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!

Home Is where Your Wine Is Sweetest

They tell me that wine is the new tobacco in North Carolina. Honestly, when I heard that, I was surprised they didn’t think of wine in North Carolina way, way, way longer than this… Coming from the rolling hills of the Romanian Moldova, I can tell you: grapes love hills and they love sunlight. Maybe not this much sun and humidity, but they can work with it. And boy, after today, can they so work with it!!

This Saturday, I volunteered, on behalf of the Greensboro Jaycees, to help wine makers at the recent NC Wine Festival in Winston-Salem. Funny: Winston, one of the former cigarette kingdoms, now hosting the wine festival: things are turning around indeed.

My job didn’t involve much, so I had plenty of people watching time. And let me tell you: I have not done this much people watching since I was in New Orleans. I am not kidding!

It was interesting to see such a colorful crowd:

- youngsters, barely legal to drink, punk rock locks and all;

- college freshmen sporting new tanning bed tans for the summer;

- geeks sporting colorless skin and pimples;

- sophisticated” wine connoisseurs on rants about the “nose” and the “legs”, the “bouquet” of every sip of wine they had – much to the dismay of the simple wine seller who just ferments the apples and the blackberries and the grapes, for God’s sake, and who adds with rolling eyes, under his breath: “why the hell do you wanna be so damn tight-ass pretentious about the damn thing; we’s simple folks, we just squish grapes”;

- plain, down to earth people who are just here for something to do on a Saturday;

- and, of course, to remind you you’re not in Napa nor in Tuscany, … rednecks, oh Lord, so many rednecks!! Those folks add the local color. For sure!

And no, I am not being judgmental, it’s what they were, and they would agree with me.

Where but in the South do you find a wine buyer, Harley tank top and all, visor and mullet haircut, sleeves of tattoos on his arms, huge, and I mean enormous bald eagle silver ring on the middle finger, saying when asked for the address: “15 Main Street, Remington, VA – Remington, just like the rifle” (make your own “flat i” pronunciation here)?!

Another customer was wearing a Rebel flag t-shirt, proudly, over his beer gut (should beer guts even be allowed at the wine festivals?), with the inscription: “If this flag offends you, you need a history lesson”. No comment on that one.

And let me tell you: I have never, in one day, in 4 hours, been called “hon” and “sweetheart” more in my entire life! I was everyone’s “hon” and “sweetheart”. They thanked me, and asked me for directions, and sweethearted me to death. I was sweethearted out at the end of the day!!

Other sightings worth mentioning are the many, many very pregnant women fighting the close to 90 degree and no breeze heat to taste wine. I was not able to carry myself around, in that heat; I didn’t want to add too much wine to make my legs even heavier, but they were troopers: baby in the tummy and happily tasting wine!

Then, another questionably appropriate finding: this guy, with a baseball hat that reads “The king of beers”… Hhmmm… Again: should that be allowed??

Now, a word about the wines, of course.

As you’d expect, there is so much work involved in making wine. But what shocked me today was the legalities involved in it all! What I found the most surprising is that the rules are not so strict because this industry produces goods for human consumption. No, the FDA and the USDA does not get involved much. They don’t care what we drink: have at it, and die, who cares!! The rules are strict, because the sale of alcohol is involved. Alcohol, remember? The big, bad, devilish evil that blurs your judgment and turns you into a monster. Is it the Bible belt? Or just Puritan America? Or a little bit of both? Again: for someone that grew up on wine, and whose dad made wine in the house, ever since I can remember, this is truly mind blowing to me. The alcohol restrictions, of course, have always been mind numbing to me in this country. And law people still don’t seem to understand that the more you forbid it, the sweeter the fruit.

The wine makers not only have to come up with these extensive researches, done by professional oenologists, that talk about the content of nitrogen they use, and the carbon dioxide in the wine, but they also, pay taxes on what they make on the wine according to the percentage of alcohol each bottle has. “You get people drunk faster, wham! bigger punishment for ya’! That’ll teach ya’!” And when you think Jesus Himself turned water into wine you really find no explanation.

The Native Vines (the first Native winery in the nation – owned by Lumbee Indians in Lexington, NC) wine maker and owner told me that some of her blackberry wine will want to ferment and be about 24% alcohol when it’s done, but she “has to stop it”, because that’s too high.

I was amazed at how much these apparently simple folks, mostly from rural areas, know about the science of wine making. They have to know, because they have to produce research for the lawmakers. If they don’t learn themselves, they’ll have to pay someone to put together the papers so they can stay in business. But in a small production, family-owned winery like Native Vines that means the mom, the wine maker, went to those classes. And she has to also produce all the paperwork necessary to stay open and support her family. It’s painstaking. They’re not “just grape squishers” after all.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that most of the wineries I visited had not only one, but a variety of sweet wines. My European pallet is always in search for sweet wines, mostly Muscat and Ottonel, which I find very hard to come by around the States. I find that the wine drinker of this continent favors dryer wines, like Chardonnays and Cabs, maybe Merlots, rather than sweet, fruity wines. Well, I tasted wines from maybe 10-12 wineries today, and each one of them had at least 3-4 varieties, red and white of sweet wines. Some of them were fruit wines (strawberry, peach and blackberry, mostly), but most of them were grapes. I think this was my first wine tasting where I even saw “Muscat” on the label. That’s what plenty of sun will do to the grape: turn it ever so sweet. I am in the right part of the world, then - I thought.

Quirky wine tasters and all, bad music and bad haircuts, scorching heat and burnt skin, it was a great day, all in all.

I was happy to help, even in the least bit, and I was happy to find some of the sweetest wines I’ve tasted. Some of these wineries, I’ll revisit, I am sure, on my weekend trips. Most of them do not have distributors, as the industry in this state is still in its baby years. So the only way to buy their production is to knock on their doors and ask for it. But I am so glad and so grateful that they’re this close to home.

Work Ethics

"Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar." (Drew Carey)

We have all been through this. Times when we hate our jobs or something related to it (the boss, the company, the co-workers, the team, etc), that is. For whatever reasons, and the reasons are too many to spend time here on them, we have all seen it before … But no matter how much they suck (the reasons, that is), and no matter what we see in our jobs, when we decide to “stay” and not to “flee”, should we not also, as free thinking and deliberating adults, make a commitment that we must do a good job at it? Or at least a decent one? Should we not at least close the door of that sucky office at night saying “I did the best I could, but oh, well”?!

I have never considered myself a “career woman”. I look at my job as giving me purpose, and giving me a source of income. It has to match my skills and I have to find enjoyment in the time I spend there. It also has to teach me something new, if not every day, at least every week. It has to enrich me, somehow. Otherwise it’s a waste of time. It must not fill up my entire day, and my entire cranium. At 5 PM, if possible, with very few exceptions, I want to close that door, lock it, move into my “real life” for the evening, and then unlock it the next day.

My job is not something I plan to tell my nieces and nephews about, when I am old and gray, and sit around the Christmas fire with them. It’s not something that it will necessarily go in my “life resume”. My trips, sure; my relationships and friendships, absolutely; my picture albums, most definitely; my job – just as a background mention.

But when I spend (so much) time on it, every day, I try to give myself 100% to it. Otherwise, what is the purpose of going? Sooner or later “they” will find out you’re not doing a good job, don’t you think? And one day, we all need references. It would be nice to know they will be available…

Our company announced in the first week of this year that it’s being sold. Our Publisher told us to pretend that we never heard that announcement. I did that. I tried to do that. But everyone seems to have listened to it, VERY carefully, and to milk all the bitterness out of it … And no one cares about the tasks at hand anymore.

The tune of the day, in the building, at every level, is “who cares?”. Everyone is behind, everyone does a half-ass job, and everyone is rhetorically asking “ who cares??”. And it’s driving me batty!

Loose ends everywhere, and past due assignments, and work-around-s instead of true fixes, when fixes are available, and budgets ignored, because we’ll let the “future owners worry about them”, and all swimming in the dolce-far-niente of the soup called with a shrug “who cares?”.

And the sad part about it to me is that it’s not the news of the sale makes my job sucky; and not the repeated lay-offs, not the volatility of my job, and the insecurity about tomorrow, either. It’s this “who cares? – I’m a slacker!” attitude that drives me nuts.

I feel like sending an “Everyone” email that will tell people to grow up or get the hell out. Because I surely feel like I am working with toddlers, and not adults anymore.

I guess mom was right: “In America people are worried only about themselves”. They don’t want to do gratuitous things, just to promote “good karma”. Their future is threatened, they sabotage the threatening “Now”.

And I am, again, a misfit. Because the way I look at it is this: the present, and the future will do, whatever they will do, and I have no control over those. But I have to be myself, 100%, in happy times and bad. And myself cannot allow herself to be a slacker. Myself is a hard working, conscientious and ethical worker in happy times and threatening times. The environment has nothing to do with my core and with who I am – which is more important to ME than what the future and the present want to do with me.

I could not go to sleep at night if I knew my core, my true self was not out there, day in and day out. In sickness just as in health.

10 years from now, I will meet these people and to me, they’ll forever be slackers. The circumstances of today all long forgotten and gone, they will come to my mind as what they are today: self-absorbed, vengeful, lacking any kind of work ethics, ultimate slackers. That’s what will stay.

But, as the minority, I am subdued! And once again, a slave. And in the meantime, till emancipation comes, I’ll wait at the bar.

"The Diaper Club"

Yeah, you knew this was coming: the entries (I suspect many) where I talk about my new nephew and “my” new mom, my sister … They both crack me up, and make me happy, and sad, and worry-ful and all in all excited every second of every day!

By the way, this is what my sister calls her house now: “The Diaper Club”. So, when she emails us now, she says “ So, here is the latest from The Diaper Club, here in Canada”. So, I allowed her to name this bloggy “series” – since it’s all about her, or because of her and her husband that it came to life …

Every day, I am waiting, with bated breath, for the next piece of news about the baby and about the mom… I never do anything, it seems, anymore, without them in mind. I am 5 months away from them coming to visit me and I am already getting the house ready for Patrick!

Bored in the NICU. "I wanna go home already!"

So, after the three weeks in NICU, Patrick came home – still very much advanced for his preemie self. He eats on his own, and other than a funky haircut where they chopped off his locks to stick IV’s in his head, he is beautiful and healthy looking! (He’ll tell me one day that “beautiful” is for girls, but till then: he is beautiful!!).

First car ride: "I am smiling, 'cause I get to go home! Hooray!!"

Every day, I cannot wait to find out what new things they both learn: her about babies and being a mom, and him about everything. I used to love teaching because I enjoyed opening up kids’ eyes to new and exciting things. Now, I can do it vicariously through the two of them.

EVERYTHING he does amazes my sister, or worries her …

He doesn’t cry much, but just like the rest of our families, he talks a LOT! In his own baby babble, which is more like random and squirmy noises, but he is vocal. I was fortunate enough to hear him yesterday, over the phone. Those noises made him sound so real. My sister added, bitterly: “Oh, trust me, sister, he’s real, all right!!” (we’re all bitter in my family, that’s part of our charm).

Of course, his simple and cute (to me) baby talking worries my sister. Just like his face turning too pink one day, or his "white saliva” ("milk" would be my guess, but hey, I am no mom), or his chewing on his fists worry her too, since he must be hungry … She asked puzzled yesterday: “Why does he do THAT? That noise - like a frog. Why does he sound like that? What if he’s sick?” I tried to explain to her, he’s probably bored and wants to chat, and that’s his way of saying “Hey, I am here, pay attention to me. I am awake! Keep me company!”. Or maybe he has an air bubble and he’s just telling her that. Or maybe he needs more noise and less light around him – who knows?!? Let him talk!

She then worries he eats too little, and he’s not taking in what the book says he should at this time in his life. I told her he’s probably still adjusting to being home – a new environment and new noises or lack of for him. Let him eat as much as he can handle for right now, new place and bad mood and all.

Then, there is the bath. Is she OK to do it by herself? Is she going to hurt him? Or do it thoroughly?!? I admit: the bath would scare me too! Too bad they don’t have “grooming for babies” at Babies-R-US like they have for puppies at PetsMart. Now, that would make someone some money!

Oh, the joys of first time parenthood! You can imagine: when you’re not sure whether you’re helping – or hurting more. And all you have to go by are some wooden language books and your still forming instincts. It cannot be easy, I am sure …

I can see how she’s torn between worry and utter love all mixed up with amazement …

Sometimes I worry that she’s going to take him back to the hospital just like you return the TV set: “I am sorry, ma’am, this one is making funny noises, like a frog, can you give me a quieter baby, please?!”. I kid, of course, because I love!

I love her so much, and I hope that my being away, and being somewhat detached from the whole hysteria of the moment she's in can bring her some calm, and someone “neutral” to turn to … I hope so. I know, she will be OK. She is a strong woman, and a bright one, too. She has a great husband, who’s there 110% of the time. She has all of us who support her, and try to be there for her, with either a piece of advice, or a sympathetic ear, when she frets he doesn’t get enough milk, or enough formula.

And I hope she will be able to look ahead, and realize that he won’t be a baby for long, and oh, 10 years from now, when he’ll want a cell and an Ipod and a trip to Paris for the summer, she’ll want to be back to where she is today, where all he is is cute and with fewer needs: like to be clean and fed.

Just like other millions of babies, he’ll be raised in love, and worry, and wonder of “what’s tomorrow going to bring”.

And every day surely is interestingly new when you have a baby. For them and for us, too!

Finally, home. "Where are the ends of this BIG crib??" - too tiny for the crib, but so comfy!

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.