet, or because I am asleep (yes, I take naps, too), and I unplug the phone then.
No caller ID at work either, and that's out of my control. If I don't answer, I really am, away, or in a meeting, or on the other line, like the greeting says. Not lying at all.
I don’t use my cell much, which WILL come as a shocker in this day and age. I answer it only when I am in the car or in a public place, because those are the only places that don’t have a landline that’s permanently mine. If you call the cell then, I will be “quick” and ask you what you need, ‘cause I gotta go. I have a plan that covers 50 minutes of peak time a week and 500 minutes a weekend. Yes, in a world when people have 1200 minutes a month, I get 50 minutes! I know: it’s hard to comprehend. Again: it costs, and it's a luxury I can live without. No, it’s not you, it’s me. If you call the cell while I am at home, or at work, I will ask you to hang up, and I will call you from a land line. I am cheap indeed. No joke!
So, I don’t use the cell for chattin’. I love to chat, don't get me wrong: call my cell and in 2 minutes tell me when and where you wanna meet: we’ll chat then and there. For hours!
Since we’re talking “cell” here: I don’t text either! Never have. I am having trouble accepting "text" as a verb, too ... I don’t think I ever will "text". I personally think that’s insulting my very ability to communicate. You wanna talk: pick up the phone and call … meet me somewhere … you get the point… In my communication-challenged opinion, typing into a PHONE is slightly ... well, un-natural, for wanting to be less insulting here! :-) Doing something “just because you can”, we’ve learned from our 42nd president, can be pretty stupid! So, yes, I am going to be mad at you if on Christmas Day my cell goes off at 7 AM when you decide to text me “Merry Christmas”. So, stop it!
Unless you live on another continent, or another country, I typically don’t want to sit there on the phone and chat with you for 5 hours. Sorry… You’re welcome to visit anytime, with notice, and we can also meet in town and do dinner, or lunch… But I am not going to do my dishes and laundry, change my cat litter and do my nails or take a bubble bath with you on the phone … As I grow old, I am seeing how I am very A.D.D. anyway, so I am trying to focus more (this is no joke!), so I cannot give “the phone” undivided attention, while I do all that, plus: you’ll complain because of the noise … Maybe once in a blue moon, yes, I’ll chat you up, but if that’s your idea of keeping in touch with me, it’s not going to work for a long time at all. We’ll break up!
But there is always email, and ... I do email a LOT. And that’s because it allows me to have some freedom, the sole driving force of my life, and respond when I have the time, and again, to give you undivided attention! I will email you updates about me and I’ll ask about updates on you; I will expect an email back, although people will call back. You don’t get me then! … Again: it’s about being focused, and not missing things. And I can do my laundry at the same time, since you won’t mind the noise … I am religious about answering emails, so if you want a 100% sure way to reach me, email me. I promise you: I’ll be there. But again: ideally, we make time to chat!
It’s not uncommon that you should leave me a voice mail and you’ll get an email back. If the voice mail says “ I am just checking to see if we’re on for 5 PM for drinks” – I’ll call. But if it says “ I am checking to see how you are and what you’ve been up to lately”… and there is a looonnggg story behind it (make your own “WRONG” game show noise here!): yeah, I’ll write! I’ll even attach pictures. :-)
My days of IM-ing are over … The only people I used to IM with regularly and with patience are my parents, but since Skype, we talk live, over the Internet, for free … Since they live in Europe, they qualify for long distance “phone” chatting, you see . So, stop sending me messages about “IM me on MySpace” or on AOL, or on Yahoo: not gonna happen!
If you live in another continent or town and don’t have a pc, you WILL get a hand written letter once in a while IF you write back! OK, I am weak: for those who are so poor that can’t afford postage, I’ll even write without expecting a response back.
If you really made it to the list of “my friends”, you will get a hard copy of a birthday card, and Christmas card. I love paper and ink … And I love to write, so, yes, you’ll get me, in paper … I am still working on being good about the "thank you" notes. I'll get there, once I'll be "officially American", I swear!
And actually, that’s one thing I do miss: the handwritten cards and letters …
I guess I do live in the past … But here I am, still, trying to love all of you the ways and means I can master: as the ultimate communications misfit!
And always remember: you’re not doing anything wrong. This is about me, not you!