Different Dirt

Accidental Blogging

2008-07-26T23:45:00.005+01:00

So this is how this occasion came to be. I had just sat down with what few moments I believe I have left (before she wakes up from her nap) and I decided to check out my favorite bloggy peeps. As I was clicking onto what I thought was my "cool blogs" heading under Favorites, I accidentally clicked onto "Blogger". D'oh. I was immediately filled with dread and remorse. I came so close to closing the window before it could fully open, but then I just decided to go with it. Blogger immediately reminded me that I haven't posted anything since April 2nd. Sheesh. That was like...(counting on my fingers)...a really long time ago. So, here I am. Accidentally blogging.

Life is full these days. Full and good. Thor's so brilliant (seriously) that Floyd and I have realized our job is simply to prevent hurdles and to pave the way for her brilliant self to carry on. She speaks (English) very clearly in 5-6 word sentences, she can sing the ABCs (L,M,N,O,P are a little garbled, but they are for me too), and she's newly fascinated by numbers. She's joyful, healthy and appears to love us as much as we love her...which is a love that is greater than anything I had ever imagined possible. She putters about the house and yard, singing songs, washing rocks, smelling flowers and pushing the boundaries with Jezebel, our cat. She sleeps through the night and, apparently, is becoming increasingly comfortable with napping at home (she's working on 2.5 hours this afternoon). We are blessed in a way that just never seemed possible. Actually, she makes the future seem possible...and that's a new thing for me.

I think I better go rouse her lest bedtime be too much of a chore. I'll leave you with a few recent photos. I hope you're all enjoying your summer!

Two

2008-04-02T06:13:00.008+01:00

Thor turned two years old today. The day started out like most any other day these days. She wakes up crying at about 6:50 or so. Her father and I went in, opened the shades a bit (not too much), and wished her a Happy Birthday. We then gave her a couple of books and left her in the crib while I went back in the bathroom to continue getting ready for work and her Dad went downstairs to get her breakfast ready. After finishing up, I went back to her cribside. She was playing and chatting with her stuffed animals...quite content. I asked her if she wanted to get up and she pointed at her bottom and said “poo-poo” in the sweetest voice you’ve ever heard. So I scooped her up. But before rushing off to the potty, I took a little moment with her. I held her in my arms, bouncing gently, and sang “Happy Birthday” to her...for the first time ever. Just then a starling came and perched in the tree outside her window and I explained that he had come to sing her “Happy Birthday” as well and she said “Yea!”.

Reluctantly, she let me dress her all in pink. A sweet little jumper that Nana and Grandpa bought her before we went to China and the pair of pink and flowered Mary Janes that we bought at a little shop on Shamian Island. She was a vision. A little pink cream puff of a vision. I say reluctantly not because of the pink but because anything you want her to do, she will refuse to do....apparently on principal. Sometimes we reason with her (don’t you judge me), sometimes we divert her and sometimes we just wait it out. It all depends on the situation. I’d like to think we’ve got a few tools in our toolbox, but that’s just plain foolish. She hid our toolbox a long time ago.

We were reflecting this evening how it was just four days ago that we estimated about 10% of her responses were “no” and this evening we seem to be up around 98%. It would’ve been 100% were it not for presents and cupcakes. Somebody must’ve slipped her the two-year olds instruction manual when we weren’t looking.

For breakfast she ate ½ an apple, ½ of my banana, some soy yogurt, half a piece of toast and some juice with her medicine mixed into it. She still enjoys her breakfast just like she still enjoys most foods; however, she’s definitely becoming pickier. She’s turned from fish (bummer), only picks at green things (normal), and is just plain fickle with everything else...except for rice. She LOVES the rice. Can’t get enough of it. Wild rice, brown rice, jasmine rice, Arborio rice, clumped in the bottom of the pan cold white rice...shoving it by the fist-full into her gaping mouth. She’s quite adept at the use of utensils; however, we haven’t found a utensil yet that is both safe enough and large enough to shovel it the way our girl likes it. Does Williams-Sonoma make a table-top front-end loader? The picture here is of Thor enjoying her berry smoothie. Scrumptious, non?

After breakfast we headed out. Papa’s sick so he stayed at home, while Thor and I headed downtown. Mornings are pretty easy. She gets in the car seat without a problem, she’s excited to go to “school” to hang out with her friends, whom she calls by name, she sits and stares out the window at the bicyclists, the river, the buses, the cars, naming things and chatting away. She’s now talking quite a bit. Of course, never when you want her to (remember – she’s training us, not the other way around). She’s used a few four word sentences so far. Her last one was “No more mammo tookies” (translation: no more animal cookies), which she said in a despairing way. She mimics everything we say now, so no more cursing. And she remembers words....from days ago. We have to listen hard because many of her words don’t sound like how we would pronounce them, but we’re getting better at it. Conversations often go like this:
Thor: “Deeda meemo car.”
Pause...
Me: “Is that an animal car?”
Thor: “Nooooooo.....”
Pause...
Me: “See the movie star?”
Thor: “Noooooo.....”

...and so on.

When we get to her daycare I’m in a huge rush because if I dillydally I’m going to be late for a meeting so, of course, she decides that now would be a good time to go to the potty. Sigh. So I take her to the bathroom where she decides, after inspecting each stall, that she definitely does not want to go potty. So I take her back to her room, where she decides that she definitely does not want me to leave and that she definitely needs ME to take her to the potty. Sigh. So we head back to the bathroom, set her down on the wee-size potty, and she pees in the potty...like a champ. Papa and I haven’t changed a poopy diaper in well over a week now. In fact, Papa’s giving her a bath and putting her to bed as I type this and I just heard the ecstatic “Yea Thor!!!!” that lets the neighborhood know that our daughter has just gone poo-poo in the potty. She’s even taken to congratulating us on our similar accomplishments. It makes for a happy household.

As I leave her at daycare she’s hugging one of her many friends. She still the tough girl and will sometimes shove a kid or steal a toy, but now I can say, “Gosh Thor, that wasn’t nice. Maybe you can give Nicolas a hug to make him feel better.” And she’ll do it. Big hug too. Not one of those fakey, pat on the back kind of hugs. Mother Effin Teresa I tell ya.

So I get to the office, make my meeting, make millions of dollars for my company, and I’m back to pick Thor up after her nap. She, of course, was the only one up. Every other child was sleeping like a log and Thor was tossing about contentedly. When she saw me at the window, her face lit up like a....like a...like a kid who’s really really happy to see her Mama. And having that face made in response to seeing me? Phew. It makes me feel a way that I will never ever be able to describe. So I pick her up and, like when she’s really happy to see me, she held the sides of my face, gave me a good look, a big smile, and began patting the sides of my head. She’s got a way of making me feel pretty darn good.

Then we’re off to the zoo. It was a rare, crisp and sunny day. I bought Thor some alligator sunglasses. We saw sea lions, and hippos, and we shared an elephant ear on the grass. She had sugar and cinnamon all over her face. I almost licked it off, but decided against it. I think it was a combination of the number of people around us and the de rigueur wire of snot that’s usually lurking about.

As would be expected, things kind of went downhill after the sugar bomb. She climbed in and out of the stroller, ran like a cheetah with her Mama chasing after her dragging the shitty Chinese stroller, and grabbed handfuls of the pebbles lining the floor of the African aviary.

At closing time we headed back into town, bought some candles and “mammo tookies” at the grocery store and stopped at our favorite Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. Papa and I were going to make Chinese food, but we realized that our evening would then be spent cooking dinner rather than spending it with Thor. So, instead, we ate nummy Mandarin eggplant, kung pao chicken, stir fried green beans and mounds of sticky rice. This could be the makings of a tradition.

When I asked Thor if she was ready to open presents she looked at me and said, emphatically, “Yes!” (first affirmative of the day I believe) and she sat down on the rug in her “ready to open presents” position (she’s been getting a few presents over the last six months – I’m thinking it’ll let up after this). We videotaped a relatively stoic present unwrapping session. You see we hit a little snag when we got a cool toy that was lacking batteries, then the batteries we put in didn’t work and then...yea, the moment was lost.

But we regained momentum when it was time for the cupcakes. That was when I heard the second affirmative of the day (btw - when did she learn the word cupcake?). Anyhoo... we sang “Happy Birthday” and presented her with the glowing flames representing her last two years on this planet...and she blew them out. How did she know to blow them out?! She was with us when I blew out candles on my birthday in China, but, man, there was a lot going on at the time and I can’t imagine she’d remember that. I think we’ve been to one other birthday party where she watched somebody else blow out candles...maybe?....or maybe automatically extinguishing a flame is one of those beneficial traits passed down from our ancestors on the Serengeti. Who knows...

But then she put her face down in the cupcake. And that was about when the evening ended.

Our little girl is two. She can no longer go in the “under two” section at the children’s museum. I’m glad she was already bored with it. It’s one of life’s little milestones, after which there’s no turning back. She’s sleeping soundly now. I hope she had a good day.

Nary a Fleshwound

2008-01-03T00:49:00.001Z

This is a picture of Thor on the morn of her first day of daycare. This was a day to remember and I’m proud to say she didn’t bite anybody’s ear off nor did she scratch anybody’s face off. In fact, I am quite sure there were no flesh wounds of any sort inflicted on anybody, larger or smaller than her. Whew. As anybody who has met her can attest, our little Thor is a fireball. She is a very confident person and does not suffer fools (a fool being anybody that dares cross her). Now don’t get me wrong. She is a very loving and kind child as well. She gives kisses and hugs and shows empathy for those that cry (even when she’s the person that made them cry). She can even be a darn fine sharer of stuff. However, she has also been known to leave a trail of stolen teddies, broken dreams and destruction in her wake. That is why we were so very very pleased to learn that she did not unleash the demons on this, her first, day of daycare.

Researching daycares is tough. Honestly, I didn’t visit as many as I would’ve liked. For a few reasons: Many of them are totally full, with waiting lists so long that they chuckle when you suggest that there could be an opening at some point before our daughter is old enough to be employed there. Others have websites that make them sound so sincerely smug that I couldn’t envision bothering them with the rigors of taking care of my child. I mean, when they say things like, “Disposable diapers have no place in our facility” I felt like gagging. Yes, we use cloth, but it is because I know what an incredible pain in the ass they can be that I sympathize with people that have chosen to not go that route. I suppose folks have referred to us as being smug (what with the whole recycling, cloth diaper, tree-hugging ethic we’ve got going on), but on the grand smug spectrum, we’re just not that far (remind me to post on the whole smugness thing, because I’ve got a few choice words on that as well). Oh yea, daycares....we didn’t research others because of their location or because, frankly, I just ran out of time. Yes, just one more reason I should be nominated for Mother of the Year.

Considering I’m a heinous and neglectful mother and probably didn’t research enough daycares, I’m pretty happy with the one we chose. Thor is in a “classroom” with about seven other kids between the ages of 18 and 26 months (they call them “wobblers” in daycare lingo) and there are at least two teachers. Her main teacher is native Chinese and she’s worked at the facility for 17 years, which is virtually unheard of in the daycare realm. She’s kind of like a Chinese grandma. How perfect. She even speaks Chinese (not sure if it’s Mandarin or Cantonese) and I’ve asked her to feel free to occasionally chat it up with Thor in her native language. The room has lots of light and there are just loads of things for them to play with. It’s about three blocks from my office and they are amazingly flexible. I can bring her in or drop her off at any time and the place was highly recommended by others that I work with. So, for now, we’re happy. And I think Thor is too.

Dropping her off was uneventful. Thor was immediately swept up in the fun of it all, Eric and I doted, then we slipped out. She never even noticed. I cried, of course, but, actually, it felt fine. It’s the right thing for us...for now. Today she was only there for a half-day and I came to collect her during naptime. Most of the other children were dozing soundly while Thor occupied the teacher with her curiosity. When I tip-toed in the door Thor didn’t notice me. Probably because she was thoroughly engaged in what her teacher was showing her. They were having a moment and that made me happy. But when I walked over to her and said softly, “Hey, Thor” she looked up at me and made a stone-faced beeline for my knees. When I picked her up she gave me *the biggest hug ever* then pulled back, smiling, and patted my head again and again. Like she was thinking, “It’s you...it’s you, I’m just really happy that it’s you”. Yea, it was one of those indescribable Mom moments.

The teacher said that Thor did great for her first day. She only cried when they tried to change her diaper. Understandably. That was probably the point at which she began to wonder, “just who in the hell are you people anyway?” But she ate like a champ (no surprises there) and she didn’t make anybody cry.

As Thor and I were leaving, the other awake girl approached her and I got a little worried about the interaction that would ensue. But, rather than fisticuffs, the little girl kissed Thor, then Thor kissed her back. It was just the cutest dang lovefest you’ve ever seen. The teacher was relieved as well and said, “That makes me so happy to see that, she can be quite the bully”, referring to the other little girl. Ha. Kindred spirits I suppose.

So it was a good day. A very very good day.

And here’s a picture from Christmas day. Remember those kilts I bought in Scotland for that day....someday...when we’d have our little girl (I don't know how to link to the post, but it was in August 2006)? Well, finally getting to wear them made for another one of those special moments. Life is just full of ‘em these days.

Happy New Year everybody...from the home of the God of Thunder.

The Diaper Diaries

2007-12-11T23:25:00.000Z

Here's a picture of Thor. I think she's wearing a disposable diaper in this shot.

About a month ago we went to our friends’ house for dinner. They have a beautiful little girl about the same age as Thor. We were excited to see them again, meet their daughter and eat their food, but we had ulterior motives. They’re way ahead of us on the waste reduction curve and they were going to give us the “straight poop” on the whole cloth-diapering thing. Floyd and I had been diapering Thor with disposables since we met her. Yes, they were the Seventh Generation, chlorine-free ones, but still...I absolutely hated tossing those into our can every week. Hated it.

So they showed us how to do it. They showed us how to fold the Chinese tri-fold, they showed us which covers they used (Bummis – cost effective AND effective) and they showed us their fancy-schmancy diaper pail and smell reduction system. The whole diapering system was in their daughter’s room (with adjoining bath). I didn’t see one poop stain or smell anything nasty. At all. They even opened their pail and I practically stuck my nose IN it to smell anything that reminded me of human waste. It was a very clean and efficient operation. It seemed so simple we thought even WE could do it.

The very next day, with my new-found knowledge and boundless optimism I went to the sweet little diaper depot (which are almost as ubiquitous as Starbucks around here) and I purchased what I could to get us started. Cloth diapering does cost more initially, and I wasn’t ready to commit, so I just bought what we needed to get us started on a trial basis. I bought the fancy-schmancy, stink-tight diaper pail, one Bummi wrap (they were out of stock), one Nikki wrap (because they didn’t have any more Bummis), a ½ dozen bleached diapers (which was a woefully inadequate amount), and BacOut (which controls smell and stains in a non-toxic and eco-friendly manner, qualifying its inventors for Saint status). Thor and I literally skipped out of the store, both very very confident in our new diapering strategy.

Alas, our confidence exceeded our expectations and things just went downhill from there. For the first several days, we were changing Thor’s pants every time we changed her diaper. We were having leaks every single time. Fortunately, I found a few more covers at home (hand-me-downs from a friend) and I tracked down some more tri-folds so that we could persevere. We tried different folds (at the advice of another cloth-diapering friend) and we made sure everything was all tucked into the cover. Yet our home was starting to smell like pee. Oftentimes after just ½ hour I’d notice leakage and when I went to change her, discovered the diaper wadded up between her legs. The urine was obviously either soaking through the diaper cover at that stage, or leaking out around the legs. I considered withholding liquids...

I went back to the original diaper store and pleaded my case with her. What could we be doing wrong? She went over the same, original folds and asked lots of questions about which covers might be worse, better, etc. (we had no data on that). She did point out that we had only washed the unbleached diapers once before we started using them, so it’s probable they weren’t effective yet (unbleached diapers need to be washed SEVERAL times before they’re effective – something to do with waxes in the weave). I told her about the wadding up between the legs and she said that shouldn’t happen. She mentioned that Thor might be a “heavy wetter” (?) and that some kids were just like that. She then suggested I change her more often (But every ½ hour?? Come on.). When I left the store this time, I felt much less optimistic and actually kind of downtrodden. There was no skipping.

How come everybody made it look and sound so darn easy? It was so important to us to make this work, but we were spending too much time on clothes changes (I started thinking of Thor as our own little Vanna Wh!te) and laundry, my hands were drying up from washing the covers all day every day and, importantly, our home (and our daughter) were beginning to acquire the faint smell of urine. So. Not. cool. But our only option was to give up, and when I thought about that I thought about disposables. And when I thought about disposables I thought about how bad I had felt when I rolled our garbage can to the curb, loaded to the gills with plump excrement dumplings....then about how good it felt to glide our now lightweight, mostly empty can to the curb. I suppose it was this thought that kept us going.

So we washed the diapers again...and again...and again, because that’s what you do, and we started using doublers every single time, rather than just at nap and bedtimes. We change her MUCH more frequently, but certainly not every ½ hour. We have learned that our daughter probably is a heavy wetter (whatever that means) and that the wadding-up between her legs appears unavoidable (even with frequent changing). We’ve come to expect leaks at least once or twice a day, but we rejoice when we don’t have to change her pants. There have only been one or two occasions where we didn’t have to wash the cover with a changing...so we wash lots of covers. I think the diapers have gotten better (more absorbent) with more washings and we’ve jettisoned a couple of the hand-me-down covers that probably weren’t effective any longer. And, most importantly, the improvements to the system have eliminated any lingering odors in my home AND on my daughter (I really didn’t want her to be the one that smells like pee).

The upshot is that we’re still learning, but we’re making it work. It’s important to us. Surprisingly important actually. I told a friend that I was cloth-diapering (I won’t lie, it was as a lead-up to bitching about it) and before I could say more she just looked at me and asked, “Why?” I quickly responded with, “Because it’s the right thing to do.” I don’t mean to be smug about it, but I do think it’s the right thing to do. I care about the environment and I try to make an effort in every other aspect of my life to reduce waste...so why not this one? And it does make me feel pretty darn good when I can see (and feel) the difference that I’m making when I roll that can out to the curb every week.

Our lives have certainly changed with cloth diapers. I would say that, with cloth diapers, I flush the toilet about 2-3x more per day than I would otherwise (I only need to flush when it’s a poopy diaper and, because our daughter is nicknamed “The Refrigerator”, I’ll let you imagine what those poops are like) and I do about 2-3 extra loads of laundry per week. It takes a bit more time per diaper change, but usually not much (poopy ones require more time). Obviously, I’ve never been so intimate with human waste before but you get over it. I just snap on my big, yellow gloves when I have to take the plunge. Other than that, nothing’s changed. Oh, there is the whole feeling smug thing, but that dissipates pretty quickly when I pull on my big, yellow gloves...

Thor and the Coyotes

2007-11-11T05:34:00.000Z

We had carpenters breathing down our necks yesterday, waiting to put the last touches on our kitchen floor, so we loaded up the Suby and headed to our cabin east of the mountains. We'd brought Thor out there once before. Just a day trip, to show her around and get her used to the place. We honestly had no idea how she would like it. It's very...rustic and it's mostly about the out-of-doors. But she dug it. Totally. E-Mom (Thor's God Mom) gave Thor a pair of hand-me-down Carhartts, so she also fits right in with the whole outdoorsy country gig going on out there. She's fascinated by bugs, gladly kicks through leaves, probes dirt, fondles rocks, and notices the flitting of small birds. Very impressive for a city gal.

Because I'd been feeling like doo for a few days now, Floyd took Nola on a bit of a hike and left me to snooze on the couch. When they returned the fire was roasting and it was getting pretty dark outside. I was lying in a pool of drool on my pillow. Floyd set about making some din-din (tofu in Punjabi sauce over rice - a cabin favorite) but had to step outside for something or other. When he came back in he announced our neighbors the coyotes and gathered up Thor for an introduction. Apparently, it was silent when he went out, but soon heard a dog bark and that set off the coyotes. They were now howling all around the cabin, up the canyon, down the canyon and giving him all sorts of goose bumps. I was still confined to the couch (feeling like poo and all) so he and Thor stepped out into the dark for a proper introduction. They were out there for a while.

When they came back in and shook the cold off, Daddy asked Thor what the coyote sounded like and she lifted her head and gave a great wee, "Oooooo...oo...oo..Oooooo". That's my girl.

The Rolling Meme of Doom...

2007-11-07T20:27:00.000Z

...makes a pitstop at Different Dirt. I realize y'all would much rather hear about the new addition to our family so I've attached a photo at the end of all of my rambling BUT you have to read all of my rambling first. No cheating. Ahhh...who am I kidding?

Everybody knows the rules by now so I'll just dive in...

1. What secret/surprising/personal goal (that is realistically achievable within the next 15 years) would you like to fulfill?

See Bigfoot.

2. Can you list an event in which you made a last minute decision or guess that significantly changed the path of your life?

The first thing that comes to mind is the commitment that my husband and I made to become Thor’s parents. Obviously, there was nothing “last-minute” about our decision to adopt, but deciding to pursue her, based upon her picture, was immediate and from the gut...and it significantly changed the path of our life.

3. What is one unrealistic goal (but your total secret dream) that you would love to come true, but are pretty sure it won’t ever happen?

To become completely self-sufficient - living off-the-grid, growing our own food. I know, it’s so trendy, but I’ve had that dream since I was in high school, which was a very very long time ago. I think we can get close, but probably not completely there. I love tropical fruits too much.

4. Who has had the most influence on your life and what did they teach you?

Hmmm....the most influence on my life. That’d be my parents I suppose. They both taught me very different things. My Mom once told me that I could be anything I wanted to be plus she taught me how to tie my shoes. My Dad taught me how to make pancakes in a cast iron skillet and how to make a fire.

5. You are on a deserted island. You are stranded with someone from any point in time for 2 months (they are coming to rescue you but are busy right now). Other then family/friends/naval engineers, who is it?

Two months is great. If you’re really focused, which you would be on a desert island, you could learn to do something reasonably well...like play the guitar. Trouble is – most guitar players don’t really seem like the kind of folks I’d want to hang out with for that long. Maybe Bonnie Raitt. She seems like she’d be a good teacher and cool to hang out with. I hope she brought her guitar.

6. Name and describe 3 things on your mind lately. Is there any particular reason why you’re thinking about a particular thing?

- Being a Mom – It’s still amazing to me and I don’t think I’ll ever take it for granted.
- Finding recipes for wholesome meals that don’t take a lot of time....seriously.
- What goes on in my daughter’s brain? I’m pretty obsessed with this one of late.

7. If you could go back to one moment in time and change it, what would the moment be and what would you change it from and to?

The only thing I can think of right now has to do with my 20-year high school reunion. Sheesh. I wish I hadn’t been such a flake. Basically, I thought I was too cool to go, I wound up going, and I think I was just brazen. It makes me shudder to think about it. I wish I had approached this event with more deference and respect for the nice people that I used to be close to.

8. What is your biggest pet peeve and is there anything that you can do or not do to stop other people from doing it?

I don’t really know what my biggest pet peeve is, but I certainly hate rude people. Such as people that don’t say “hi” back. I deal with this by continuing to walk, then saying “hi” to myself, hopefully loud enough that they’ll hear me. I realize this probably does nothing to change them...but it makes me feel better.

9. Who has been the most influential teacher in your life and why did he or she have such an impact on you? Have you sent them a note?

Isn’t it amazing how a great teacher can change your whole life? I’ve had two favorite teachers. One was my creative writing teacher in high school and the other was my ornithology professor in college. I haven’t sent either one a note. I have always meant to send one to my college professor. Maybe I should make this my answer to #1.

10. What three things do you regret not learning to do?

I don’t know how to answer this because I’m not dead yet.

11. What is your biggest fear?

That somebody I love will die.

12. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I’d like to be a more confident public speaker....and maybe do something about my right ear that sticks out too far.

13. What is the answer to life, the universe, everything?

Water.

14. If you knew, beforehand, that the wait for your child from China would take this long and drastic a time frame, would you still go through with it or would you choose another country?

Hmmm...considering the countries that were open at the time we started the process, I think China would still have been the best option for us. Of course, we only waited 12 months from DTC to seeing Thor’s photo. Would we do it again knowing that the wait is the heinous thing that it is? Not sure. We’ll see I suppose.

15. What is one food that most people like that you do not like at all?

Hmmm...“most people” that I hang out with like spicy food and I just can’t handle it. Never really could. I loves me some Thai, Mexican and Chinese food – but just one star, thank you.

16. Name one place in the world you would love to spend at least one month visiting? Is there anywhere on earth that is so repulsive to you that there is no amount of money that could convince you to visit it?

I’m looking forward to a long trip to Africa someday. A month-long safari would be dreamy. Repulsive place? Man, that’s tough. I enjoy places that many folks would consider repulsive. For me it’s more a situational thing. For example, I wouldn’t want to be at the Salton Sea in August during a heat wave. You can taste the stench.

17. What book have you just finished reading and why did you pick it up? Would you recommend it to others?

I can’t even remember the last book I read. I have “mommy-brain” big time and I can’t remember what I did yesterday or what I fed my child for breakfast this morning. Book? Oh yea, the last book I actually read cover-to-cover was Attaching in Adoption by Deborah Gray. Great book. Very helpful. Very readable. I’m currently reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I’ve read the same page again and again for the past 3 weeks.

18. Share a relatively quick and easy recipe for Fall. One pot/dish recipes given extra credit.

Shit, I don’t know. You tell me. I made “Hamburger Buddy” last night because we had company, including some wee ones that I wanted to make happy. It’s supposed to be a healthy, veggie-laden version of the old Hamburger Helper. It clogged up my food processor, it gave us all gas and, importantly, it wasn’t fast. It did, however, make enough for loads of leftovers. Yea. More gas.

19. Would you rather be financially well off, but unhappy, or a happy person who is always in need of money?

Well, if you’re truly happy then why do you need more money? I’d have to take the latter.

20. What is the most comforting sound in the world to you and why?

It used to be rainfall, but I think it’s becoming the sound of my daughter’s laugh. I know. Cornball.

21. What is your all time favorite book? If you aren’t a reader, what is your favorite movie? And why?

Favorite book? For me it’s impossible to have a favorite. Like a song or a city, it’s a situational thing. Every book has a mood and it becomes a favorite for me when I read it at that perfect moment in my life when all of my receptors are open to it. I really enjoyed The Wind in the Willows and Alice in Wonderland when I was young. I enjoyed A Wrinkle in Time when I was about 13, then The Baron in the Trees by Italo Calvino when I was in college, and Sometimes a Great Notion in my mid-20’s. Recently, I had a love affair with Life of Pi.

22. Share one of your most cherished childhood memories.

My Mom and Dad would both read to me after tucking me into bed. I think they each read me The Wind in the Willows...I loved it that much. Sometimes my Dad would softly sing Sweet Baby James and pick away at his guitar until I fell asleep. He also did a sweet, lullabye version of Wonderful World by Sam Cooke.

23. What are you paranoid about?

Death.

24. What trait of yours do you MOST hope your children will carry on?

I think I have a pretty keen sense of wonder. Some folks might call it naiveté. Whatever. It makes life more fun.

25. What’s your guilty pleasure?

I feel so guilty about it I’m not going to share it with all of you.

26. What would you buy if you had a thousand dollars to spend on yourself? The only catch is that it has to be a totally selfish purchase, just for you. No paying bills or buying a year’s supply of wet wipes.

I could buy a pair of sweet-ass 10x40 Zeiss binoculars and still have some money left over to do a weekend birding trip.

27. Help me update my iPod...name your favorite artists, and then your favorite song that they perform.

Sorry I can’t be much help on this one. I love music but I don’t know a lot about new music. I basically stopped being hip several years ago (at least I thought I was hip). Yesterday I listened to a lot of Johnny Cash because the electrician was at the house all day and I wanted to make him happy. I think it worked. He’s a big, tough guy, but he sang out-loud to Walk the Line. After we ran out of Johnny Cash we switched it to Led Zeppelin. I think the carpenters enjoyed it.

If I could recommend any song to anybody wanting to update their iPod it would have to be White Girl by X (the band). Listen to John Doe’s little growl in the middle of it and try not to get all swoony.

28. What is your favorite charity?

Heifer International. I got a goat for Christmas last year.

29. In The Shadow of the Wind, there is a beautiful passage that says “few things leave a deeper mark on a reader than the first book that finds its way into his heart.” Do you think this is true, and if so what is your “first” book and why.

I think this is very true. That book for me would have to be The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame. If it didn’t encourage my love for good literature and the out of doors, it was certainly a nice introduction to them. I still remember those characters as if they were good friends. Mole, Ratty, Toad, and Badger. They still make my heart sing.

I can’t wait to read this book to Thor. I hope she enjoys it half as much as I did.

30. What is your favorite wilderness hike and why? (You knew I was going to ask this-if you aren’t a hiker, you can modify it to drive by landscapes or whatever speaks to you.)

Hmmmm...I’m particularly fond of the trail that runs along the Bogachiel River in Washington’s Olympic Mountains. I used to hike this trail as part of my job when I was studying the Pileated Woodpecker. I once heard “Bogachiel” means “very muddy when it rains a lot” in the native people’s tongue. I believe it. I learned to flyfish along this river, I camped along it over 100 nights, and I got to know it like the back of my hand. It’s nice knowing such a beautiful place so well.

31. What were/are your nicknames? Do you like them?

Not really any nicknames. I have a very common first name, so most folks called me by my last name, which is now my maiden name. I’ve had a different last name for several years now, but some folks still call me by my maiden name. It just fit. Still does.

32. What was your first concert? Your most recent?

My first concert was Leif Garrett at the Puyallup Fair. I got his autograph. My first *real* concert was Ozzie Osbourne – Crazy Train at the Tacoma Dome. He wore blue spandex pants and hung a midget on stage. Dude. My most recent concert was Beck/Radiohead in Dublin.

33. Have you ever done someone the dirty? I mean really, foully, badly wrong. And would you do it again, and why?

I’m not sure if I know what “doing someone the dirty” actually means...but I don’t think I have. Well...when I was in about 3rd grade I was involved in an incident in which sap was stuck in the goofy girl’s hair. I still remember it. I was not an instigator, but I didn’t help her. I still feel bad about it. I suppose I cheated on a boyfriend or two but, considering the quality of the initial relationships, I don’t think my actions were really, foully, badly wrong.

34. If you found out that the universe HAD been created, and you could ask the Creator one question, what would it be?

Do you regret giving us opposable thumbs?

35. What were your dreams as a child?

I wanted to be a dancer. I watched the movie "All That Jazz" again and again and memorized all the dances. I also had an unusually strong affinity for Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire movies....still do I suppose.

36. What can you do better than most people?

Not dancing. I'm a darn good critter spotter though. Seems I have an interesting knack for spotting animals in the wild.

And I'm adding these two questions:

37. What's your favorite bird and why?

Well, I could say it's a situational thing. Even a junco can seem pretty amazing in the right light or on the right day. But I'd have to say that, right now, my favorite bird is the Robin. Not the American Robin, but the old world kind. Very round with a deep, earthy orange breast and the sweetest song you've ever heard. They're quite "common" and most congenial.

38. When/where did you last go camping?

Sadly, I think the last time we went camping was a couple of years ago. Gosh, could it have been our honeymoon? We did a great 10-day car camping trip from Oregon across Idaho, down through Montana and into Yellowstone. Very nice. Saw a wolf, a few bears, some moose and caught a few trout. Happy union to us!

Red Hot n' Rollin': Johnny(1,2) -> Our Journey to China (3,4)-> 3D’s Adoption Journey (5,6)->Waiting for Pumpkin (7,8)->Two Kayaks (9,10)->Watch Our Family Grow (11,12)-> Our Journey to Little Maple and Back (13,14)-> American Family (15,16)-> Chicago Mama (17,18)-> The Further Adventures of Spacemom (19,20)-> Mrs. Figby (21,22)-> Mortimer’s Mom (23,24)-> Mimiboo (25, 26) -> Sopapilla (27, 28)->Jiangli (29, 30)->Beeb (31,32)-> FD Chief (33,34) -> The Daily Grind (35, 36); Different Dirt (37, 38)

And now I will pass the torch to Perrin at twoladybugs. Have fun Perrin!!

Oh, and as promised...our little God of Thunder:

Gettin' 'cited

2007-09-11T15:34:00.000+01:00

I’ve been back in the States now for...I don’t know how long. Even after thinking about it, I can’t tell you if I’ve been here for two weeks, three weeks or four. I just don’t know. Coming home has been good in some ways. It brings me closer to Thor. I have been able to do things in honor of being a Mom. Things like shopping at Target and BabysRUs (or however you spell the blatant misspelling) and the baby section at Ikea. All monumental things when you’ve been living on a tiny island at the edge of civilization (literally and figuratively) for a couple of years. I’ve been making decisions for the house and planning a nursery and spending time with good friends. All the good stuff.

But being home has also been like smashing my face into a brick wall...really hard. I basically walked off the plane and into my office and I have been at the office almost the entire time. I come home (the rented, furnished apartment) to sleep. I work and work. I work so much I haven’t had the time to buy what we need for our trip to China or even think AT ALL about that beautiful little girl waiting for us over there. In response, I have cried and stressed and screamed, but I continued working. Because that’s what I do.

This past weekend I didn’t work because we had very very very special guests in town, of the Alternative sort (also known as the kind, generous and beautiful sort). And over the weekend I realized that I will disappoint people when I leave for China. I will leave work unfinished because I took too much onto my plate and was not realistic about what I could reasonably do in a such a short period of time. I let my needs, my family’s needs, fall to the side and I went to work with a pitbull’s grip. And then I was miserable. I was trying so hard. All the while knowing that, ultimately, I would be making no one happy. Most of all myself.

People ask me if I’m getting excited and I look at them, with my eyes sunken into their sockets (I’m not sleeping well either), and I explain that I haven’t had the time to be excited. I just haven’t had the clarity of mind or the space for that kind of happiness. And that makes me sad. Especially because I have no one else to blame.

So I’m coming out of it now. I’m taking ½ hour to blog this morning because I want to memorialize this time in my life. The time before Thor. The changes I’m considering...and making...as I make way for the little God of Thunder. I’m picking up my husband and my cat from the airport this evening and I will experience big joy. I AM feeling excited about that. I will then have 3 of the 4 puzzle pieces in one place, with only one wee one to go. That is very very exciting.

And then we go to China. We leave on Saturday morning, get there on Sunday PM and meet Thor on Monday AM. In less than one week we will be meeting our baby girl. Holding her in our arms. Touching her cheeks. Stroking her palms. Offering her Cheerios. Looking into those giant, almond eyes. We will finally experience that moment, and all those moments afterwards that we’ll call life. We will finally be really living it. In it. Not planning for it, or trying to convince others that we’re worthy of it. We’ll be living it. In our home. With our little girl. With our cat. With each other. All of the pieces in one place. FINALLY!!!

OK, now I’m getting excited.

Tick-Tock

2007-08-15T13:23:00.000+01:00

I heard the clock ticking today. It’s not like I was just waiting for it to tick. On the contrary. I was running around the house, packing things for the charity shop, sorting stuff that’s ours vs. what belongs to our landlords, moving stuff from this pile to that...moving out essentially. I’m leaving Ireland in a couple of days. Leaving Ireland. Leaving. Ireland.

So I heard the clock tick and I had to pause because I was struck with a very strong memory of what my life was like when we moved here two years ago. I had come from a relatively high-stress job, with a relatively high-stress life (some, but not all, of my own making) and when I came here there was nothing. Floyd would go to work and I would sit. Sometimes I would read, or watch TV, or go to coffee with other expat ladies. But, other times, I would just sit. And I would listen to that clock tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Marking the passing of time at an unbearably. slow. pace.

Why is it that time only seems to go slow when you’re miserable? Or, shall I say, when you think you’re miserable. Because I look back on that time now and I think about what I could’ve been doing with that time. And not so much "doing" with that time as "enjoying" that time. That precious time.

That precious, miserable time lasted about three months and then I managed to fill my time with classes and horse-back riding lessons, doctors visits, and trips into Dublin for acupuncture and herbs. We were still trying to get pregnant back then so I was pretty focused on that. I would go to the gym and work-out most days. Other days I would just go for a run. I slowly became more comfortable in the kitchen and began cooking adventurous meals. We ate at the table and I stopped watching TV. I had successfully made my life busy again.

Then we decided to adopt, so my life became completely focused on that for several months. Then we started to travel. And travel. And travel some more. We had friends and family over and took them to fun places like Paris and Rome and Oughterard.

And then our house burned down, so we had to focus on that for about eight months.

Then more traveling and more visitors who we took to fun places like Paris and Rome and Doolin.

And then we met Thor, so we’ve been focusing on that for the last four months.

And now we’re going home. Time’s up. No do-overs.

I was reminded today of those first few months in Ireland, listening to the clock tick, back when I thought I was miserable. I feel like I haven’t heard that clock tick in a really, really long time, so I became nostalgic. I have always said that boredom is highly underrated.

Now I’m going home. Back to my job and back to our lives. We’ll soon travel to China and bring home our daughter. Life will naturally be different, but I’d like to think that I’ve learned a few things in the last two years. I’m sure I have actually. I discovered today that I learned to enjoy the sound of the clock ticking.

A bus ride through Thor's home town...

2007-08-08T12:35:00.000+01:00

No Crescendo

2007-08-06T15:13:00.000+01:00

Last week we found out that we have been approved by the Chinese government to be Thor’s parents. Holy crap.

The approval came in the form of our Letter of Acceptance or Seeking Confirmation (LOA/SC). This is the most coveted of documents in China’s Waiting Child Program. It’s like getting your referral in the traditional, or non-special needs, program. Essentially, it’s huge. It means they have reviewed our files, reviewed our petition to adopt Thor, reviewed Thor’s special needs and deemed us good and fit parents. Holy crap!

There is now nothing but a few simple pieces of paper and a few thousand miles standing between us and our daughter. Holy crap!!!

We are thrilled, yes, but I’ll be honest with ya’. There are a lot of other emotions going on as well. And some of them have nothing to do with rainbows or ladybugs.

I don’t like comparing the process of adoption to the process of giving birth because they are very different on many levels. I have felt uncomfortable when listening to people make comparisons because it *sometimes* sounds like a desperate attempt by a potential adoptive mother to FEEL pregnant or to validate (for her or for other people) the connection to her adopted child and, in doing so, implying that being pregnant is better than adopting. And I don’t feel that way.

Therefore, it feels very strange to admit that I feel like Thor has been growing inside of me since the day I laid eyes on her. I have grown to think about her constantly. Every move I make, every decision I make, absolutely EVERYTHING that I do, I do with her in mind. Everything. I look at her face and not only do I know, intellectually, that I’m her mother, but I FEEL like her mother. I didn’t start out this way, but I’ve become this way. I can sense what her skin will feel like and what her little hands will feel like. I can see her running across our floor. I can feel her on my lap, and I sense her concentration as I read her a book. I can almost...almost hear her cry.

So I think I’m ready for this. Heck, I know I’m ready for this. But I have to tell ya’....I’m scared shitless.

Going back to the birth/adoption comparison, women give birth to an infant. A little, tiny creature that takes up very little space, sleeps most of the time and cries little cries with little lungs. Thor, on the other hand, will be 18 months old when we she storms into our lives. Very different story. They’re all different but, generally, toddlers take up more space than their small frames can account for, sleep only when they darn well feel like it, and have a loud desire to make sure people think you’re the worst parent in the world every time you step out into public. People give birth to infants so that, by the time they’re toddlers, they have learned how to parent this creature.

I just finished a book entitled “Toddler Adoption – The Weaver’s Craft” by Mary Hopkins-Best. It’s a great book that describes some of the trials that adoptive parents can expect when adopting a toddler, and how they might address these “issues”. I won’t go into the “issues” here because many of them are scary. Like really really really scary. Due to the objective of the book, she doesn’t spend much time talking about how wonderful your life will be after you adopt your little one. It’s all just plain scary. Yes, she presents effective tools for addressing these “issues”, which I am thankful to know about, but that doesn’t take away the scary. Just because you know you can repel vampires with garlic, doesn’t make them any less scary -OR- knowing that George Bush will someday be out of office, doesn't make him any less scary. So, obviously, that’s where this fear is coming from. (I love what people are thinking right now...”Oh Lord! She’s comparing her daughter to the undead! – please.)

Adopting a toddler feels kind of like a trial by fire. It’s not a slow build-up, or crescendo, to the maelstrom. Rather, you just start there.

I’m excited by my new (umpteenth) on-line group for parents of toddlers adopted from China. I’m sure I’ll find one or two kindred spirits there. I need to talk to people who understand the fear that their daughter will be repelled by them, who understand the isolation when nobody in your circle of friends can relate to your situation, who understand the rages and the grieving and the frustration and the night terrors. Who understand this particular kind of scary.

Sleep, Pee and Poop

2007-07-26T20:38:00.000+01:00

I should be making a list right now, but I just had to tell y’all something. We were recently informed that on or around last December 14th Thor’s sleep, pee and poop were normal. Yes indeedy. Sleep? Normal. Pee? Normal. Poop? Normal. That’s our girl! We’re just so proud of her that I think we’re gonna have t-shirts made up. They also wrote that she was lively and she had a good appetite. Ha!! Our hearts are just full to bursting. Full to BURSTING I tell ya!

We learned all of this from her surgery report. The one that they filled out when she went in to have her cleft lip repaired, thanks to The Smile Train. These wonderful people provide cleft lip and cleft palate surgeries to children all over the world...in 71 countries to be exact. One of their angel doctors fixed our daughter’s cleft lip so we made a donation in her honor. Go check out their website and consider a donation yourself. And remember one thing...her sleep, pee and poop are normal. HA!!

If anybody sees my head...

2007-07-20T09:55:00.000+01:00

...could you please pick it up and pop it in the post. Tanksferdat. You see, I think it’s finally popped off and I just really hate the thought of kids using it as a soccer ball or some dog chewing on it. It hasn’t been doing me much good lately but I'm thinking it could really come in handy at some point in the future. ? Maybe.

You know how they say there are like three really big life changes that can affect your family: 1) Having a child, 2) Moving, 3) Changing jobs, and let’s just add another for fun 4) House burning down. Any one of these things is known to be a major stressor, but what would a therapist say if they knew I was dealing with all four at the same time? They would probably advise me to just leave the head because I don’t really need it right now and it’s just going to pop off again tomorrow.

So here’s a little update, saving the best for last of course...

House Burning Down (or “essentially destroyed by fire”, as we prefer to say): The house is coming along great. Our contractors and their marketer turned the restoration into a real project that showcases green building practices and “what to do if your house burns down” education. We’ve got hard hat tours, open houses, way cool vendor participation AND our home has been chosen to be on the City’s Build it Green! Tour this year. All this AND the restoration is coming along great. The plumbing, wiring and radiant heat are all in and now they’re putting up sheetrock, which means there’s actual walls. The windows and doors are in and they’re absolutely stunning (at least from what I can tell in the pictures) and the siding is going up on the back of the house (where the fire was). All of this while we’re on the other side of the planet. It’s all quite amazing actually. Our contractors are wonderful and kind and we trust them. If it were not for them our heads would’ve popped off a long time ago. We have no doubt the house will be absolutely gorgeous AND we’re thinking that, after a couple of dinner parties and some Thor-time in the Tupperware cupboard, she’ll be ours again.

Moving and Changing Jobs: I need to combine these because they kind of go together. Things are a little complicated on this front. We were originally planning on going home at the beginning of August because that’s the end of our two years here, but the house won’t be done by then so we were granted an extension from The Death Star, requiring certain commitments from Floyd. Along came Thor...and we’re suddenly wondering how quickly we can move back...but Floyd made commitments...but the house won’t be done...you get the picture. Then we add the issues with my little place of employment (I think we called it R2D2 before). The messages are mixed but I’m hearing they could use me back in the office, like...now. The conversation went something like this...

“So, I’ve only got one or two months left to play in Ireland and you want me to come back early and go to work? Are you out of your fekkin’ mind?”
...
“Oh…you’re going to pay me?
...
“How much?”
...
“I’ll see you Monday.”

It’s just that simple. We have a few expenses right now so we’ve gotta dig deep and just do what needs to be done. And if that means going back to the States, AND my cubicle, AND being away from Floyd for 4-5 weeks, AND not seeing our home together for the first time, AND not spending our anniversary together...so be it. You gotta do what you gotta do.

Having a Baby: Oh yea, Thor, I almost forgot...NOT! Thor is front and center in all of this mayhem. As y’all know, Thor is in China’s Waiting Child Program because of her cleft lip/cleft palate. That program works a little differently from their Traditional or Non-Special Needs Program. Our Letter of Intent (LOI) was sent to China on June 26th and we are now waiting for our Letter of Acceptance (LOA), which is actually a letter from China asking if we’re still interested. Ummmm....gee, let me think... This seems like a crazy step, but they are simply seeking confirmation (the other name for this step) that we can handle her special needs. These days the LOA can take over 100 days to get (ugh) UNLESS your original file (the one we sent in May 2006) was already through the review room, which would mean that it may only take about 35 days (much better). Now, we’re pretty sure our file was out of the review room but we just don’t know for sure. It gets kind of complicated and involves lots of dates and I won’t bore you with it (as opposed to boring you with all this other stuff). Needless to say, only time will tell, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it (except take deep breaths). Then after we send back our LOA we wait another 3-4 weeks for our Travel Authorization (TA) and travel can happen within a few weeks of that. Essentially, if things go according to schedule we could be traveling as early as mid- to late September or as late as mid-November. But there is just nothing certain in this whole process, so we still send out LOTS of good juju.

Speaking of good juju, we are off to London this weekend because we have to renew some adoption paperwork (the thumbs-up by the Feds, i.e. the Holy Grail of adoption paperwork) and, in order to do so, we need to renew our fingerprints. Yes, you heard me correctly. Renew our fingerprints. Because they changed so much over the last year. I would really love for somebody to tally up what it costs, financially and mentally, the potential adoptive parents to comply with all of these fekkin’ silly-ass rules to bring home their child. I realize there have been a few bad apples but, man! The Feds (I can't even bring myself to name their office in this blog because I just know they're reading it) have us all by the cajones and it just isn’t comfortable. So, the good juju comes in the form of the vibes that we send to the Feds so that they do not choose to mess with us and we can get our renewed paperwork before we travel (feel free to light candles...if you have any left).

So – off we go to jolly-old London. We have our sights set on toy shopping to help stock the little care package that we’re sending to Thor and her foster family. We’re also going to check out the precious antiquities that were plundered from ancient sites all over the world, such as those we just saw in Turkey and Pompeii, and now reside in the British Museum (for safekeeping of course). We might sample a few real ales as well. So, as usual, any complaints I might have about such things as renewing our fingerprints are now falling on deaf ears.

And let’s not forget the nesting. That instinctual maternal nesting that I am so needing to do right now...and can’t. Imagine. I can’t decorate her room because it’s on the other side of the planet. I can’t buy baby stuff over here because it’s wayyy too expensive and we’d just have to, somehow, get it back to the States. It’s a little frustrating. But you know what I can do? I can make lists. I can make lists of all of the lists that I need to make. That’s what I CAN do. I can also read books about adoption and attachment, join Yahoo Groups, research craniofacial surgical teams back home, talk to other adoptive parents, bake cookies, and...make lists of lists.

So that’s where we’re at these days. Oh, and it’s been raining for 43 days straight here in Ireland. I don’t think I mind it as much as some but I definitely feel a wee bit mental. Something tells me it’s not the rain though.

Turkey by Birds, Part 4. Mediterranean and Aegean Coasts

2007-07-16T14:02:00.000+01:00

OK – This is it. I promise. I’m trying to wrap up this little travelbirdalogue, ‘cause I’ve got a baby to write about...

On our way out of Cappadocia we were planning a stop at Sultansazligi (totally westernized spelling as I lack the Turkish characters to spell it properly), a wetland complex that is listed in our guidebook as “worth the hunting out” for its bird life. Alas, it was dried up. Dust. When I reflected on the gross mismanagement of water that I had observed on our drive thus far, it wasn’t surprising (this is where I’m climbing up onto my soapbox). Of course water issues are not unique to Turkey. Chances are you can look in your own backyard and see the same thing (when I wrote “your own backyard” I wasn’t thinking in the literal sense, but then I realized that maybe we should look in our own backyard and think about how WE are using water...as a start). To be fair, the Sultansazligi wetlands might usually be dried up at this time of year; however, if they were they probably wouldn’t be wetlands. The following is a quote from a website discussing the wetlands:

“Agricultural intensification and associated water management in the basin poses a serious threat - reduced water inputs and a lack of rainfall led to the wetland drying up in 1990 and 1991. The wetland can only be preserved if further expansion of the irrigation scheme is cancelled. Industrial, agricultural and untreated urban waste enters through drainage channels. Tourists cause disturbance, and uncontrolled reed-cutting takes place... Illegal hunting of falcons occurs on the surrounding steppe. The management plan covers developing ecotourism at the site.”

But let me state the obvious, it’s going to be difficult to develop ecotourism if there are no wetlands (we did watch a Shore Lark picking dead bugs off the roadway, but that experience would be difficult to market to anyone other than the most ardent of birders). We saw water being applied to fields in the middle of the (scorching hot) day, we saw rows of restaurants with these archaic “showers” of water being dumped out of pipes at their entrance (I assume to cool the air and to create a sense of serene that water features are known for – because I deal with water issues in my line of work, this particular water feature made me sick to my stomach), we saw broken irrigation pipes spewing water into the air, we saw all of the same kinds of mismanagement and waste of water that we often see in agricultural areas everywhere...and it made me sad...and the wetlands were dried up. Floyd asked, “where do the birds go when their wetlands are dried up?” Good question baby...good question.

So anyway...

We headed south to the Mediterranean. This is the part of the trip where we fly by the seat of our pants. No reservations, no plans. We’re winging it. We figure we’ll get to the Med, find a quaint little beach off the beaten track and sit there for a few days (ha). But, before we do that, we decided to spend some time at the “crown jewel of Turkey’s birding sites”, the Goksu Delta, a vast area of reed beds, emergent wetlands, open water (fresh and saline) and agriculture. We showed up in the early evening and climbed up one of the lookout towers to spy for flamingos and whatnot but we were pretty much skunked. Yes, it was lovely, and I can still hear the sound of the wind working its way through the massive reed beds, but no birds, so we stayed the night in town and tried it again in the (early) morning. A gentle and quiet morning of birding afforded us glimpses of the Purple Heron, a pair of Marsh Harriers, Little Ringed Plovers, Kentish Plovers, Short-toed Lark, Skylark, Red-rumped Swallows, Black Francolin (no glimpse, just the call), Yellow Wagtails, the Yellow-vented Bulbul (love that name), and the European Reed Warbler. Not the sort of a list that most folks come back with but nice. Nice morning...nice birds. Best part though? The young fox that I came face to face with as I was bending down to pick up a fox(?) skull. Cool.

The rest of the day was kind of a disappointment. Our eventual destination was Patara Beach, on the Turquoise Coast...a long ways away...so we had hoped that we would be able to duck into a quiet little cove along the Mediterranean for a night just to break up the trip. But no. The ENTIRE Mediterranean coastline has been turned into one giant concrete block of hotels and condos. Now, Floyd and I don’t need a pristine beach, but we do have some standards, and these standards prevented us from enjoying a coastline that had been shamelessly brutalized by rampant, ugly development. I’m sure there were remote exceptions, but they were few and probably threatened. Sad. So we drove and drove and drove (actually Floyd drove the whole way, being the calm cool cookie that he is and best suited to driving in Turkey. I drove in Italy...no problem. Turkey? Problem.). So we wound up driving all the way to Patara, found a *wonderful* pension and spend the next day on the beach (i.e., the rotisserie) frying our doughy skin. D’oh. No more days on the beach for us.

One evening, after spending the day stumbling around ruins (Tlos and Xantos), we decided to walk (sneak) down to the beach. The reason why Patara was our destination is because the beach is protected as nesting habitat for Loggerhead and Green sea turtles. The one day we did spent on the beach I took a little walk along the water and saw several spots where a turtle had dragged herself out of the ocean to dig her nest in the sand. Despite its protected status, there are still a lot of people on this beach, all stabbing beach umbrellas into the sand, so it seems the turtles' chances (or the success of their eggs) are limited. There’s a sign as you walk out onto the beach, telling you not to do things like stab beach umbrellas into the sand but there’s certainly nobody there telling you not to do it and EVERYBODY is doing it. I found one turtle nest that, apparently, had been scavenged and I spent time picking up the bits of turtle shell that lay scattered about. Thankfully, the beach is closed at night because this is when the turtles come out of the water to nest. But we snuck down there anyway (yes, we are evil) and we walked along the beach under the twinkling, moonless sky. Soon we came upon a fresh turtle track and we decided to quietly follow it (I know I know...but, remember, we’re evil). About 10 meters away we found a loggerhead turtle digging her nest. I have dreamed my whole life of seeing such a thing. Wow. Despite the evidence to the contrary, we did not want to disturb her so we walked several meters away and sat down in silence. We just wanted to be in her presence. This was right about the time that a dog came sniffing around and alerted the authorities to our presence. Ah well...we didn’t deserve to be there anyway. I hope the old girl dug deep and that her eggs are doing well (the same goes for the rest of us old girls). So here’s a picture of the old girl doing her thing (zoomed wayyy in) and a picture of me saving a turtle (totally different kind of turtle) from sure death on the road (to prove that I’m not pure evil).

The morning we left Patara we hiked down to the wetlands and scrambled around the ruins. Saw some great Little Grebes floating about and watched the Great White Egrets, Coots (oh yes) and Black-winged Stilts doing their thing along the shoreline. I forgot to mention the European Scops Owl that we heard off in the woods the night that we did our nighttime walk (cool) and the Black-eared Wheatear, Masked Shrike and Common Sandpiper that we hung out with during our day-trips amongst the ancient ruins and rivers.

The rest of the trip is ruins, ruins and more ruins. I apologize to those of you that expect some ruminating on the cool old stuff, but like I said before, I’m not your man for that. Aphrodisias was probably my favorite. Possibly because we had the place to ourselves. Ephesus was a madhouse, but we did get to meet a Dutch fellow that was cataloging the interesting designs that had been carved into the marble at “shop fronts”, upper seats of amphitheaters, and other various places. They’re still not sure what all of these designs mean, but many of them served as game boards, like ancient Roman versions of tic-tac-toe, checkers, backgammon, etc. Some of the games they’ve figured out...others they haven’t. Fascinating. I love it when we can’t figure stuff out. Here’s a picture of this gentleman showing me how they think one of the games was played...on an ancient board (in my usual lady-like way...could you sit that way in a toga?).

So there you have it. Our trip to Turkey. This trip marks a few things for us. Our last (big) trip while living in Europe, our last trip before we head to China and bring Thor home, we both turn 40 in about a month and we’ve got a wedding anniversary thrown in there as well. One could say we killed a lotta birds with this trip (hehe). Here’s some more pics... thanks for hanging in there.

Turkey by Birds, Part 3. Cappadocia

2007-07-14T14:02:00.000+01:00

Day 7-10, Cappadocia

Driving south from Amasya, we headed to Cappadocia. Other than the breathtaking beauty of the landscape, the “lifers” (birds you’ve never seen before, such as Black-headed Buntings), and the brushes with death inherent to driving in Turkey, the drive was relatively uneventful. We headed straight into the heart of Cappadocia, one of the most amazing landscapes I’ve ever seen. Truly. Right up there with Eastern Oregon. Geologists would offer that geology is the basis of any landscape but in this case it’s the geology that really shines. Because the area is relatively devoid of vegetation you get to revel in pure dirty bliss. Check out the link, above, for a tidbit of geo info. If you don’t care, here are some photos that don’t do it justice.

Needless to say, this landscape plays habitat to a whole host of awesome birds and, as such, this was probably my favorite part of the trip. We had Egyptian Vultures soaring over our heads as we pondered an incredible sunset and Rock Sparrows regaled us with song at the entrances to the cave churches (see the pics of the cave frescoes below). Other birds that flitted amongst the tuff were the Rock Thrush, Northern Wheatear and Bimaculated Lark.

During our sunset watch we also spied the nest of a Long-legged Buzzard. After feeding the two nestlings a tasty little rodentia, the adult flew to the peak of a nearby troglodyte and gazed out over his/her kingdom. The two young ventured closer and closer to the edge of the nest (wanting to be like Mom or Dad) and we optimistically waited for one to make that great leap. Alas, no fledging on our watch. It was a nice thing to see though.

The Ihlara Valley was undoubtedly the highlight of the trip for me...but don’t say you heard it from me. This special place needs protection...fast. The growth of tourism in this area will be its death for sure. Surprisingly, we had the whole day to ourselves (actually, we did run into one family playing in the river - guess where they were from? Yep, the good old U.S. of A...jaysus, we’re everywhere). It’s a beautiful river canyon that lacks the “fairy chimneys” and standard geological jaw-droppers but it does have it’s fair share of historical significance with a scattering of, relatively unvisited, cave churches and dwellings. And the birds? Oh yea. As you would expect with any lush, riparian habitat in an arid landscape...hot for birds, man. Totally hot. We saw Golden Orioles, Black Redstarts, Nightingales (no song though, too late in the season?), and HOOPOES!!!! Just like the Wood Duck when I first started birding...I’ve been staring at that photo of the Hoopoe in my European bird book for a looong time now...dreaming of the day, and when that day comes you KNOW that bird. You KNOW that wing flash. You KNOW that crest. You just know. Pretty cool. There was a family or foraging flock of them that we followed (or chased?) all along our hike. Happiness. Then there were the birds in the air, riding the thermals along the cliff edge...the Booted Eagle and Lesser Kestrel. It was a fine day in all respects.

Then we spent ½ day carpet shopping. The sad thing is that we discovered we were really only interested in the 100 year old carpets and, not only could we NOT afford them, we realized how funny it would be to watch Thor’s sippy-cup opening up it's juicy contents all over a 100-year old Turkish carpet. Funny. Suffice to say that beautiful carpet deserves a more refined resting place than on the floor of our family room.

So here’s a few more pictures of the underground and cave dwellings in the Cappadocia area, as well as a picture of the Turkish version of yum. Stay tuned for the next installment where we visit the “crown jewel of Turkey’s birding areas” and spy on a nesting loggerhead turtle. You wouldn’t want to miss that now would you?

Turkey by Birds, Part 2. Amasya

2007-07-13T11:28:00.000+01:00

Day 5-7, Amasya

When the time came we were both eager to get out of Istanbul, not just to see the sites beyond, but because the air quality was soooo bad. I had come down with some nasty bug just before our trip and, even several days into the trip, was still struggling with some residual bronchial ick. I was pretty sure the smog, grill smoke (imagine 1000s of kebabs being grilled up every day on every corner), and second-hand cigarette smoke were probably not helping. Once we had rented our car and flung ourselves onto the mercies of the Turkish transportation system, it seemed forever to get out of Istanbul. The concrete just kept going and going and going...and going.

But once we got out, like really out, everything changed. The haze opened up and so did the road. Flat and straight. The landscape turned to a mosaic of small farms, rolling hills, deciduous pockets AND...utility lines! Yes, utility lines are the friend of the bird (usually) and the birder. They provide a suitable perch for foraging or hunting and they hug the road...where the birders are. A most perfect juxtaposition. We saw a couple of cool birds on the wire on this trip…the Red-backed Shrike and, best of all (for me), the European Roller (I'm a sucker for blue birds). We also caught our first (Turkish) glimpse of the beautiful White Storks...a flock of them snacking and loafing (my favorite bird behavioral term – refers to a resting bird) in an ag field (see those little black dots in the picture? Yea, that's them.). These are the storks that are famous for nesting on mosque minarets, etc. Cool birds. We’ll be seeing more of them later in the trip (aren’t you excited?!).

We pulled into the little town of Amasya, in northern Anatolia, where the air was (relatively) clean and the frogs croaked for love on the nasty, polluted river (As a side note, littering is rampant in Turkey. I realize this sounds very elitest of me, but, in addition to the very poor, I watched apparently very privileged people – even by US standards – callously dispose of their trash into the river, roadside, ruins, wherever. Most disturbing was the little boy that, upon finishing his soda, flung the plastic bottle into the river. His parents strolled beside him, the mother almost saying something [maybe just my hope], but choosing to remain silent. The father barely took notice. Apparently this is not a concern of even those that appear to have the resources and time to be concerned).

We stayed in a charming, kilim laden, restored Ottoman house with a pair of Coal Tit’s nesting in a gourd in the courtyard and House Sparrows that knocked on our windows in the morning. Mountains and cliffs surround Amasya, therefore, it was no surprise that there were loads of swifts and swallows swirling about. We saw House Martins, the swifts I’ve already mentioned, and Crag Martins. I liked thinking about how the ancestors of these birds were swirling around here thousands of years ago, diving at the slaves that were carving the rock tombs of the Pontic kings out of the cliff-face (see them in the picture above?). It was while we were exploring these tombs that we saw one of my favorite birds of the trip, the Western Rock Nuthatch. These little guys poke about and nest in old rock walls and ruins, which meant I could bird-watch and ruin-watch at the same time. How convenient.

We met a wonderful gentleman in the market in Amasya and he spent half of his day showing us around. He took us to the castle, brought us into the 15th century Medresesi founded by the Chief White Eunuch of Beyazit II that is now a boys Koran school (where I was astounded to be allowed in – the Turks obviously have a very different attitude about this kind of thing than the Moroccans) and the 15th century hamam (during the men’s bathing hour...I tried to stay outside but he wouldn’t let me, dragging me in, much to the amusement of the men steaming and bathing inside. Thankfully I saw no birds here.).

The real treat for me was the early 14th century Medresesi, built by the Mongols as a lunatic asylum, where music therapy was used as a means of pacification. Since that time, and still today, it is used as a music conservatory. Our host asked two students to perform a folk piece for us, which they did obligingly. I could’ve stayed there all day, listening, gazing at the intricate engravings, but our host found the voice of the young student to be painful, so he pulled us away. Funny...I would’ve never known.

And here's a shot of the traditional Turkish breakfast. There are a few variations but you will always get a hard-boiled egg, olives, a lovely Turkish cheese, tomatoes and cucumber. Happiness.

The next installment will have a little something for everyone (geologists AND birders)...we explore Cappadocia - home of fairy chimneys and Egyptian vultures!

Turkey by Birds, Part I. Istanbul

2007-07-12T09:28:00.000+01:00

* Edited to revise pics below. If anybody has any suggestions for *really* simple and free photo editors, lemme know.

Floyd and I just got back from a two-week trip to Turkey where we covered a lot of ground, saw a lot of amazing things, experienced some memorable stuff and ate A LOT of kebabs (or kebaps, as they would say in Turkey). This was a unique trip in so many ways, but it was unique for me in that I had a bird book. Yes, a bird book. “Birds of the Middle East” to be specific. And it changed the whole trip.

You see, I didn’t have a bird book when we took our trip to Morocco at the end of last year, and that really shook my universe. I had my binos (binoculars), and I saw birds, but I couldn’t ID them and, as my good friend the Chief can well understand, this was difficult for me. So I entered a sort of zen-like state where I simply enjoyed the unidentifiable birds for what they were...a flash of yellow, an snippet of song, a flit between the bushes, a dart amongst the leaves, a shadow on the wire, something gliding above me to briefly block out the sun. All very wonderful moments but, as a bird-watcher (or a “twitcher” as they’re aptly called over here), it was difficult for me. So I took a deep breath...and another...and then I let it go...again and again. Once I had mastered this zen-like state it really allowed me to enjoy other aspects of the space.

Whatever...I needed a flippin’ bird book. To this day I still think about some of those flashes of yellow and wonder what they were. It’s an addiction. I’ve got a warbler on my back and I just can’t shake it.

So this time I took advantage of a moment of clarity a few weeks before our trip and ordered the bird book, which changed everything. Now I could twitch twitch twitch away, disregarding ancient ruins, apple tea and carpet salesmen to follow some LBJ (little brown job) into the brush. Almost.

You see I love birds but I’m not so fanatical about birding that I fail to look at my surroundings. There are some people out there that give birding a bad bad name. We’ve all heard about those people, the serious twitchers (let’s call them tweekers shall we?), that travel the world counting up species, keeping their Life List, and completely failing to appreciate the places they are in. The people, the culture, the food, the landscapes...you know? I am not a tweeker. But birds do bring me closer to my surroundings. They make me think about the landscape, the habitats, the air and water quality, the disturbances, the food (no, not kebabs) and the predators. And thinking about these things gets me more in tune with where I’m at, on a few levels.

So I’m going to write about the birds I saw on our trip…and I think this is OK. First, because you don’t need me dumbing down some of the most important Islamic (and Christian) architecture and ancient ruins in the world. Somebody else (pretty much anybody else) can do a much better job of talking about those things. Secondly, and most importantly, I really like birds.

Now this might take a while so we’ll take the installment plan.

Day 1-4, Istanbul

Istanbul is a giant city. The historic (touristy) area is pretty much contained to the center of the City but the cheap, concrete apartment blocks stretch on and on and on; therefore, I wasn’t surprised to read that Istanbul has less green space per head of population than almost any other European city (Istanbul’s population is somewhere around 15 million, about the same as the entire New York metropolitan area). But not all birds need green space. Istanbul’s concrete forests and mosque mountains provide habitat to all sorts of birds. Noisy birds. Ror example, the swirling cyclone flocks of Common and Alpine Swifts shrieking and swarming the mosques and minarets all day and into the night, the Laughing Doves right outside of our window (guess what kind of a call this bird has at 5 in the morning?), and the Yellow-legged Gulls plying the skies, neck stretched, offering up an embarrassingly obnoxious laugh (remember that chick from Jersey at the wedding?).

Even non-birders can imagine my delight in finding the familiar cranky twittering of the House Sparrow (you know the one) was ubiquitous throughout city and countryside. They were everywhere. Even after driving 10 hours from Istanbul, to what felt like the most remote corner of the earth, I'd spy an LBJ, excitedly grab the binos and scan the shrub…only to see the unmistakable black bib of the House Sparrow. Little shit.

The quiet, less conspicuous birds were the flocks of Mediterranean Shearwaters that dodged the tankers and ferries, lightly skimming the midnight surface of the Bosphorous. And let’s not forget the Shags (tee-hee) and the Black-headed Gulls.

Interestingly, I had one of my more spiritual moments of the trip with a Rock Dove (a pigeon – or winged rat to some) that was nesting in the vaulted ceiling of Aya Sofya (“the Church of the Divine Wisdom” and, for a thousand years, the largest enclosed space in the world). Aya Sofya is generally a dark space but has the most amazing, dust-diffused light that comes in through the windows, illuminating the brilliant designs, paintings and mosaics that cover the walls and ceilings. While admiring this space, I watched a dove fly into its nest above and lose one of its feathers. I then watched the feather gently, slowly float down, through a shaft of light, to the floor, interestingly, to a very empty space in a room full of people. I waited a moment to see if anybody that was closer to the feather would pick it up...I mean how cool was that? But I quickly realized that nobody else had even noticed it. So I walked over and picked up, what I felt was, a most blessed of feathers. It served as the bookmark in my bird book for the trip and is one of the best souvenirs that I brought back.

Here are some pictures from Istanbul...and watch for the next installment, in which Floyd and Millicent careen through the Turkish countryside and bright yellow birds are identified!

Inter-Continental

2007-06-04T09:49:00.000+01:00

An internetty friend over at China Calling suggested we post a Google Earth image of where we live. Cool idea! I love Google Earth and we've had some fun playing around with it in the past. So I thought, hey, I'll post satellite images of our Irish home, our Portland home, our property on the eastern flank of the Cascades, and the City in China where Thor lives.

The interesting thing was this...you know how when you type your location into Google Earth and the image "flies" from one place to the next? Well, as I flew over vast stretches of land and giant oceans to get to each place I started feeling knots in my stomach. Anxiety. Almost a cold sweat. I started to feel, well, a little spread out. I felt an overwhelming need to pack up shop, go grab Thor, return to our nest and never leave. Ever. I suddenly needed all of these things that I love to be very very close to me.

And then I looked at the scale of things. Look at our Ireland home at 7,500 ft (obviously not a lot of demand for high res satellite imagery to, say, count sheep). We are one of the little brown dots near the top of the screen. Let's just say it'd take a while to walk down to the store to pick up a loaf o' brown bread. Yet, look at our Portland home at 3,500 ft. Ack! Houses upon houses upon streets upon freeways upon Plaid Pantrys. Then compare this to where Thor lives in China, viewed from 35,000 ft. Even at this elevation it's poor resolution because, well, because it's China. Gazing at that image I can almost hear the noises, the shouting, I can almost smell the warm, dank, choking air. At our cabin you can hear the wind touching the leaves. It's amazing to me how different these places are.

I suppose, though, that when you bring it back down to a human-scale, it's all about home. Floyd and I have "homes" in several places (does that sound pretentious or what?) and we've been traveling so much over the last couple of years that we joke about the concept of home. Where is home? We've taken to saying, "Home is where the Jezebel is" (Jezebel being our cat). Now that we've added Thor to the mix, I'm thinking that home is wherever she is. So here are some pictures of our "homes" on a more human scale. Thor's home? Well we don't really know what it looks like, but this image is certainly closer to the truth than any of those other doorways.

So it looks like I won't really feel at home until we've got Thor and Jezebel taking naps under the same roof (sigh....).

Barcelona - Girona

2007-06-03T19:20:00.000+01:00

We went to Spain with Floyd's folks several weeks ago and we had a wonderful time. I want to post about the trip because going through the photos and writing about our experiences, the process of blogging essentially, is a great way of remembering all of these places that we've been traveling to. It's sort of like a weird public scrapbook. So, until I get it together enough to make a real, flippin' through the pages kind of scrapbook of our travels (i.e., never), this is important. But the Spain trip was BT (Before Thor) and, obviously, a lot has happened since then and I'm having a hard time remembering what the hell we did. My head is full of other stuff. So, this time we're doing away with the whole "Top Five Fave" thing (did I just hear somebody mutter "praise the heavens"?) and we're just going to look at some pictures.

You may notice a bit of a theme...

First, we had to light a candle for the restoration of our home in the Chapel of the Holy Mother of Happiness at the cathedral La Seu. The candle we lit is the one on the second level, to the right. I know...of all the things to light a candle for. We are selfish indeed.

In the courtyard at La Seu.

Gaudi's House and Museum at Parc Guell.

I go cuckoo for beautiful tiles and Gaudi's home had some that I just wanted to snatch. It didn't help that we were planning the tile for the restoration back home. Hmm....Now if that guard would just look the other way....

Coveting this chair that I believe Gaudi designed. No, I did not sit in it. This is a chair that you don't need to sit in to appreciate.

More Parc Guell. Refined yet organic.

The Hall of Columns at Parc Guell. And, if I'm cuckoo for gorgeous tiles, then I'm flippin' whacko for mosaics.

Sagrada Familia...under construction. I loved the light in here.

Gaudi designed the columns to resemble tree trunks and limbs. It was like a forest cathedral. And see that scaffolding? Yea. Almost as impressive as the structure itself.

Sagrada Familia exterior. There's a lot going on here. Fantastical.

El pulpo at La Boqueria

...and his cousin on my plate.

Girona riverfront.

The Banys Arab (Arab Baths) in Girona, designed by Moorish craftsmen around the 13th century.

This is along the walls of the old city (Girona). I liked how the limbs framed the window, which was also framed by the ivy, which then framed the greenery beyond. Kinda dorky...I know.

Girona street.

I hope she plays the drums.

2007-06-02T09:40:00.000+01:00

This may be hard for some of you to believe...but I think there are some people out there who don’t think of me as a Mom.

I know, I know. I can hear you all saying,

“No!”

“Say it isn’t so!”

“Get outta town...and take your tent!”

I know it sounds preposterous (I say calmly as I wipe my hands on my floral-print apron), but I’m sure that’s what some are thinking. And I don’t blame them.

If we just step back to, like, the dawn of time. I was a Type-A workaholic and my participation in my few outside interests was basically dictated by how I felt after going out on the piss with my peeps on weekend nights. I rocked at my job, I dated drummers and I got tattoos.

And then I met Floyd...so I didn’t date drummers anymore.

As I’m writing this I’m finding myself wanting to make the argument of WHY people might find it hard to see me as a mother and HOW I’ve evolved and WHY I will be an amazing mother. But I think those topics are superfluous to what’s really eating me right now. I think I’m most interested in people’s expectations of what a mother SHOULD look like, SHOULD act like, and how a mother SHOULD behave.

Now, in all fairness, it’s 7am on Saturday AM and I’m not prone to having great, deep thoughts at this hour (nor at any hour for that matter)...so I’m just throwing this stuff out there, because I need to process.

I think that many people of my generation might view their own mothers as non-traditional. I think the 60’s may have been the first time that women had run shrieking from the June Cleaver model of motherhood en masse. My Mom was one of those women. While she was a very young mother in the late 60s I think she was relatively conservative, but still quite non-traditional. She focused on her career, she dated (no drummers that I know of) and I don’t think I ever saw her bake. Our family time was ordering pizza on Friday nights and watching Barney Miller (or Sunday night’s Dance Fever with Deney Terrio). Not very traditional, but good. And I wonder what sorts of opinions she had to face regarding her parenting methods and I think about what opinions ALL mothers (and mothers-to-be) have to deal with.

It seems that one of the really cool things about being a Mom now is that we have, comparatively, many different role models for motherhood in the media. Being a great mom is really “in” right now. There are loads of images and stories about non-traditional mothers raising their conspicuous families in pretty non-traditional ways. It’s awesome really. Yet, while it may not be surprising to see a woman with pink hair, a sleeve of tats on one arm and a baby in the other in my neighborhood (back in Portland), I wonder what sorts of opinions get flung her way when she travels outside of our ‘hood, to the Safeway store in the suburbs. Opinions o-plenty to be sure, because, despite the recent media, she doesn’t look like what most people think of as “motherly”.

I look in the mirror every day now and I think, “do I look like a mother?” Seriously. And not just, “do I look like a mother?” but “do I look like a GOOD mother?” Ugh. I embrace the lady with the pink hair and the tattoos as a perfectly appropriate vision of motherhood. So where are these thoughts coming from? Deep within my psyche I suppose. They’re there. They’re inside all of us that have been raised in the western world. We all have this image of Mom, Mum, Mummy, Ma, Mother, whatever, and she probably doesn’t have a septum piercing. Whether we believe in this image of motherhood or not doesn’t really matter. It’s primal and we are affected by it.

It’s been just over two weeks now that I’ve been thinking of myself as a mom and, fortunately, I feel pretty darn comfortable in that role. I think it’s because motherhood is coming to me later in life. This means, to me, that I’ve had a lot of time to indulge myself and now I’m ready to honor and indulge somebody else. It does not mean, however, that I am ready to give up who I am. I think there are still many messages out there that conspire to encourage women to believe that we aren’t truly “good” until we’ve completely given up our own personal interests and sacrificed ourselves on the altar of the Baby God. I realize that how we define ourselves essentially changes when we have children, but I don’t think that needs to entail turning our backs on pieces of ourselves that may not serve to uphold our maternal image. While it may satisfy the grandparents or the neighbors, I don’t think it serves the mother or the father (or the husband) or the child very well. Just like we deserve the “whole” woman, so do the people we love.

So, essentially, if this jammin’-Mammy wants to put on her biker jacket, sport her tats, and go see an “X” concert, you can bet your britches it’s gonna happen (after the essential attachment and transition period of course)…and, come to think of it, Thor’s gonna get a drum kit for her birthday.

Like mother, like daughter...and proud of it.

Danielle

2007-05-28T10:56:00.000+01:00

Check out the latest posts over at Danielle's blog. She's a little quiet but, otherwise, the consummate house guest and travel partner. I tried to get her to show me how she does those eyebrows but she remained quiet on that one as well. I suppose you can't give all of your secrets away. Cheers to Danielle! We miss you!

....then Thanking

2007-05-24T17:06:00.000+01:00

First of all...thank you. Thank you to all of you that kept us in your thoughts, that lit candles (at the church, in your hearts, and the designer, scented ones), that gave us words of encouragement, that prayed for us, hoped for us, that crossed your fingers (and toes), beat drums, chanted, and sent us good vibes and mojo. I truly think that all of these positive vibrations made a difference. And a big thank you to the people that believed in us....especially that small group of people, total strangers, that sat around a table and made the decision that Floyd and I were “the best” parents for her. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

(I can only hope you weren't imagining somebody's painfully tedious acceptance speech as you read this last bit...sorry)

So here’s the story...

Two weeks ago our agency’s waiting child list was scheduled to come out. Floyd and I had known this was coming for quite some time. We had talked about it quite a bit and we had “decided” (the quotation marks loosen the meaning a bit – you know?) that now was not a good time for us to seriously review the list. We had watched several lists come and go, but we had never been in the right place to consider the children or their special needs, mostly because of how the fire back home had completely disrupted our lives and had put question marks over many things. We weren’t sure of exactly when our house would be restored or when we might be moving home. Thankfully, we were able to resolve these things in the week or so following our “decision” and preceding the publishing of the list but, because of company and travel, we just never came back to it.

So, despite this “decision”, my face was pressed to the computer monitor the moment the waiting child list was posted. The list was posted at approximately 9:10am MST so it was probably about 4:11pm Ireland time when I saw her face. Her beautiful, precious, face, with the sparkling eyes and the skin that looked like it was lit from within. My heart began to race a little. I quickly read her translated file. “...she is introverted, reasonable, and quiet.” Reasonable? Oh I think so.

I had to leave immediately to go collect Floyd at work. I was tormented as I drove. We had made a “decision” and I wanted to honor that....but her eyes! I don’t want to make Floyd the heavy by not sticking to our “decision”...but she’s reasonable!

Floyd gets in the car and I’m still struggling. I keep my mouth shut but I’m a pretty emotional person and keeping something like this inside is just not part of my constitution. So I go with my gut....and I tell him what I’ve done. I don’t go into great detail...I just want him to know that I’ve fallen in love with a little girl and that I’m really torn up inside because of the “decision” that we made, and, and, and....And you know what? He’s fine with it. He understands and he says, “Great. I want to see her too.”

Which is unusual. Not because Floyd isn’t understanding or good or patient or anything like that. But Floyd is an engineer. Floyd questions things that many people wouldn’t consider questioning. Floyd considers most things...a lot. But he didn’t question this, which is unusual.

So we get home, make ourselves comfortable on the ratty, purple couch, we squish together, put the laptop on our laps....and we meet our daughter.

I gave no introduction, preferring to let her do all the talking. We stared, flipped through the few pictures, read through the brief file...there’s really not much to go on, you know? The whole meeting took about one minute. My heart was racing but I remained reserved. I already had my moment with her, so this moment was between them. Well I’m still not sure what she said to him, but it must’ve been brilliant. There were no questions, no discussion, no “what about...?. Amazing. It was as if we both knew that we would forever define our life by that moment...our life before that moment...and our life after. All he said was, “Let’s go get ‘er.”

So we did.

We learned the next day that there was more than one family that wanted to adopt her, therefore, each family was required to prepare a petition for her. The petition is intended to describe how this child has touched your hearts, how you are equipped to address her special need and why you are the best family for her. That is the only guidance you’re provided. It seems like a good process because it’s not a “first come, first served” situation, which would just be a crass free-for-all. Rather, it’s dependent upon an evaluation of which potential parents are best fit to care for that particular child and their special need. It’s mighty tough on the potential parents because you really have to put your hearts on the line for this child, knowing that you might not be selected, but when it’s done right, it’s really the best thing for the child.

To say that I took this effort seriously is a wee bit of an understatement. It was absolutely unbelievable to me that anybody else could have felt the way we did about her and yet I knew that, if we goofed up this petition, they could decide to select somebody else to adopt her. And that was just not acceptable to me. I felt, with all of my soul and all of my body, that this child was “our child” and it was impossible to remain reserved at this stage. I fought...hard. I wrote with every emotion pouring out of my fingertips. My previous post attests to what that writing experience was like. What those five days were like. Very intense and revealing. Floyd gave too. We gave everything we had and then some.

We wrote the bulk of the petition on Mother’s Day and, as I said in our cover letter, I prayed that it was just the first of a lifetime of Mother’s Days with this little girl in our life.

The petitions were due on Wednesday at 5pm MST. We submitted our 10-page novella on Tuesday morning because we wanted the review committee to have the opportunity to read every word of it. Every. Word. Because every word was from the depths of our being and the thought of somebody skimming these words made me want to wretch. Literally. Every word was chosen for her and every word should be honored as such. We just had to trust that they understood that and that they felt the same.

By Tuesday afternoon I had submitted an amendment to the petition because I realized there were a couple of items that we had not addressed in the first, and which may have been important to them. With our amendment they would either think 1) we weren’t together enough to get it right the first time, or 2) that we just wanted to be as thorough as possible and that we would always regret not sending in this last bit of information with the possibility that THIS was the information they really wanted to see. You know? There were no second chances here. This. Was. It.

Wednesday, 5PM MST is midnight in Ireland. Wednesday night we were restless. Actually, going out of our minds is probably a more apt description. We decided to play Scrabble to occupy ourselves. Scrabble with a twist. Every word played had to be used in a sentence about her. I found myself using words just because I wanted to use it in a sentence about her. Well here’s the picture of the Scrabble board...and us...for posterity’s sake. You’ll notice the words “praying”, "love", "wish", and even a part of her Chinese name (Floyd graciously didn't challenge that one)...not worth many Scrabble points, but totally worth it.

We had a very fitful rest that night. I hesitate to call it rest and it certainly wasn’t sleep. We both dreamt...dream after dream after dream...good news, bad news, wanting, crying, desperate.

We both opened our eyes at 7am. We were reluctant to get out of bed because we knew our fate would unfold as soon as we did, and, as desperately as we tried to be optimistic, we were terrified. Paralyzingly so (my heart stops beating at the remembering of how frightened we were). We talked a bit about how each of us was feeling, the dreams we had had through the night...then we resolutely got out of that bed. We had to remind ourselves that life would go on...that we would survive bad news just like we had survived everything else that we had been dealt. You have to. You just have to.

We sat together, holding each other, in front of the computer. We went to our e-mail and the words immediately popped out....”Very Exciting News for the M.. Family”...that’s all we needed to read. My screams of joy were primal. My tears, even right now, are from a place that is so deep. So instinctual.

The review committee chose us (us?!), out of 25 potential adoptive parents, as the best parents for her.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you....for our daughter.

We realize that we have a long way to go before we are granted the privilege of adopting this beautiful little girl. In this internet-world, we will refer to her as Thor, and in another post we’ll write a little more about her, where she comes from, her special need, etc. We’re still sensitive about photographs of her on the internet so it may be a while before we post those. You’ll just have to believe me when I say that her cuteness has the power to make old men weep. Her cuteness is mighty, it is omnipotent, it will consume you, and it will most likely prevent you from concentrating on other things. She’s just the cutest little God of Thunder you’ll ever see. Be warned.

Wanting

2007-05-16T16:02:00.000+01:00

Have you ever wanted something so bad that your whole body aches with the wanting? So bad that you feel compelled to lie on your back in the middle of a wet meadow and pray to the heavens for it? So bad that you’re washing the dishes and you just have to bend down and sob?

You ever felt that way?

And you feel like it’s in your control. There’s so much that you can do to make this one thing happen. And yet...there’s nothing.

Somebody told me recently that it was “in God’s hands now”. What if I don’t want it to be in God’s hands. Who’s this God and how did it get into his hands? Besides, that implies, once again, that we have nothing to do with it. Yet we have everything to do with it.

At least we think we do.

I certainly hope we do.

We have given everything we can. We have written down our hearts and we have double-checked the spelling and grammar. We have talked up the good stuff and we were honest about the bad stuff. I bled all over those pages. Trying with everything inside of me to splay our insides out.

Isn’t it funny to think that our words, just words, could be the keepers of our future. Who will read these words? What can we do to compel them to read them? I mean to REALLY read them. Nothing. But I try humor, honesty, appropriately placed exclamation points. Can I make them cry? Goodness no...they’ve read this all before. They’ve seen a million of us and they’ll see a million more. What can I write to make them see us as different? To make them see us as “the ones”, “the best”. The power and the futility of words.

Sometimes I think that if I can’t make this thing happen, this one thing, that I will never write again. I know this isn’t true, but it brings into question the worth of it. This writing. If you can’t persuade people with it, or bring to you "that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your whole entire life"...then why do it?

Drama, I know. But that’s what this desire thing has done to me. It’s driven me to drama. Overacted, bad drama.

And, man, you think this is bad. Just you wait. If I have to write about how we didn’t get “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your whole entire life”, it’s gonna get mighty dramatic around here.

So, please pray with me (to whomever or whatever) that we get “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your whole entire life”. If for no other reason than to spare the world another bad, drama blog.

I’m feeling very very protective of “that thing”. I’m afraid to put it out there. Maybe I’m feeling like I need to keep it close to my chest. Mine. My heart, my desire, my everything. Or maybe I’m feeling like I don’t want to lose “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your entire life” in front of all of you. I don’t know what it is, but I’m scared to put it out there. My intentions are real. Let’s get that clear. My intentions are very real and I have put them out there...just not here. I’m not sure what this is. I think this is a main dish of “rambling” with a side of “cry for help”. Dig in.

The clock ticks. It’s time for me to go back and make some more changes to the words that control our future. Another tweak here, an exclamation point there. Maybe if we soften this phrase? Is this word to haughty? Oh fer fecks sake...

Thankfully, the deadline is approaching and I won’t have anymore opportunities to make changes. Is that when it’s in God’s hands? I don’t know about that, but that’s certainly when it’s in a bunch of strangers’ hands. Skimming, analyzing, looking for key words (should I have bolded key phrases?). Will they get my humor? Jaysus...nobody gets my humor! What was I thinking? But they will see the exclamation points (!). Yes...maybe that’s the secret weapon. The exclamation point. The cheerleader of my soul.

And maybe the next time I write I’ll get to tell you all about “that thing that you’ve wanted more than anything in your entire life”. I really really really really....hope so.

So if you’ve made it this far, and if your name is God, or even if your name isn’t God, light a candle for us. Then these words will have done some good. Thanks. (!)

An Amazing Day

2007-04-19T16:41:00.000+01:00

I just need to document this day. This amazing day. Right now my heart feels lighter and I feel an optimism and a joy that I haven’t experienced in a good long while. So long, in fact, that they feel kind of strange to me. Almost like trying on clothes at the Bins (where clothes are brought to "display" with a backhoe and you buy them by the pound) where you just found this cool blouse but, good Lord, you don’t even want to know where its been. You look great in it, but, hmmmm... That kind of strange.

So, yes, optimism and joy. And why, pray tell, would I be feeling this way? Well, a couple of reasons...

After waiting two long weeks (well, six months actually), we finally received our first check to rebuild our home. I think I mentioned before that our (almost thoroughly incompetent) mortgage company originally mailed the check to our charred wreckage of a home back in the States. Whatever. And then it took them for-fekkin’-ever to get their act together to then send the check to us over here. Meanwhile, our contractor can’t start because, well, it takes a lot of money to rebuild a house. But today, oh blessed of days, the check arrived.

We live behind a locked gate so it’s always a hassle when packages come. They’ll ring when they get to the gate and you have to go up and meet them. If it’s an important package I’ll usually stay at home to wait for it but, really, how lame is that? Now this would, indeed, qualify as a very important package, but I had my first piano lesson in a while (and I had actually been practicing) so I didn’t want to miss it. ANYhoo....I’m sitting at the piano at my teacher’s house, a few minutes away from my house, and the mobile rings. The conversation goes something like this...

Me: "Hello."
FedEx Guy: "Ehh...FedEx here."
Me: "Great! Where’re ya at?"
FedEx Guy: "The gate."
Me: "Ok, Ok (panicking)....I’ll be there in.....12 minutes!"
FedEx Guy: "...and I’ll be gone."
Me: "Gah!!! But I desperately need the package that you have for me (I’m now packing up my lesson supplies and running out the door)...please...can you wait just a few minutes...I’ll be right there."
FedEx Guy: ".....nah....I’m fekkin’ lajughehsghegfrsedj....."(something in a really strong Irish accent)
Me: "Pardon?"
FedEx Guy: "...yea...I’m up to me neck. I can’t wait for ye."
Me: "Then tell me where ye'll be...I’ll come to ye...I’ll meet ye in fekkin’ Dublin if I have to...."

And, amazingly, we worked it out. We did the deal in a parking lot. I picked up Floyd at work, we met “your man” in the parking lot, we signed the check, then we packaged it back up in another FedEx envelope and sent it back over the water to our bank back home. Efficient eh? Now we only have another, ohhhh, I’d say 6 or 7 checks to do that with before we’re finished rebuilding the house. My nerves should be pretty well toasted by then. But today I am happy. It’s been almost six months since the fire and today...we can start to put her back together again.

And if that wasn’t good enough....

I’ve been kind of freaking out about this whole adoption thing. Oh yea...remember that? We’re adopting a wee one from China. Well, I don’t talk about it that much these days because there just hasn’t been a lot of good news on that front. The wait just seems to get longer and longer and the process seems to be getting less and less reliable. It’s like if you’re at the grocery store and you’re ready to check-out (and, no, I’m not comparing our future child to a head of lettuce....don’t be silly) and you survey the lines at the check stands....hmmmm....and you pick one. And you’re standin’ in it...and you realize that it’s not moving very quickly. In fact, the other lines seem to be moving much faster. And, hey! Those people got in line after you and now they’re walking out with their groceries!....and you’re still in line. And then you look ahead in your line to see the checker and the customer arguing...the checker isn’t happy with the customer...the customer starts to beg and plead...he’s sobbing...but the checker gruffly sends him away.....without his groceries. God. How devastating. It must suck to be that guy. But, wait. The checker might not like you either. What if he yells at you and sends you home without your groceries? And as you continue standing in line, you watch other people go through their lines....much faster....and go walking out with their lovely bags of groceries. But you can’t move because you’re afraid. You're scared stiff actually. You've never wanted anything more than this bag of groceries and you're desperate. You’re afraid that if you jump lines then maybe everybody’ll jump lines and you’ll be too slow and you’ll wind up in the back of the line again....or maybe that checker will go on break and then that line’ll slow down too. Aarrrggghhhh! So you stay in the line that you’re in....and hope for the best.

Get the picture?

So I called a representative of our agency today and I was talking to her about their different programs (AKA the other lines) and we were discussing the wait times for those programs, etc. and she said something to the effect of, “...well, from a timing perspective, you wouldn’t want to switch into that program because you’ll be getting your referral from China in about six months...” Wuh? Could you repeat that please? Six months? At first I thought she was delusional. We’ve been hearing (from unofficial sources of course) that our wait could be two years and over, which would put our referral at least another year out. And she’s telling me 6 months? So I questioned her. And I questioned her some more. This woman has always been, in my eyes, a very honest and reliable source of information on International Adoption. Always. But six months? She indicated that, because of the new regulations going into place in May, the referral process would speed up significantly and that the wait times would not exceed 18 months. Hm. So I’m thinking....and I’m thinking...

You see, there are a lot of things about this that just don’t make sense, but talking about them would detract from my amazing day and I'm just not going to do that. Suffice it to say, a lot of things, indeed. But, you know what? I want to believe her. I really really REALLY want to believe her. I desperately want to believe her. So, you know what? I’m going to believe her. So, please, don’t rain on my parade. And DON’T shackle my high. Because, today, it feels like we’ll be meeting our little Thor before the winter solstice!!!!

So, shush, just give me this one, amazing, day...please....

Top Five Fave....Home

2007-04-17T13:17:00.000+01:00

We’re not really sure where home is these days, but Floyd once said, “Home is where the Jezebel is”, and since the little princess herself is napping on her blanket about 5 feet away from me, I guess I’m home. Being home is a little unusual for us as of late. We’ve been traveling almost constantly for the last several months. We’ve seen some beautiful places, some not so beautiful places, and some very very ugly places. We’ve seen a lot actually...and I’m plum tired. I feel like I been rode hard and put away wet. I wouldn’t mind never getting on another plane ever again (except for the one that’s going to take us back to Portland for ever and ever).

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I love to travel and these past months have been such a huge gift. As a little kid growing up making dirt pies, I wouldn’t have...actually, make that couldn’t have, imagined seeing all of these places. I feel blessed in such a big way. But I think it is possible to have too much of a good thing. We were traveling so much there that I would wake up and not know where I was. I would get on a plane and forget where we were going. And we’re not talking pharmaceuticals here. This is just life moving a little too fast. So I’m loving home right now. Loving and adoring it actually. Here’s a few reasons why.

1. Sittin’ on the couch: This couch is a central part of our lives. It’s purple. It’s velvet. It’s ripped. Some might call it shabby chic...we call it a piece of shit. But it’s the couch and we use it man. We use it and abuse it. I’m sitting on it right now in a position that I’m in so often it should be on my headstone. Propped up, legs extending down the couch, feet on the cushions, with a laptop on my lap... “May God Have Mercy on Her Soul”. In the evenings, after we’ve had our dinner and Jezebel has come in from her sunset stroll, we all congregate on the couch, the whole pride. And this is what it can look like. Infinite happiness.

2. Making the house happen: Ahhh...the house. We haven’t actually started the restoration yet. I know I know. Let me just give you a little snippet...our mortgage company actually sent our first check to our house in Portland. Yes, the one that’s blackened like Louisiana catfish. Yes. After we told them MANY Many many times not to do that, we got an e-mail from our neighbor telling us that the Fed Ex guy had been trying to deliver it for days. So sad. We’re still waiting for that check. And while we wait....nothing gets done. But I tell you what! She’s going to be absolutely gorgeous when we’re (they’re) done with her. I think I’ll be starting another blog about that one so you’ll be in the loop. It should be a fun process once it actually gets started (yes, I am delusional). So, even though the house looks pretty much the same as it did a few months ago (except for a new roof...yea!) we’ve been bustin’ our humps. Counting beans basically. Moving beans from one pile to another and trying to find more beans. Beans anyone?

3. Cooking: The first night we were home and on our own, I roasted a chicken, an organic chicken, which, over here, cost me 18.50 euros or $25. It was a small chicken. Needless to say, don’t eff up the chicken. Fortunately, I chose a recipe from The New Basics Cookbook, which I love and has never failed me. The recipe is called “Chicken with garlic, lemon, and rosemary” and it was, seriously, the best chicken I’ve ever had in my life. It wasn’t me. I would never take credit for it. It was the recipe. A hands-down winner. We’ve eaten some pretty wonderful food while traveling as well but we don’t splurge on expensive meals but we tend to eat pretty rich, fatty (but cheap) stuff when we travel (hello...). So we just have more control over what we eat when we’re at home. I (mostly) don’t work and I consider cooking part of my job over here. It’s a job I appreciate and enjoy (who is this woman?). I’ve gone from fearing the kitchen to being pretty darn comfortable in the kitchen...and that’s just cool.

Have you seen our kitchen over here? We call it the “one butt kitchen” for pretty obvious reasons. It makes us really look forward to the kitchen we’ll have when we go home.

Oh, and here are the rhubarb pies we made over the weekend, with the rhubarb from the garden. Two pies, two people....coincidence? I don’t think so.

4. Me Time: I have loads of me-time when we’re sans guests at home. It’s everything that happens between the housework, cooking, restoration planning and errands. I read, I write, I exercise, I try to practice the piano, and not enough of any of those things. Stuff like that. I don’t feel guilty about it at all really. Ok, maybe a little. But I know what my life has been like up till now and I’ve got a pretty good idea of what it’s going to be like when we get back. And it sure as hell doesn’t resemble this. So I’ll wallow in it for now...thankyouverymuch.

5. Playing on the farm: Babies, babies everywhere! Who doesn't love the baby farm animals? We got the baby lambs in early March and then we just got two new foals a few weeks ago. They’re so much fun to watch. They "boing". One second they'll be lazing around and then all of a sudden...boing...up in the air. It's the damndest thing. The weather has been uncharacteristically “springy” and the days have been quite fresh and dry. We take walks down to the river..well, not quite to the river because the mean bullocks stand between us and river...but we get almost to the river before we have to run away from them. The farm is just really beautiful this time of year and this little slice of heaven is pretty tough to top.

Oh, big news! We finally got the hedgehog on film. He’s a funny one alright! He ambled into our backyard one evening and snooted around for a bit, keeping his nose buried in the grass. The epitomy of “rootin’ around”. They make kind of a quiet grunting noise...the kind of a noise you would make if you were rooting around I suppose. Because his nose was firmly lodged in the detritus, he didn’t smell my foul humanness so I was able to get quite close....loving the hedgehog. When he finally did smell me (ewww...can’t eat that!) he lifted up on his startlingly longish legs, and waddled off...rapidly.

So that’s what we’re doing while we’re at home and we’ve got the place to ourselves. We’re off to Belgium this weekend for a bike race and then we’ve got the folks here after that. We’ll be taking Floyd’s folks to Spain (Barcelona and Girona) and we’re taking my folks to Rome...not to mention the random Irish ramblings as well. Now that we’ve had this time for rejuvenation, we’re really looking forward to it all.

Come to the land of the ice and snow...

2007-03-27T14:30:00.000+01:00

I’m a little behind in my travel updates. We’ve been to a few places in the last month or so and if you were to ask me at this moment in time if I want to go to Paris on Friday...I’d say no. I feel like I’ve been rode hard and put away wet. I’m just plum tired. I feel like I don’t ever want to get on another (Ryanair) plane again. But this week is for resting up, figuring out how we’re going to get the money to rebuild our house, rallying for the next plane ride, and trying to catch up on the blog. So, in the spirit of catching up...here’s a little taste of our recent trip to Norway:

Top Five Fave – Norway style

Floyd was inspired to book this trip for us because, at the time, he was planning a trip to the homeland of his people (Hungary) and we thought it would be interesting to go to the homeland of my people. My people? Who in the hell are my people? You see, I’m a complete mutt. I’ve got just about every low-rent, trashy-Euro bloodline lurking in my woodpile…and then some. But, for some reason, the Norwegian line has always intrigued me. Unfortunately, there was no time for a little genealogical research before our trip to find out which icy, remote, barren corner my people had come from. But it didn’t matter, because as soon as I got off that plane I felt like I was among “my people”...mi gente. I can’t explain why really. I think it had to do with the way they carried themselves and the order in which they seemed to conduct their lives. I sensed a low-key simplicity, an unenthusiastic optimism, a comfort with themselves, and a smirk. I felt immediately at home in a place where the language was wholly unfamiliar and I knew no one. It was interesting. So, aside from being amongst "my people", these are the things that smoked my cod.

1. The fjords. Fortunately, we talked to some friends before our trip and when we told them we were going to Norway they said, “…ah, so you’ll be going to see the fjords…” emmm…yyyyea…. Despite the fact that we were flying out the following afternoon we hadn’t even made a hotel reservation in Oslo, let alone thought about making forays into the hinterlands. So we immediately got online and, by the miracle of the internet, booked a trip to the fjords for the following day.

After traveling by overnight train, and then another train, oh, and then a bus, we stumbled out at Gudvangen where we boarded a ferry that runs along the Naeroyfjorden. This small fjord and surrounding crags are listed on UNESCO’s World Heritage List, which is a much-venerated designation. It means that it’s been recognized as one of the coolest things in the world. And those judicious fellas over at the UNESCO building have called it yet once again. For it was, truly, one of the coolest things in the world. The granite slips out of the icy waters and goes straight up to neck-straining heights, co-mingling with the stratosphere. The craggy tops of these peaks are softened with deep snow, while the massive, waterfalls are frozen in time, clinging to the cliffs, and the infrequent shores are home to a scattering of self-reliant people that must get pretty darn nervous at the sound of cracking ice. Save for the puttering of the small ferry, the occasional snort of a seal, and the tittering of the Chinese tourists, it was silent. It was easy for us to feel like we were close to the edge of the world out there.

2. Cool train rides. I love trains. I love not having to drive and trains are so different from the bus. Trains are usually on time, they have lots of legroom, they have snack cars, and they rarely smell like pee. I love trains. We took two particularly wonderful train rides in Norway. One was an overnight train, my first ever, from Oslo to Bergen. I was absolutely giddy in our sleeper car and going to sleep to the gentle rocking and “click-clack…click-clack” was like a lullaby.

Then we had an entirely different train experience when we took the Flamsbana, or Flam Railway, from Flam to Myrdal. This is a very short train ride, about 20km...45 minutes or so, but incredibly dramatic. I grabbed a little brochure when we got off the train but, as I just realized, it’s in nine languages, none of which I am even remotely familiar with (Bulgarian, Finnish, Dutch, Polish, Hungarian, Korean, Thai and Chinese-both traditional and simple). So, according to the Polish translation (since I was just in Poland this last weekend), this train ride is notable for the following reasons: 20.20 km dlugosc (distance?), 863.5m roznica poziomow (gain in elevation?), and 55% or 1:18 maksymakne nachylenie (average grade?)…I could go on, but I think you get the picture. Totally steep...totally treacherous...totally cool. Even better was the fact that we took the trip at dusk and it made for a very serene and haunted landscape with the deep snow drifts, scattered lantern-lit cottages, and the melding of sky and horizon. It seemed such a quiet and lonely landscape. Beautiful.

3. The Viking Ship Museum. These are real live Viking ships (boats really) that were dug out of a few farm fields between the mid 19th century and the early 20th century. It is estimated these ships were constructed between 815-890 A.D.... like almost 1,200 years ago (almost as old as I feel somedays). Because of the anaerobic conditions of most of their below-ground sanctuaries these boats, and the things that were buried with them, are still amazingly intact (unlike those of us that cannot survive in such anaerobic conditions). Interestingly, these boats were used as burials for very important people, one was a queen of some sort...another a king, and they were buried with their most important possessions, such as buckets, horses, and servants. Basically all of the things they would need in their next life. The graves had been plundered a long long time ago, so there weren’t any gold or jewels, but they do provide an amazing insight into what these folks’ lives were like way back when. I love old textiles and some of these survived as well, looking no worse really than some of my clothes, having been washed in an Irish washing machine for the last couple years. Amazing.

4. The Kon-Tiki Museum. Does anybody else remember Thor Heyerdahl and the Voyage of the Ra? Well, it was a really big deal to me when I was a kid and going to this museum was like a pilgrimage for me. Thor Heyerdahl was this Norwegian guy that wanted to prove that trans-oceanic crossings would’ve been possible with ancient boat-building and navigation technologies. In 1947 Thor worked with South Americans to construct a craft (a raft really) of nine balsa logs and sailed it from Peru to Polynesia in 101 days and then, in the late 60s-early 70s, working with people from Africa and Bolivia that had maintained the traditional art of reed boat-building, Thor and gang built the Ra I, which didn’t make it, and the Ra II, which successfully made the journey from Morocco to Barbados in 57 days. Pretty amazing stuff actually. Real adventure stories. I was obsessed with his books when I was a kid so it was no less than a really big deal to find myself at the museum, staring at the actual boats that made the journeys. Maybe comparable to seeing Huck Finn’s raft...I don’t know. Floyd took lots of pictures of me as I moved through the exhibit. I think he thought it was cute how it moved me to tears.

5. Vigelandsparken. Gustav Vigeland was a Norwegian sculptor that lived from 1869-1943. The Norwegians loved his stuff so the government commissioned him to design a fountain in an existing park. The project slowly grew in scope and, ultimately, he had designed 192 life-size sculptures for the park.

Each sculpture, by itself, would be worthy of some level of contemplation but, combined with all the others, it describes the common relationships, experiences, struggles, understanding, and joys that we all share...or at least that’s what I got out of it.

His sculpture of the old woman holding the young woman made me think about my Grandma, his sculptures of men and women embracing or playing made me think about my happiness with Floyd, and his sculptures of parents with children made us think about our future. Not real deep stuff, but it’s kind of nice to not have to think real hard to “get it”. It’s like art that just washes over you. It’s probably not going to change your life or the way you look at the world, but it’ll certainly make you smile…or cry. And that’s OK too.

...and let's not forget Edvard Munch-style ketchup bottle. It was a "scream" (ha).

My Bachelorette Weekend

2007-02-26T08:09:00.000Z

Floyd was off to a "stag weekend" down in Cork so I was on my own for the weekend. Friday afternoon through Sunday evening. This wouldn't be such a big deal for lots of couples but Floyd and I are joined at the hip. We enjoy spending time together and our continuing infatuation with each other tends to annoy people (I think it might have something to do with the monosyllabic, pre-hominid babytalk involved...mbeb).

So being away from Floyd and having the weekend to myself was a big deal. The world was my oyster. I could do anything I wanted...literally. I could've done some traveling, done some great cultural things in Dublin, gone bird-watching down near Waterford. Anything. So what did I do? Nothing. Big, fat nothing. If it weren't for the family that I drove to the airport on Saturday afternoon, I wouldn't have bathed or bothered to put on clean clothes. As soon as I dropped Floyd at the train station I went to the video store, then the library, then the grocery store. As soon as I walked in our door I baked myself a single batch of chocolate chip cookies (I don't even think I took my coat off). I just couldn't think of anything that I wanted to do this weekend that didn't involve having chocolate chip cookie crumbs on my chin.

So I watched movies (The Stepford Wives and Breakfast on Pluto - both chick flicks but otherwise in very different categories), watched one episode of My Name is Earl (borrowed Season One on DVD...brilliance), finished a book ("A Lesson Before Dying" - wonderful book, read it), started another book ("The Kid" by Dan Savage of Savage Love fame - a gay couple's experience with open adoption - I'm laughing hysterically and learning some things too), talked on the phone until 2am (I'm 8 hours ahead of all of my friends and family), had cookies and stout for dinner (not breakfast...but tempting), worked on kitchen/house design (this effort is consuming me), traded sweet little text messages with Floyd (awww...) and talked to my cat.

I think it's also notable that, aside from the ~4.5 hours that the television was on, our house was completely silent. I chose not to listen to any music, which is a choice I often make living out here. I think it's because it's absolutely, perfectly, pin-drop silent at the end of our little road. During the day you might hear a tractor off in the distance or a horse whinnying. If you step outside you can hear the birds singing (Spring!!) or the distant train to Cork. But that's it. It's really really quiet and I know that this may be the only time, for a really really long time, that I will be able to enjoy this kind of peace and quiet. So I relish it. I celebrate it. I wallow in it.

The silence was broken when I went to the grocery store (on a Sunday afternoon, what in G0d's name was I thinking?) and picked the lads up at the train station in Dublin. Suddenly, there I was with a car load of men slightly wounded by their debaucherous weekend. It was as quiet as a car full of Irish lads could be...which, actually, isn't quiet at all. For what it's worth, I think they had a good enough time to justify their ashen complexions and their curdling smell.

And, actually, so did I.

Edinburgh - Top Five Fave

2007-02-22T12:25:00.000Z

Floyd and I were in Edinburgh over the weekend with our good friend Pamela Anderson. Yes, THE Pamela Anderson. Floyd knows her from graduate school. Did you know she has a Ph.D. in Physical Chemistry. Well she does, and she’s fun to boot! Vivacious, witty, smart...always got career advice for Floyd. You’d never imagine it would you? One more reason to never judge a book by its cover. So we were kicking it in Edinburgh this weekend and these are just five things that lifted my kilt...

1. It’s in Scotland. Let’s get something straight right off the bat. I LOVE Scotland. If somebody asked, “Hey, do you want to live in this tiny shack on this windswept highland hill in the midst of all these sheep?”...I think I’d say yes. I love the people (even dullards seem to have a sparkle in their eye), the landscape (breathtaking at almost every turn), the attitude (somber yes, but you’ll still get smiles on a cloudy day). I realize that these things are all part of the tiresome Scottish branding, but there’s a reason for that. They're true. And then there’s the little things that can make such a difference (this is the part where you need to remember where I currently live). Scotland has an infrastructure that you can depend on, they have rubbish bins at logical locations (oh, here she goes...), they have roads that you can drive on, as well as safe pedestrian areas, they have signs (yes, I know, actual street signs...it’s heavenly) and, in general, people appear to care about the environment that they live in...and...and...(the veins in my temple are becoming engorged and are pulsating rapidly). I could go on but it would just lead to dangerous and passionate territory. Suffice it to say that Ireland and Scotland are quite different and I can appreciate those differences.

2. The people have Scottish accents. Some have described it as “thick-tongued” but I disagree wholeheartedly. Sure, there’s the drunk gal from the tenements that could make you tilt your head a bit, but that's the exception. I find it lilting and full of character. They actually do say “wee”. (Overheard while walking down the street...a couple of young lads passed a gal in a VERY short skirt. As they turned to watch her go, one of them said, “That was a wee one...”)

3. Men in kilts. I must have a thing for knees because I’m very appreciative of the kilt. I certainly appreciate its regional significance and all that but, frankly, that’s not what makes me smile. I don’t even care what they’re wearing underneath. Floyd would undoubtedly rock a kilt (the mans got gams) and I’d love to get him into one of those utilikilts, but no. Not gonna happen. I can understand though, because some of the dudes that wear them...look really stupid. It certainly requires a certain “je ne sais quoi” that not everybody possesses. I think Floyd's got it, but maybe he's just not ready for that much...freedom. So I appreciate the kilt from afar.

4. The sound of bagpipes. I know, I’m just listing off all the highlights from a Scotland brochure but, I’m telling you, there’s a reason why these things are used to lure people here. They’ve certainly got my number. I have a sad affinity to the sound of the bagpipe. It always makes me cry. I don’t know when it started because it’s just always been this way. I was once sitting at a great British pub in Portland and a parade of bagpipers began to make their way through the place. I remember being overcome with emotion at the first notes. It hits me like that. Very suddenly. So, I'm at this bar and I hear that unmistakable high-pitched drone and I feel a pang in my heart. Then all sorts of forgotten sadness starts welling up and bubbling out. And then I’m a crying mess. I’ve learned to control it a little better but I always have to fight back the tears when I hear a bagpipe. My Mom just recently told me that she cries at the sound of bagpipes too. What’s up with that?

5. OK, you can all guess what No. 5 is. What’s the only thing I haven't mentioned from the Scotland brochure? That’s right. Haggis. This was our 3rd trip to Scotland and I’ve managed to avoid it thus far, but Floyd felt the inspiration and suddenly there was a pile of it sitting on our table (along with neeps and tatties of course). You have to remember that this is the guy that was a vegetarian up until 18 months ago. I admire him for it. He still respects the animal enough to believe that, if you’re going to eat it, you should eat the whole thing. Don’t let anything go to waste. I believe that too...intellectually. However, when faced with an unusual animal bit, I generally pass. So here’s Floyd swooning over his haggis. It’s his first and he’s LOVing it. So I do a dainty dive with the tip of my fork and...down the hatch. Hm. Tasty. Surprisingly tasty actually. And it didn’t even feel gross in my mouth like I thought it would. Kind of like a spicy bulgar/oatmeal thing. I just educated myself about what it’s actually made out of and, you know what? I’d still eat it again.

Of course Pamela thought it was all quite disgusting and immediately began strategizing her anti-haggis campaign.

So that was my brain dump of the kilt-lifting, top-five fave for Edinburgh. What did you learn about Edinburgh? Nothing I’m afraid, which is a shame because it’s really a great city. One of the best we’ve been to in Europe. Cool castle, well-preserved and amazing architecture, photo ops galore, friendly folks, monuments to cute little dogs, some amazing food. Lots of old world charm without the shit-shit and kitsch. Really a great place. Go there and see for yourself.

Mind the Gap I

2007-02-16T11:04:00.000Z

There’s a squirrel that lives in the trees outside of our house. These trees are all deciduous but there are some evergreen ones that keep their leaves all winter. I can sit in my usual spot on the couch and look out the window and, in the winter, the view is both leafy and limby. When we moved in, the owners of the place cleared an opening in this patch of trees because they thought we might want to garden back there. As usual, the effort wasn’t well planned. It turns out it’s a dark swamp back there. Clearing the trees also had the added benefit of affording us a great view of their enormous collection of tires (we live on a farm and, as we all know, farmers save tires). To their credit, I think they did try to maintain the trees around the edge of the clearing but the backhoe needed a way to get in and out. So now’s there’s a gap. Where the trees were once continuous, there is now a space between them. This is nice in some ways because it probably lets in more light than we would otherwise get back here in our little hollow. Without the gap I wouldn’t be able to see the sky from the couch (which is important on those non-ambulatory days). We look west through the gap and last night we watched the most amazing, purple and orange, post-apocalyptic sunset ever...over the pile of tires.

So, this squirrel. He lives in the trees around the clearing and, in making his way from one end of the trees to the other, he has to pass the gap and, in the winter, I can see his passing of the gap really well. My eyes are drawn outside when I catch a glimpse of him popping out of the dense foliage onto the bare branches. He's a little grey squirrel with a long, bushy tail. He quickly skitters out to the end of a limb and flings himself across the gap. All without hesitation. He falls a little in elevation but the tips of the other branches are within his reach so he grabs one of them, hangs upside down for a moment (he always winds up upside down), waits for the bouncing to slow, then pulls himself up onto the branch and skitters off into the leaves on the other side of the gap.

I see this at least once per day and it makes me very happy. Even though he never misses, my heart skips a beat when he flings himself off that branch. Just enough fear that my heart feels lighter when he’s snatched the branch on the other side and made his way to safety. And I smile when he’s bouncing up and down on the tip of the limb because he looks like a monkey. We have squirrels where I come from, but I never get to look out of my window and see this. Never. So I’ll miss this when we leave.

Riga - Top Five Fave

2007-02-06T22:46:00.000Z

Let me start out by saying that I generally don’t do research while I’m writing these little travelogs. In fact, these days I don’t even research a place before we get on the plane. For example, I made our hostel reservations two days before we left on this trip and we didn’t even look at "the book” until we were on the plane. I realize that this goes without saying once you have read anything that I have written, but it must be stated nonetheless....I don't really know anything about any of the places that we visit or the people that inhabit them. I learn as I go. So these are what this stupid tourist picked as her Top Five Fave of Riga....

Black Balsam. Like to travel but want to avoid the crowds? Go to Riga in the dead of winter. You’ll have the place to yourself! Our first morning there I began to question our decision. Within an hour of leaving the hostel I had lost the use of my fingers. Taking photographs became prohibitively difficult at that point. After about two hours the stiffness in my joints made me feel like the tinman and my face was frozen. Fortunately we were close to a Balsam Bar, which are scattered across town, and now I know why. Black Balsam is a syrupy black liqueur brewed with approximately 42 secret herbs and animal bits and tastes quite lovely when heated up and diluted beyond all perception by fruit juices and other sweeties. It warmed me right up, from the inside out. Like oil to the tinman. And then winter wasn’t so bad anymore.

Grey Peas n’ Pork Rolled in a Delicate Layer of Pork (with apologies to vegetarians). Latvian food hasn’t really progressed much beyond the medieval fare of yore (save for the potato) and that was just fine by us. Floyd gave up his vegetarian ways when we moved over here and he really hasn’t looked back. I’ve always been a heathen. Note the dish in the photo. In the background you have your pork cutlet wrapped in a crispy, yet fatty layer of bacon. Succulent. In the foreground you have what’s called “grey peas”. Now tell me that doesn’t sound appetizing. They were actually wonderful. The peas, which are bigger than the peas you might be used to and are not really grey at all, are served slightly al dente with a side of a warm, cream sauce just littered with chunks of bacon (and we’re not talking baco’ bits here). This is then poured over and mixed in with the peas. And off to the side is a glass of kefir, a sour, cultured-milk that didn’t seem to belong to any one dish but was tasty nonetheless. Pork is also commonly served as a filet that has been beaten beyond all recognition, dipped in a flour/herb mixture, and maybe in beer, then fried up. Dill and cardamom are used on/in everything and hemp butter is served with the black bread (sadly, no relation to the black balsam). Perfect food for a wintry visit but a tough diet for a hot summer day.

Art Nouveau Architecture. This must be why they call Riga the Paris of the North. Yet, despite my two visits to Paris so far, I have yet to notice architecture like this. Maybe it’s because in Paris there is so much more to look at. So many other sights to pack into your itinerary that the art nouveau architecture gets stuck at the bottom of the list. Or maybe I’m just a dummy and I’m the only one that’s never noticed before. Regardless, these buildings are incredible. Floyd read in our guide book that one of the tenets of art nouveau design is the “fear of the vacuum”. Our cat Jezebel also has a fear of the vacuum but I think they’re talking about something different here. They’re talking about the need to decorate all of the spaces and it’s just thrilling to look at. I’m a nature girl and I’ve always poo-pooed the whole “going to the city to look at the architecture” aspect of travel but when you see buildings like this it can make a building rival a tree or a mountain in terms of beauty and interest. And I can’t believe I just wrote that...but it’s true.

Museum of the Occupation. The modern history of Latvia is pretty simple. Latvia won it’s independence in 1918 and Russia promised to relinquish authority over Latvian territory FOREVER. So much for that promise. In 1939 the bear was back and he was pretty nasty this time. Not only did the Latvians lose their freedom but thousands were sent to Siberia.... or met with quicker fates. And then came the Nazis. I don’t need to tell you what happened then. But then the Russians came back...even nastier. This is the period when hundreds of thousands of Latvians were systematically rounded up and sent to the GULAG, or Russian concentration camps. It was all incredibly dismal until Latvia regained their independence in 1991. The Museum of the Occupation does a great job of explaining to the visitor, through photos, letters, objects, and stories what this bleak period was like for Latvians and, importantly, how they maintained their dignity and their culture. In a way, it wasn’t just about the Latvian people, or the Baltic people, but, for me, it was a story of oppressed people everywhere and the psychological torture that their oppressors use to keep them down. It felt very relevant.

Embracing the Frump. Latvians are a stylish people. Even in the winter. The cobblestone streets are clumped with snow and coated with ice and I stood aghast at these women strutting along in their stiletto boots and long, elegant coats. They were not picking their way along. They were, without a doubt, strutting. Hair flowing, makeup perfect, nails groomed....strutting. I, of course, was in my logging boots, long johns, baggy jeans, fleece coat and gore-tex outer layer....with, the coup de grace, a grey ski-cap that read “Yosemite” on it. Now I may not own a pair of stiletto boots but I’ve done my share of strutting. I can strut. But not in Riga...in February. So I embraced the frump. Behold....the frump.

A Pothole on the Road to Recovery

2007-01-25T20:28:00.000Z

I’ve been waiting for a good time to give an update on how our house is coming along and I thought that, tonight, the eve of firing our first contractor, might be a good time. For those who don’t know what I’m talking about, our home was “essentially destroyed by a fire” back in October. You see, Floyd took a two-year assignment over here in Ireland so we left our home in the Northwest. I think for some folks this would be a no-brainer, but there were two things that we struggled with in deciding whether or not to move over here. 1) was my job/career, which I was really engrossed in, and 2) our home. It’s an 1899 Victorian that we had put a lot of sweat and money into and, frankly, we were just way more attached to it than any sane people should be. I had bought it before I met Floyd and everybody thought I was crazy. It needed loads of work and it was in the “wrong” neighborhood. My first night in the house was marked by some dude running through my yard blazing a handgun and shooting at lord only knows what. Call it the welcome wagon if you will. When the cops came and laughed in my face for buying the place, I dug my heels in pretty good. Ever since then that house and I got pretty attached.

So, fast forward about 10 years and she’s gutted to the studs because some fucking toads that were renting the place couldn’t see fit to use an ashtray. Sometimes I think our home was just so pissed to have these toads living in her that she sacrificed her innards to see them leave. It just seems like something she’d do. She’s that kind of a gal. Uppity I suppose.

We hired two contractors when we were back in the NW. One is a specialist in disasters, fire, floods, wind storms, etc. An ambulance chaser to be sure, but we were in shock and were steered towards these folks because of their experience in dealing with fire (and saying all the right things to people that are in a state of shock). But they knew nothing of working with older homes so we got another company that would do all the finish work. This second company is well-respected in the area and we really liked their portfolio. Not to mention the fact that they’re just really nice people. So we had our team together, everybody agreed to play nice and get along, and we felt good enough to come back to Ireland.

So, if you’ll forgive me for stating the obvious...it’s really hard trying to rebuild your home when you’re on the other side of the planet. Especially when the ambulance chaser doesn’t see fit to call you back or return e-mails. Yea. That makes it a little bit harder. And then they’re ripping the shit out of the inside of your house, and you don’t know if they’re making the effort to salvage the 100-year old straight grain fir molding that you and your friends busted your asses trying to restore, or if their crew of illegal workers, that are undoubtedly underpaid, are deciding whether to pocket the door hardware that could go pretty far in supplementing their meager income. You think about these things in the middle of the night. Especially when nobody calls you back. Yea. It gets rough.

And then you try to share your frustrations and fears with folks and they just remind you of how fortunate you are that you get a new house at the end of the day (!). Well, let me be the first to tell you that burning your house up is NOT a good way to get a new house...especially if you never wanted a new house and especially if the thought of a new house kind of makes you itch. So, while I realize all of the ways in which Floyd and I are blessed, I think I’ll continue with my story of the blessed re-building of our house. Thankyouverymuch.

Thankfully we have a few friends in the area (like the Fire Chief and family) that are willing to check in on the homestead for us. Based on pictures taken through cracks in the boarded up windows and doors, it looks like things are progressing just fine. The charred and melted material seems to be decreasing and we can see studs. Progress. This is good. But, still, the updates are woefully few and far between from the folks that we’re paying and the ulcer-causing knots are growing.

In the meantime we’re getting excited about a few things. We decided to take the “opportunity” to make some changes. Knock out a wall, tear out an unused chimney, make a bigger kitchen, create more storage space, build a staircase that’s more suitable for little people and....drumroll please....putt in some solar!! Actually, we don’t know if we can afford the solar stuff but Floyd’s a big solar freak and he’s working on a system that would hopefully heat water for space heating (radiant floor heat) and our domestic hot water. Joy. Big joy. But I’m containing my exclamation points because we don’t know if it can happen yet. So if any of you have experience with solar power or radiant floor heat, give us a shout, we’d appreciate the opportunity to pick your brain. I really like the idea of walking the talk (the “sustainability” talk) and taking a 100-year old home and getting her geared-up for the next 100 years. This gives us joy.

But then there’s the ambulance chasers. Ugh. We’ve been waiting on an “engineers report” from them for over a month now and it just came in yesterday. Completely worthless. Like completely. Nothing redeemable at all. I don’t even think the few crayon drawings were of our house. And we waited over a month for this? We postponed all design work as well as delayed submitting the budget to insurance AND pretty much guaranteed that we won’t be able to move into our house when we move back to the NW....for this?! Whew. Now that’s some fine project management right there.

Thankfully our other contractors, the nice people, are willing to step in. Unfortunately, their employees are all paid livable wages (haha) so we don’t know if our insurance can afford them. But we’re going to try and make it work. You know all of those magical incantations and de-smokifications that the ambulance chasers claim that only they can perform? Turns out anybody can do it. The magical mystery ozone chamber (that can suck so much smoke it probably cures lung cancer)? Yea, you can buy one for like $300. The witchy “smoke-sealer” that they paint all remaining surfaces with, the one you thought might be made with the eyes of newts? Yea, it’s called primer.

Firing somebody is not something we take lightly. It’s serious stuff to mess with somebody’s bread and butter. And the guy we’re working with seems like a pretty nice guy. Family man and all that. But we can’t let our old gal get burned again, so it’s gotta be done. Besides, I see sunlight on the horizon...and the soothing of my pre-ulcerous knots...once we get him out of our lives.

So that’s where we’re at. Maybe once we get this icky stuff out of the way I can post about the wet dream/nightmare of getting/having to pick out an entire house worth of appliances, countertops, cupboards, flooring, hardware, sinks, baths, tile and fixtures in one week. Oh...and paint colors...for the whole house (jaysus, I’m starting to sweat-I wrote a post back in July '06 about what a color freak I am but I have no clue as to how to provide the link to it-go to my archives and check it out if you want to get a glimpse into crazy). I think you can see the whole wet dream/nightmare thing going on here.

If any of you have some remodeling stories to share, I’d love to hear ‘em. Or maybe you have a favorite range (we know what wzgirl’s is!-once again, I can't figure out how to provide a link to that one post of hers where she raves about her AGA), or a favorite faucet, or a fridge, or a light fixture, or a....you get the picture. We’re open. Oh, and blessed.

Silly Old Pig...

2007-01-17T13:38:00.000Z

Floyd and I went to the US Embassy in London last year to complete some adoption paperwork and celebrated by sitting down for some scrumptious dim sum in London’s Chinatown. After devouring our rice noodle rolls, pork dumplings and sweet, sticky black sesame seed thingies, we slowly ambled (so as to not upset the delicate balance in our distended tummies) across the street to a little shop selling paper lanterns, Chinese videos, porcelain figurines and the like. We wanted to buy something to commemorate the trip because, at that time, we thought we were SO CLOSE and every little event felt like something we needed to commemorate. It was right around Chinese New Year and we knew that our daughter would be born in this year, the Year of the Dog. So Floyd picked out this lovely, little rose quartz doggy on a pink thread. Very precious (if you disregard the fact that it’s just about the right size to get lodged in a small child’s windpipe) and very appropriate. I couldn’t find anything that seemed either precious or appropriate so, as we’re headed to the cash register, I find this little plastic, gold pig with a small piece of already stale chocolate inside, and I decided it was precious and appropriate enough (at least it’s large enough that it can’t get lodged in a small child's windpipe). But it was NOTHING compared to the pink dog. We keep them both in a little corner of our dressing table and I sometimes look at them and think...cool dog... silly old pig....

But I learned something the other day (I know, wonders never cease). I was on this on-line writers forum that an internetty friend of mine writes for and she wrote this great article that made me feel all kinds of wonderful. It turns out that not only is this next year The Year of the Pig, but it’s also the Year of the Golden Pig! Really?!! Well this is almost as cool as the Year of the Little Plastic Golden Pig that Holds Stale Chocolate. Our purchase of the silly old pig is starting to make sense now but, most importantly, it makes me feel like Thor is a little closer to us.

There's a lot of talk about how children born in the Year of the Golden Pig will be more fortunate and make loads of money. There's also mention of how Asia's birthrate is going to skyrocket this year. I also realize there's a lot of controversy about this so-called Year of the Golden Pig, for example:

According to Chinese astrological calculations, 2007 is really not the year of the Golden Pig but the Fire Pig. The lunar calendar has a 12-year cycle of animals that runs along a cycle of “Five Elements”—metal, wood, fire, water, and earth. Notice there is no gold here. Perhaps since fire is red (related to money in Chinese tradition) and yellow (the color of gold), 2007 has also been heralded as the year of the Golden Pig.

Fire Pig? Golden Pig? What. Ever. This is all background noise to me. I’m stuck on the relevance of the little plastic pig that we bought in the Chinese market. Did I mention that it feels like Thor just got closer?

Morocco - Top Five Fave

2007-01-12T14:32:00.000Z

This whole “Top Five Fave” thing seems more than silly at this point but I’m sticking with it for now because it helps me to reflect on our travels and to convey an overwhelming, sometimes indescribable (for me), experience. So here goes...



Floyd and I traveled through Morocco for the holidays this year. I’m glad we booked this trip before the fire because it certainly wouldn’t have happened otherwise, and it made for the perfect antidote to our holiday funk. We knew pretty early on that we didn’t really want to do Christmas this year. I sensed that some folks were a little put off by that. Kinda huffy about it actually. But I think everybody deserves to take a year off. The holidays are really overwhelming, at least the way most Americans seems to do them, and taking the year off was refreshing. It makes for great perspective. To listen to people's experiences and not simultaneously reflect on your own holiday rituals. Their tales of the lines at the mall, the exasperated search for the one toy that every child MUST have this year, the live/fake/potted tree debate, to flock or not to flock... All told I think it was an appropriate year to skip it.

Morocco is an Islamic country. Islam is the official state religion and King Mohammed VI, the country’s secular leader, is also the “commander of the faithful”. From the calls to prayer, to the passing glimpses into mosques and even during our commercial interactions...the Islamic faith was present throughout our travels. During our 12 days there we saw approximately two Christmas trees and one, very very scary Santa Claus. Perfect.

We flew into Marrakech, where we stayed for a few days, then we rented a car and drove south over the High Atlas Mountains on the torturously windy Tizi n’Test road. From here we headed northeast along the base of the High and Middle Atlas Mountain Ranges. We took a brief foray into the Sahara Desert for a sunrise camel ride (had to do it) then headed northwest, up and over the Middle Atlas, through the beautiful cedar forests, then into Fez for another few days. It was an amazing trip and trying to pick out a Top Five Fave is a bit absurd but...them’s the rules.

  1. It’s really different. I know. Duh. But hear me out. I didn’t really realize how different Morocco is from the experiences/landscapes/people that I’m accustomed to until we were flying back into the UK. We broke through the clouds and my first response was to the color. So green! And as I was surveying the scene I spotted this big, spherical, stone object and I wondered, “what kind of a koubba or mosque is that?” ummmm...yea...it was a water tower. Then working our way through the London/Luton Bus Station Airport we were struck by how sterile everything seemed. Surfaces were gleaming. Right angles prevailed. And the attire?! Put some clothes on girlfriend! Just very different in so many ways. Going to a place that is so different really makes you take another look at your own place. You see things that may have been invisible to you before...and I think this is a good thing.

2. The landscapes. So varied. Fantastic. Unusual. Tales of geology....if I only knew the language.

3. Djemaa el Fna. Djemaa el Fna is the most amazing public square I have ever seen and, as our guide book says it “...so effortlessly involves you...” After collecting our luggage, we hopped a public bus (this is a very Floyd thing), which spit us out at the entrance to the square. I was completely and utterly overwhelmed. Here we are, in a "very different place", trying to figure out where we are, where our hotel might be, and basically just trying not to lose the plot when suddenly I had a monkey on my back (shall we say). Now, I loves me some monkeys. And I’ve never been fortunate enough to have a monkey on my back (?). But I do not loves monkeys in chains, which this poor guy was. I looked into his sad, freaky eyes and I wanted to change his life...but I knew I couldn’t...and that made us both sad. In the meantime his “handler” was shouting, “PICTURE!!!...PICTURE!!!...YOU TAKE PICTURE!!!?...” Of course it is customary for the tourists to want their picture taken with the monkey and, of course, you will pay for this. Not much by our standards, but enough to validate this guy’s job....and a monkey in chains. So we declined the picture and I bid farewell to the monkey on my back (if only it were that easy for everybody). This same basic interaction can be applied to the snake “charmers” (there’s nothing charming about it these days), the kids that hop into the center of your picture (without asking them to) and the guys that want to take you to “their brother’s carpet shop”. To be honest, if I could, I wouldn’t include these interactions in the “Top Five Fave”, but they’re integral and they can’t be stripped away.

But once you’ve (convinced yourself that you’ve) ditched the touts, the Djemaa el Fna opens up to you. This place is for real. This is where the people who live here actually come for entertainment. The storytellers wave their arms and point sticks at their audience and lure them into their tales. Locals stand three and four deep, watching, listening, absolutely rapt. There’s exotic music everywhere (interestingly, we only heard western music a couple of times-but none in this square). The challenge is to focus your ears on just one group of musicians. Once you allow the background noise to fade away....the music takes your mind elsewheres. The sheep heads lined up on platters and the vendors selling their snake oils and dried lizards. These things are not because of, or intended for, us...the tourist. They are a part of how these people have been living for almost a thousand years. It’s a magical place.

4. The patterns. The architecture, the ornamentation, the mosaics, the textiles, the carvings.... The patterns are lush, vivid, intricate, and organic and they are synonymous with luxury and adoration. There was one restored Kasbah that we stayed in (a splurge after spending several nights shivering in a room so cold we had to sleep with every layer of clothing on, plus ski caps) and the ceiling in the dining room was so beautiful, so brilliant, that I just wanted to lay down on the cushions and stare up at it. How long did it take the craftsman to paint that? To carve that? To inscribe that detail into the plaster? But then the tajines came and my mind jumped tracks...

5. The people. I realize that Moroccans are as diverse as the people of any other country. There’s the good and bad and the naughty and nice, but you know how you just get a vibe? Most people were so wonderful to us. So kind. So warm. Usually smiling and laughing (and not always laughing AT us, thankyouverymuch). The great memories include drinking tea (..and more tea) and haggling with the carpet vendors (it's hard to haggle when you're comPLETEly wired), or the night of music and dancing with the mountain Berbers, or being dragged down a sand dune by our desert guide, or that guy that rode his bike through the dusty, dark town trying to find us because we couldn’t understand the directions to the hotel, or the sincerity and kindness of the woman that invited us into her humble home in the ancient Kasbah. I’ll even throw the touts back into this category because they were such memorable characters. I know these interactions are through the lens of the tourist, but I think that’s what makes them even more memorable. To recognize such great disparity and to overcome it, for the moment, with a smile.

Don't rent your house out to toads

2006-11-09T05:35:00.000Z

This is a letter that I just wrote to our homies....thought some of my internettys would like to know what's been going on and why I've been so incommunicado. I'm not the same person I was a few weeks ago.

To our Friends and Family,

For some of you this is an update and for others this may be the first you’ve heard of it. On October 24th our home in Portland was essentially destroyed by a fire. They think it started somewhere on the back porch, smoldered for quite some time, then engulfed the entire back of the house in flames. As far as fires go, they say it was a pretty impressive one. It even burned a good part of the apartments next door. The firefighters had it out in less than an hour of their arrival but the damage was still significant. Thankfully nobody was hurt.

Our home is a modest 1899 Victorian with lots of personality and is pretty well known in the neighborhood, especially by those folks that appreciate old houses and the work that we’ve put into her. I’ve included a couple of before and after photos. As you can see from the pictures, this fire meant business.

The good news is that the professionals say that, while it has to be torn down to the studs, we can put her back together again. Our insurance agency has been good to us so far and we’ve been meeting with contractors that can do the work. We’re hoping to find people we can trust because we’ll be overseeing the rebuilding from back in Ireland, and sometimes that can feel like an awful long ways away.

We realize that it’s just a house and that we are still blessed in many ways. We are lucky to have each other and Jezebel and all of our friends and family that have shown us so much support over these last couple of weeks. But it still hurts. We poured so much of ourselves into that house and we loved her in a big big way.

So, when you have a moment, let us know how you’re doing and send us and our home some warm thoughts and good wishes. They’ll be put to good use.

Much Love,

Millicent and Floyd

A deluge of ramblings and rain

2006-10-19T09:13:00.000+01:00

I haven’t changed my clothes all week. Literally. Yoga pants (brown), shelf tank (sky blue), cosy cardigan (sage)...it’s my new uniform. I’d post a pic but it’s pretty nasty at this point. I’ve been working from home and pulling 12-14 hour days all week. In that time I have neglected to shower, do the dishes, cook for my husband, go to the gym (let alone go outside), practice the piano, or anything. at. all for that matter....except hunch over my work laptop. From the time I wake up....to the time I go to bed. Tippity tapping...tippity tapping...working. THIS is why I may have a hard time keeping my job when I go back home. I don’t know how to give less than everything I am to it, which is a problem even when it’s just Floyd and I. Add a little Thor to the mix and it becomes a very big problem. So, this week in particular, I’m struggling with how I can still do my job and be a good Mom at the same time.

News Flash!!!! Darkness envelops small island in north Atlantic!! Yea....that’d be Ireland. The sun doesn’t poke it’s lazy head above the horizon until about 0730 and, even after it does, it hides behind an impenetrable cloud cover. No sun. Darkness. And it’ll be this way for the next...hmm...7 months or so. And then we add the rain on top of that. This morning I woke up and thought “my, that’s quite a wind storm out there” but then I noticed the leaves weren’t moving. It was the sound of a million tiny raindrops smacking the crap outta those leaves. The skies opening up. A deluge. And Floyd (who has lost over 13 lbs since we got back from Croatia – round of applause please) was riding his bike to work....happily. He’s like that. Maybe this is the winter I’ll read Ulysses.

This season is marked by giant spiders in the bathtub (or in Guiness glasses as the case may be), eating oatmeal with fresh apples and cinnamon, mushrooms in the grass (have you ever seen so many 'shrooms?), muddy cows, Jezebel leaving muddy footprints all over my work, comfy sweaters, wool socks, my big black boots (hmmmm...which pair?), robins singing, wellies, crabapples falling and leaves bunching up around the doorways. Oh, and rain, and darkness.

I don’t think I know of anybody getting a referral in this next round...which makes me sad. Because I loves me some referrals. Seriously. I could almost punctuate our wait by referrals. Months (or years) just sound so tedious. Maybe if we could think of the wait like “we’ve got 24 rounds of referrals before we get our little Thor!” Yea, whatever. But, seriously, I enjoy seeing the new pictures and reading the blogs of the excited parents. It’s even better when you’ve been following the family’s adventures before the referral and you get to see how their lives, their blog, their personalities completely change once they get their referral. It’s amazing. So if any of y’all know of any good bloggies getting their referral this next round, lemme know. Hook a brutha up.

We’re off to Prague-Bratislava-Budapest in a few days. I haven’t thought about the trip. At. All. (I really hate those little punctuated words, but they work so well for bloggy speak.) I’ve heard that Prague is a beautiful city and that Budapest is right up there as well. I also know that a lot of people don’t know where Bratislava is...including me. I know that it will be cold there and that there are spas with big women that like to pummel you with their fists and firehoses....and you will pay them to do so. I’m looking forward to the trip. I’ve begun keeping a travel diary, which really helps if you have the memory of a gnat.

Don't Hate, Part 2

2006-10-15T15:52:00.000+01:00

The short answer for how to get the opportunity to live in Ireland and travel around Europe for two years? Sell your soul to a company that’s about the size of the Death Star (with about as much personality). Don’t like that answer? Here’s the long version....

Have I told you that I am the luckiest girl in the world? Well I am. There is not a day that goes by where I don’t shake my head in disbelief at how fortunate I am. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever imagine I’d have the opportunity to live in another country, on the other side of the world, and do this kind of travelling. Never. Ever.

Floyd and I are not rich. Not even close. We come from white, middle-class backgrounds. My Grandma pronounced quiche “kweechee”. We went to school, studied hard (at least when we got to college), and made choices that would (eventually) lead to good jobs and stability. Even now, with the good jobs, Floyd pours over the budget to figure out how we’re going to make it all work.

Floyd and I started talking about the opportunity to move to Ireland before we were even married. I still have the scrap of paper tablecloth that Floyd scribbled on to explain how the Death Star operated and where all the little Death Star satellites were located. I still have that little scrap of paper because I also drew a little clock (representing my biological clock) and the two little babies that I was going to give birth to by the time I was 39 (which I just turned). So say what you will about the Death Star. It’s more dependable than my biological clock. Interestingly, I actually drew three little babies on the scrap of paper, I just knew one would be adopted.

I have a job too, but it’s not with the Death Star. More like R2D2. I love my job, but, at the time, we thought the move would be perfect. We were ready to start a family and envisioned using our time in Ireland to have and raise our children without the pressures of my work getting in the way. That plan was so perfect it just needed a little bow on top.

After we got married, Floyd let the officers of the Death Star know his wishes to work at their Irish satellite, and we got it all lined up. When the folks with relocation (Storm Troopers) asked us the size of our family (for housing, etc.) we told them “There's just the two of us now, but we’re expecting a baby once we get there!” I shudder to think of how simple-minded we were. As it was, the Storm Troopers don’t consider optimism when checking their boxes.

So here we are in Ireland and, well, let’s just say we’ve had a slight change in plans. Those little ones that we drew on the paper tablecloth when we were planning out our most fortunate of lives? Well, they’re still just twinkles in our eyes. After we set our sights on Thor, we found ourselves with a little bit of time on our hands.

The Death Star (being the Death Star) had to exact a price on Floyd for bringing us over here, so he was pretty busy for the first six months. The travel started out slow. Reluctantly almost. Sure, a trip to London here...a weekend trip to Amsterdam there. Thinking about money, not enough vacation time, all the usual concerns. But after we got our dossier over to China, something happened...

Floyd is now a reservation-making fool. FOOL I tell ya! He tippity-taps at the computer and finds these crazy deals on the nasty, budget airlines. Last weekend he booked something like four weekend trips for January and February. I think we’re going to Oslo, Edinburgh, Riga and Krakow (but, frankly, I can’t recall hate hate hate). Tonight he’s booking our trip to Turkey (red hot hate). One of the reasons I think he’s booking all these trips is to keep me occupied....lest I figure out a way to steal babies from fertile Irish women (joke). We have five more trips booked between now and the end of the year. Soon, Jezebel won’t even recognize us.

In between trips, I still do some work for R2D2. Write/edit reports, a little project management...basically keeping my foot in the door while making money for our next trip. I also take piano lessons, do the laundry, go grocery shopping, write, clean the house, host a book club, go to the gym, and make my husband healthy and nutritious meals (Jaysus, who is this woman?).

So there you have it. The best laid plans. If I’d had it my way, I’d be eating exotic foods like pureed carrots, learning baby-talk rather than French, dipping into the crystal clear waters of the kiddie pool, and making unexpected weekend jaunts to the pediatrician. Instead, I get to visit places that I’d never dreamed of, which is not a bad second place.

Don't Hate, Part 1

2006-10-08T21:34:00.000+01:00

I sent out our pictures from Croatia to friends and family last week and I got one response, from a friend with a particularly dark sense of humor, that said, quite simply

hate you

It made me laugh because I know her (let's call her Gooshy D) and the spirit with which it was written. You see, she's crusty on the outside but all gooshy on the inside (but mostly crusty). So, this post is for her (even though she doesn't read the blog...because I haven't given her the address...hehehe).

Tomorrow I leave (sans Floyd) for the Cote D'Azur on the French Riviera (I can feel Gooshy D now...hate hate hating me) where I'll be spending the week with a couple of wonderful friends from the States that have rented a place there for an extended holiday (I am love love loving them). I'm looking foward to warm sun, funny old men in banana hammocks, salad Nicoise, wearing rhinestone sunglasses that are bigger than my head, writing, reading and marveling at the wonder of it all.

So there you have it Gooshy D. Hate away...

And stay tuned for Don't Hate, Part 2 where I try to explain how dorks like us get to bumble around Europe for a couple of years.

Where I'm Coming From

2006-10-04T11:18:00.001+01:00

My good friend C1, over at Walternatives, had this great idea (at least for those of us that are settling in to our new comfy-cozy blogging community) to show a picture of our bloggy space to give the folks that read our blogs an idea of where we might be coming from...literally (sadly, you will still have no idea of where I am coming from - in the figurative sense).

This is a picture that I took a few months ago, when I first started to blog, and I was thinking a lot about what I was doing and why I was doing it. It was, and still is to a certain extent, pretty fascinating to me, this whole blogging thing, and I wanted to capture the physical space that I was in while doing it. For posterity’s sake I suppose. For Thor.

The interesting thing about this picture is that we don’t own much of the stuff that's in it, so I don't know if you get a real insight into our personalities. We live in a furnished rental while in Ireland. So the shredded, purple velveteen couch with fringe along the bottom and gaping holes in the cushions? Not ours. The TV, TV table, DVD player, etc. Nope. The bookshelf and books? Those are ours. The movers thought we were crazy bringing so many books over here. But that’s how we made it our home. Oh, and Jezebel? Actually she owns us. Laptop? Sadly, I think it owns me too.

E-Mom Speaks

2006-10-03T23:03:00.000+01:00

My friend, E-Mom, called me the other night. She’s an amazing friend that I’ve had since the dawn of time and the story of our friendship deserves a mega-post...but I’ll save that for another day (hmmm...maybe she can help me write it). Anyhoo...E-Mom has two absolutely beautiful children and she’s sad that we’re having problems makin’/gettin’ some of our own. She knows how hard we’ve tried and how sad we’ve been...but she also knows how happy we are to be adopting from China... and then how sad we were to hear that the wait might be excruciatingly long. It was very easy for her to get pregnant both times and I think she feels an eentsy bit guilty because she’s watched us have a pretty tough time of it and she also sees how much we love her kids.

So when we were on the phone the other night she pointed out that almost all of my experiences surrounding motherhood have been negative. Bad eggs, short luteal phase, high fsh, bad, bad, bad...and now the wait for China is going to be quite a bit longer than we had thought...bad, bad, bad. So she thought that maybe, with all this negative stuff floating around, I could do with something a little more positive. So she went on to tell me (quite convincingly I might add) that she believes that we WILL be parents and that we WILL be wonderful parents and that all of this parenting stuff that we dream about WILL happen for us someday.

And then she said, “...and I’m not just blowing sunshine up your ass”.

And I believed her.

And then I started to cry like I haven’t cried in a while.

Thanks E-Mom.

My Nickname

2006-10-03T00:20:00.000+01:00

In the summer between 5th and 6th grade we moved across town to a different house with a plum tree in the back yard. I was a rough and tumble tomboy and I didn’t have any friends, so I spent the summer weeding the yard and picking the rotten plums off the ground and putting them in a big, black garbage bag (I can still smell that sickly sweet...and I am just now starting to enjoy plums again). One time my Mom was talking to the little old lady that lived across the alley from us. I don’t know what the context of their conversation was but the little old lady said to my Mom, ”I just thinks it’s so sweet of you to put that little retarded boy to work for you.”

And my Mom said,”You mean my daughter?”

So my family likes to call me “the little retarded boy”...and I don’t mind because I like the story.

Top Five Fave - Croatia (Hrvatska)

2006-09-30T12:25:00.000+01:00

Before I dive into the Croatia stuff, I have some things that I've been thinking about and I'd love your thoughts on them as well...

So, we’ve been doing a lot of traveling lately and we're about to be doing a heckuva lot more. So I’ve been thinking....why do we travel? I mean, obviously, we travel because we want to see the people, places and things that we can’t see in our back yard (shuh). So maybe it’s not so much, why?, but, what should we be getting out of it? It’s gotta be more than just checking the place off our list and collecting postcards. Right?

I recently read that travel was believed to “expand the mind, reduce prejudices, and cultivate taste.” Hmm...possibly a bit pretentious but I don’t think it’s completely off the mark. Maybe put another way....it’s important to allow the place to affect you...to change the way you think, the way you interact with the world, and the way you express yourself. Sometimes that’s easier said than done...especially as a tourist, where, no matter how hard you try to avoid it, everything seems packaged into little vignettes (the Eiffel Tower, the National Gallery, the this...the that...) and it all comes at you so fast. It takes time, many many breaths, for a place to burrow its way into your psyche. Without that time, and those breaths, it’s difficult to feel like we're really changed.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I guess only to say that the opportunity that Floyd and I have been given, to travel like this, is the experience of a lifetime and I don’t want to blow it. You know? So anyway....

Top Five Fave...Croatia (AKA Hrvatska)!!!

Who’s idea was this Top Five thing anyway? Top Five was fine for cities, like London or Paris, but how can I pick a Top Five for an entire country? But, rules is rules (and goodness knows, I NEVER break the rules). So, first, let me start out by telling you where we went, because I can just hear somebody saying....”but what about Zagreb?”... but, you see, we didn’t go to Zagreb. We flew into Dubrovnik, in the south, took an all-day ferry through the islands up to Split. From Split we took a ferry out to Vis, a little island wayyy off the coast. Back to Split, then bussed it up to Plitvice National Park, and bussed it to Trieste, Italy, then flew home. Bam. (oh, yes, and there were a few breaths along the way as well) So what did I enjoy the most? ...not necessarily in any order...

1. The Dalmatian Coast. Aha....I’ve found a way to cheat the Top Five Fave! Just lump a lot of places into one category. The Dalmatian Coast includes pretty much everything from Dubrovnik to Zadar and the mess of islands off the coast but there was just no way for me to narrow it down. In a perfect world, the small, laid-back, island of Vis would not be tossed into the same bucket as Split or Dubrovnik, but it’s the cutthroat world of the Top Five Fave. They’re all very different places. The walled city of Dubrovnik is an amazingly picturesque, little postcard of a place that seems to be almost untouched by time. Beautiful to look at...but you start to long for the soul that may only exist beyond the city walls. Split, on the other hand, has soul (and shoe shops) in spades. It’s hectic, loud, and not quite so pretty to look at...although “pretty” is relative in a region that is stunning at every turn. I must admit, though, that I was a bit overwhelmed by it all after my mind had been numbed by the ease of Dubrovnik and the 8-hour ferry ride to Split.

Now Vis...I could live there. I realized again that island life has some pretty consistent characteristics, regardless of the pond or the hemisphere, and I found myself comparing it to small islands I’ve been to in the Caribbean or even in the San Juans. The people were very kind. The island was quiet, stunningly beautiful, and Mel.low (notice the capital M). We looked for ways to change our itinerary to allow a few more days here....but there comes a time in every vacation when you’ve got to move on.

Oh, let me mention one more thing. Out of all this water and sun and people...there was not one jet ski. What do you think that says?

2. The Feeling of Warm Sun on My Skin. Let me just start out by saying that I’ve been living in Ireland for over a year now. Yes, we have sun here. Sometimes good stretches of quite lovely sun. It’s just never warm enough to where I feel inspired to strip down to an embarrassingly small amount of clothing and soak it up. Conditions were delightfully different in Croatia. After the, sometimes, torrential rain our first few days there, the skies finally cleared and, once we made it out to the islands of Vis and Biševo, it was divine.

This is a picture of The Blue Cave on the island of Biševo. When the sun is in the right position on the horizon, it shines off the limestone floor of the cave and lights up the water to an azure color that you can only see here. There used to be some sort of a sea creature that lived in the cave (because of the language gap we could only gather that it was something like a manatee) but all the people visiting the cave, sadly, made it swim away.

Floyd and I spent two days straight just roasting ourselves like pigs on a spit. This is highly unusual behavior...especially for Floyd, who has probably never “laid out” in his life. He moves. He does things. But he has needs, just like any other man, and he NEEDED to park his ass on a beach and do nothing. Man that felt good. Only getting up to cool off in the crystal blue waters and float around a bit (and get stung by jellyfish!). It’s a wonder we didn’t get fried. Our first day on the beach a nut-brown old man actually laughed at us...or maybe he was just startled and squinting at our blinding whiteness. By the end of the two days we thought we were bronze...and perception is everything.

3. Fresh Seafood. And we’re talking feeee-resh. Like some old guy just puttered up in his little skiff and the chef met him at the dock, fresh. We were sitting at one restaurant (on my 39th birthday thankyouverymuch) and we had to get out of the way as the fish guy ran through the patio towards the kitchen, carrying the days catch. Moments later, our waiter brought us a few of these unlucky soles (hehe get it?) on a platter to choose from. I made the wrong choice, but Floyd, dear Floyd, made the right choice and it was the best fish we have EVER had. Our waiter called it St. Peter, which, up until this moment we thought was the most exotic of fishes. Maybe only found along the Dalmatian Coast of the Adriatic? Turns out it’s tilapia. Not so exotic. But, they grilled that baby up just so perfectly...and I’ll stop now for the sake of the vegetarians. And there was no sign of big, commercial fishing vessels. The fishing industry appears to be relatively Mom and Pop...and that makes me feel good.

4. The People. I’m not going to say that the Croatian people were warm. Because they weren’t. At least not to me. They were actually pretty gruff. At first we thought we had done something to offend....but then we realized they were this way, if not gruffer (I know it’s probably not a word, but I like it), with their friends, that gruff is just how they are. No sugar-coating. It’s just plain honest. And, bless them, they don’t seem to mind too terribly much (and they’re certainly not rude) when they have to speak English to convey an important point. I suppose it’s the result of having a very difficult language and realizing that tourism is your major industry...with maybe a bit of kindness and sympathy thrown in there for good measure. You'd love 'em too if you didn't have to learn how to say "urinary tract infection" in Croatian (it's a great story, involving the oldest pharmacy in Europe - in operation since 1317-remind me to tell you sometime).

5. Plitvice National Park. This is what brought us to Croatia in the first place. A couple of years ago Floyd and I happened upon a PBS show about Plitvice. It was haunting. Croatia felt so far away at that point in our lives...but Plitvice kept coming up. In conversations. Articles. It was very strange. So, once we got over here, it was an obvious part of the itinerary.
I don’t have the ability to describe it, but there’s something quite magical about the combination of a myriad waterfalls, the eerie blue and green waters, and the quiet beech and conifer forests. It was enchanting on the one hand, but it certainly felt dark and dangerous on the other...undoubtedly an effect of knowing that it was home to the Serbian forces in the Balkan War. We took a long, long walk, hoping to catch glimpses of the wolves or the bears, or even a woodpecker (Ireland doesn’t have any of those things), but such were few and far between that day. And such is life.

So. There you have it. Pretty splendid I’d say. But you know what the best part was? Spending 10 whole, uninterrupted days with Floyd. Heaven on earth my friends. He’s a good man...and there’s so few of ‘em left.

Next trip? I'm going to the French Riviera at the beginning of October to visit a couple of American friends that are renting a place in Menton for a few weeks. Sans Floyd :( ...but looking forward to it nonetheless. I'll try to get in as many breaths there as I can.

Jezebel and the Tits

2006-09-26T09:57:00.000+01:00

There are these little birds over here called tits. They’re a lot like the chickadees that we have back home. Small, flitty, chirpy...you often look up and see them clinging to a small branch, picking at bugs or somesuch. Cute as the dickens. They have names like coal tit, blue tit, marsh tit, and the all-time sniggler, great tit. Even birders (or “twitchers” as we’re called over here) can’t help but peel off a few tired lines every-now-and-then, e.g. “Why that’s a lovely pair of tits up there...” Actually, if I were to say something like that with a group of European birders, and follow with the snort, guffaw, knee-slap combo, they’d probably ban me from their birding group. So maybe it’s just me.

Regardless, I love the tits. I love them for their own sake but I also love them because they spend quite a bit of time flitting about in the big, scraggly crabapple tree in our yard. We have this great window in our upstairs bathroom that takes up essentially the whole wall and you can stand in the shower and watch the tits (and all the other birds for that matter) do their flitting thing. It’s my kinda bathroom. (It’s important to note here that the window looks out on the crabapple tree, our small side garden, and the great stone wall of the old stables. And that’s it. See the Ballyknockmilliedoon post if you want a better idea of where we live. I’ve only had one occasion of showering and needing to drop out of view from unexpected eyes, so the shade is never drawn.)

OK, back to the tits. The first thing I did when we moved in last year, around this time of year, was to go out and buy a couple of feeders. After a bit of research, I bought a sunflower seed feeder and a peanut feeder, occasionally putting up a suet feeder as well. And that seemed to suit these birds just fine. Before too long we had loads of birds using the feeders. The tits were, by far, the most abundant, but we also had chaffinch and greenfinch. The magpies and jackdaws would catch wind of it when things were really hopping, and they’d come ‘round to cause trouble. There were other birds, like the robins (my sweet sweet robins), the dunnock, or the thrushes that never went to the feeders, but they would watch from the tree and, oftentimes, drop to the ground below the feeders and eat the scattered bits.

And this is where my cat, Jezebel, enters the picture.

Despite being raised on the streets of North Portland (pre-gentrification), Jezebel was never a scrapper. She was vaguely interested in the comings and goings of birds and mice, but it always seemed to be more from a natural history, taking notes, kind of a perspective...like me. She would just sit and watch. Even when the baby mouse was scurrying back-and-forth in front of her, she just sat...and watched. Despite her propensity for casual observation, we bought her a bell for her collar...just in case. We wanted the birds to have advanced warning of any potential disruption to their flitting, but, because she never felt the need to disrupt their flitting, the bell’s use became primarily a cat-finding device.

So, imagine my surprise, when I walked out to the base of the crabapple tree one day a few months ago and found Jezebel with two little bird legs sticking out of her mouth. Because of my astute skills as a biologist I surmised that she was in the process of eating the bird. Like the whole thing. She looked up at me and continued her bone-crunching chewing and I, in shock, could do nothing but stand there and watch the little black claws disappear into her mouth. Sadly, I couldn’t tell which species she had devoured, but I’m sure it was either a robin (my sweet sweet robin) or a tit because these were the birds that spent the most time on the ground below the feeders. So sad. Needless to say, they wouldn’t have been hanging out on the ground if it hadn’t have been for those feeders. I guess all this fresh air and farm living has inspired the vicious carnivore in our little girl. And I guess the bell doesn’t work for shit.

So, life’s been different since that day. I no longer fill the feeders. In fact, they got blown down in a wind storm and I don’t think I’ll put them back up. Now that the air has a chill and the leaves are turning, the tits are flocking and spending more time in the crabapple tree. Sometimes Jezebel hops up on the window ledge while I’m taking a shower and we watch them together.

Ahhhh...Croatiaaaaaa...?

2006-09-13T21:18:00.000+01:00

That’s generally what people say when we tell them we’re going to Croatia. You know, like they’re stumped. After the initial bewilderment, sometimes people will nod their head, like “of course”, and leave it at that (like when you're looking at modern art and trying to play it off like you “get it”), and others, will ask, very honestly, “why Croatia?” So, why Croatia? Because it’s frickin’ gorgeous that’s why. With the Dalmatian coastline, the tangles of tiny, little off-shore islands, crystal clear blue water, Plitvice National Park, Dubrovnik, etc. I think the better question is...why not? The war is long over and tourism has become the major industry. It’s a huge destination for the Europeans (I can hear my friends back home...”Gawd, she’s becoming such Euro-trash”). Floyd and I are headed there for about 10 days. It’s our first “real” vacation since moving over here and we’re doing it all by our lonesomes. We need it big time.

You see, I’ve been a royal bitchy grump these last few days. The whole 3-year thing is seeping into my psyche like a nasty, black ooze and just wreaking havoc. I’m fuckin’ depressed...like, back to my infertility struggles, depressed. Maybe even more so. At least with infertility I didn’t get my hopes up and start buying little Thor things. Everybody seems to want to try and put some positive spin on it, but you know what? Stop it. Please. And all my lovely, internetty, baby waiting, gal pals seem so...upbeat. And I just feel like a fuckin’ toad. They’re getting on with their lives, talking about diapers and such, and I’m walking around with knots in my stomach. I don’t feel like I can talk about diapers or buy baby clothes, read books about China, or make a quilt. I feel like the rug’s been yanked out from under us and every “promise” has been taken away. How in the hell did I get here? Better yet...how do I get out?

I know, I know...I need to get over it. Who am I to bitch? At least I get to go to places like Croatia. Sometimes I just need to remember that I’m the luckiest girl in the world. So I should just forget about this pesky little baby thing, and enjoy my most fortunate of lives.

So, that’s where I’ll be for a while. Enjoying my most fortunate of lives. Oh, and if anybody has heard any good rumors, like somebody multiplied when they should’ve divided and the whole 3-year thing was a silly mathematical error, please send them my way (and feel free to make something up!). If you send me good news, I’ll love you forever and think of you and your big, big heart while I’m sinking my toes into the sand.

Gawd. I’m sorry. This post started out so positive. As Floyd would say, I’m just a big crankaholic these days.

Top Five Fave - London and Paris

2006-09-10T11:18:00.000+01:00

How in the heck do you write about your travels? It would be silly to ramble on and say things like...”and then we did this, and then we did this, OH and then we did this...” Nor can I sum it all up in one, brilliant jewel of a sentence. I was thinking maybe a numbered list. Maybe something Cosmo like “Top Five Fave Things...”! Seems appropriate for the blog arena, oui? Ou non? Eh, whatever.

Top Five Fave Things to Do in London (so far)

1. Visit the National Gallery. I love paintings. It’s really weird for me to say that because, up until a few years ago, I thought art was just pretentious. Nature was where it was at. As if it had to be one or the other. I’ve since learned otherwise. In fact, a big turning point for me was getting a guided tour at London’s National Gallery. The guide was so enthusiastic and so, not pretentious, that he helped to instill his love and passion for art. Thanks art dude. That really helped. I don’t know much about art. Nothing, in fact. But there’s just some art that makes me feel really, really good and there’s some very good-feeling art at London's National Gallery.

2. Eat fish and chips at The Sea Shell. Wow. What can I say? Atomic Mama, you did not lead us astray. Those may very well have been the BEST fish and chips I have ever had. Why? Well, you get to choose the fish (which I had never experienced at a fish and chips joint before - I chose the halibut), the fish, itself, was incredible (fresh, thick-cut, you get the picture), the batter was perfection (so light and crispy), and the chips were not merely a side dish, they were obviously given the deep-fried attention they so deserve. Damn good meal.

3. Walk through Harrods. We ducked into Harrods to escape a brief, torrential downpour and it was like stumbling into a grocery/department store Eden. I had no idea such a place existed outside of myth and legend. Frankly, we were a bit overwhelmed and I just can’t do it justice. Go there. Admire. Buy something....anything (a chocolate-dipped strawberry...or maybe a little Stella McCartney outfit, whatever) and just experience the apex of all things retail.

4. Walk through Hyde Park. I like it in the morning. Like when the normal people (are they normal if they can afford to live next to Hyde Park?) walk their dogs, jog, or run their pony (oh yes). And I really really like the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain. Despite the fact that the Princess was never a fascination for me...I just think they did a great job with the fountain. It’s like poetry really. To me, the flow of the water is like life, and it tumbles over the rough spots and it glides over the smooth spots and sometimes the stone gives way to the water and sometimes the water wears away the stone. At least that’s what I see.

5. Eat Indian food at the place that Tommy Lee recommends with your sister and a good friend from high school that you haven’t seen in years. How do you pick out an Indian food joint in Covent Garden, where every other restaurant is Indian? Simple. Look for the one Tommy Lee recommends. St. Martins Spice was it’s name. I think the food was great but I enjoyed the company so much I don’t even know if I really tasted it. Thanks for the recommendation Tommy.

Top Five Fave Things to Do in Paris (so far)

1. Museums. I could spend all day in a museum, which makes me a pain in the ass to many people. But if you feel like you have a lifetime of art to catch up on, Paris is a good place to start. For this trip the museum highlights were the Picasso Museum and the Musee d’Orsay (I started choking back tears as soon as I walked into the Van Gogh exhibit...I think it must have something to do with his art yanking on my soul...but I’m not sure). Next up? The Rodin and L’Orangerie.

2. Go to Montmartre at night to hang with the peeps on the stairs of Sacre Coeur and watch the Eiffel Tower light up with the moon hanging right over it. I had only been there in the daytime so it was a real trip to go there at night and witness the scene. Throngs of people congregated on the steps, overlooking the lights of the city. Sitting, drinking. Beautiful, lively. We hung out to listen to some French kids and an acoustic guitar doing “Hotel California”. The world just gets smaller and smaller.

3. Eat. You just can’t go wrong. From the citron crepe at the sidewalk stand to the onion soup (oh. my. god.) and canard et peche (duck with peaches). How in the hell do those women stay so thin?

4. Have a picnic on the banks of the Seine with bread, salami, apple, cheese and wine...with the vittles picked up at the little shops on the Ile St. Louis and drinking the wine out of a water bottle because that was the best way to transport it from the apartment. This picnic is preferably followed up by the most amazing ice cream you’ve ever had at La Maison Berthillon. There’s only about 32 Berthillon shop fronts on the Ile St. Louis, each one sporting a long line of tourists stringing out in front of it, and those that weren’t in line, had their faces stuffed into the ice cream they had just bought. Quite possibly the key to world peace.

5. Hang out at the “sailboat pond” (can’t recall the park) where the little kids rent little, wooden sailboats and chase them around the edge of the pond. No tourists. Happy kids. Sitting down (ahhhhhh......). Great place to Parisian watch. I could’ve sat there for a very, very long time. Joy.

So there you have it. I could’ve listed a few more things...yeah, just a couple more. But in the Top Five Fave...that’s all you get.

Release the Demons!!

2006-09-07T18:46:00.000+01:00

So, we got this e-mail from our good friend “Mags” yesterday and, despite the fact that she is so obviously suffering, she had us laughing hysterically. We laughed so hard that I thought I’d share it with you. As background, Mags and her boyfriend are in the process of buying a house and this is her description of doing the walk-through last week. It’s a slice of life man. Thankfully, not your life.

I’ve only edited out one word because it’s the only word my Mom told me never to say...but I think you’ll fill in the blank for yourselves. Thanks Mags.

“So, we were not able to close last week. We did our "walk through" on Thursday and it was absolutely ridiculous and bizarre. The basement, front yard, backyard and basement were all piled with stuff. Every room had some or A LOT of stuff in it. Steve and I were amazed. Where did it all come from? He had already filled a large POD and a U-haul truck and yet there was soooo much more. A junkyard with a house on it. Meanwhile, the only person who appeared to be doing any work was his realtor. The other two "helpers": weird meth cowboy dude who had a cigarette/TV break every 10 minutes, and young goth guy whose T-shirt (black of course) bore a picture of a nun masturbating with a cross, and JESUS IS A !*@$ in 8inch white letters on the back.

We had told him that we wouldn't release the money until the place was empty. But he couldn't move, he said, until he had the money. We tried to do a "Holdback", which would put $3000 of his money into escrow until the place was clean. But our lender wouldn't allow it.

SO, we were called back there again yesterday to give our approval. The garbage was gone (2 drop boxes, you guys, TWO!). There was still a lot of stuff, but it looked like it was staged to be loaded. How it's all going to fit into his new double-wide is beyond the limits of human thought.

What follows might have been a nightmare: Steve, the seller's realtor, and I were in the kitchen. David (the seller) opens the bathroom door while on the john. It might surprise you that this was far from a pleasant sight. The door slams and he starts ranting (it was really more of a cross between a rant and a chant, a ranting chant) in his own 3-pack-a-day toad voice, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!.... RELEASE THE MONEY!.... RELEASE THE MONEY!....RELEASE THE MONEY OR I WILL NEVER LEAVE!...." Steve was freaked, because he thought he was saying "RELEASE THE DEMONS!"

See apparently this is somehow all our fault. Even his realtor has been trying to make us feel guilty every fucking chance she gets. Shit like, "if you want, I can get my 73 year old father over to help". I confronted her on that one.

But we decided that to act in good faith was the best thing to do. We had no choice but to release the money or walk away completely. He has until 5pm on Friday. We think it will happen. Poor guy. It just sucks that he's demonizing us, but oh well. I'll keep you posted. Hopefully there will be blessedly little to report.

So, I should get back to work. I also need to go out and pick up some sage and a new toilet seat.

Thanks for "listening"...

love,
Mags"

Now let's all send some good juju Mags' way (and maybe chip in for a Shaman).

Shacklin’ My High* (i.e., harshin' my mellow)

2006-09-06T20:17:00.000+01:00

What a great trip. And how. But I’m not here to talk about the bluebirds of happiness and our wonderful little, European holiday. I’ll talk more about that in another post (once we get all 2,378 pictures downloaded) where I’ll tell you all about the wonderful food we had, and the great art that we saw, and schlepping around in the biggest shoe store in Paris (this is where I make that sound that Homer makes when he looks at a donut)...but for now I need to bitch....because, since coming home, my high has been seriously shackled and my mellow has been determinedly harshed.

WTF happened while I was gone? Yes, Mary Mia got twins, which made me all kinds of (double) smiley, but that didn’t last for very long, because then I started checking in with my AltDTC peeps, and it would appear that our wait is now estimated to be at least 3 effing years??!! WTF? Please tell me I’m delusional.

And, as if that weren’t enough, the CCAA is getting cranky on our asses, telling us the increased wait will make us better parents (wh wh wha?) and denying our agencies any information that might aid in the decisions that we all need to make at this point, such as “what the eff do we do now?”

Whew. Taking a breath...thanks for listening...it’s almost over.

I know, I know. It’s only rumors at this point. But, gosh, even if they are rumors, this is so NOT why we chose the China Adoption Program. This situation is not reflective of predictability or stability to me...in any way shape or form.

So we talk about our options. When I last spoke to my agency about the extended wait time (when it was hovering around the “remotely comprehensible” 18-24 month range) I asked them if we should change programs. They suggested we relax and settle in for the wait (and learn Croatian, write a symphony, and read Ulysses). But I’m afraid it might be time to stop asking for advice and just start making our own plan. Because a cranky China scares the hell outta me.

You see, we’ve never felt that some divine force was drawing us to China. I am happy for those folks that have that insight and guidance...but we just don’t have that. I have wanted to adopt a child for many years now and, for some reason, assumed that child would be Asian...but I haven’t a clue as to why I assumed that. Our hearts are open to a baby. Period. African, Asian, Canadian (OK, maybe not Canadian...joking!!), Russian, Texan, Whatever...Baby. But, while our hearts may be open, it doesn’t mean our minds are. Floyd and I have all sorts of little thoughts and hang-ups (which we’ll keep to ourselves thankyouverymuch), that guided us to China...and that may now guide us somewhere else. Our child is somewhere out there and, frankly, we don’t know where (but we do know it doesn’t appear to be hanging out around these dusty, old eggs). So, we may be back to the drawing board, because I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this 3 years thing (which is fitting because China seems to think this would make me a terrible mother anyway...just more proof).

So, there you have it. Thanks for letting me vent. How’re you guys doing with this whole thing?

Oh, and Ms. Bionic Valentine? I think we could all use a big (like global in scale) whack upside the head with your No. 838, The Fortunate Hammer. Tanksferdat.

*Floyd just pointed out that the appropriate phrase MAY actually be “shackle my hide” (vs. high)....but that’s not what I say. I always screw up these little phrases. This may be the ONLY thing I have in common with our good buddy George W.

Pip pip...a plus tard

2006-08-27T21:38:00.000+01:00

Things have been a little hectic over here at Casa de Millie y Floyd...but in a good way. We’ve had loads of company so we’ve been dragging our guests all over this little island. We’ve thought about becoming tour guides...but I think we’d suck at it. Last weekend we were in Belfast and the Giant’s Causeway up in the north. This weekend we went out west to see the Cliffs of Moher, the Burren, Connemara and Galway. And in between it was all the little highlights that are close to home. Oh, and a Radiohead/Beck concert thrown in there for good measure (I still can’t believe I saw Radiohead - heavenly). All really, really good stuff....but I’m exhausted. Which is funny because my sister and I are catching a reeealy early flight tomorrow morning for London. We’ve got a couple of nights in London (hey Atomic Mama - we've got reservations at Princess Di's fish and chips joint!) then we take the Chunnel to Paris to round out our adventures. Floyd even gets to come meet us towards the end of the week (‘cuz it’s our anniversary). So, despite the fact that it now looks like we’ll be waiting approximately 5.3 years for Thor, I sometimes feel like the luckiest gal on the face of the planet. But I’m exhausted. So, I’ll check in again in a week or so and share some pictures and stories.

....and a big congratulations in advance to all of those, even luckier, peeps that are about to see their babies for the first time!

Totally Irish, Vol. 2 The Medieval Castle

2006-08-24T09:31:00.000+01:00

Ireland is loaded with castles and, what we refer to as, “castley-bits”, the great stacks of stones that are scattered about across the countryside. They’re so common they’re in people’s backyards and in cow pastures. Sheep graze over the top of them. They’re everywhere. You may hear about the romantic side of castles but what our guide told us today is that the romantic image was conjured up just a few hundred years ago when the great great grandson of the original Lord de Lacy would use the castles for nothing more than secret romps with his "lacy" entourage. But when the castles were actually lived in, when they were actually used, they were, as our guide put it, “killing machines”. Whoa.

I’ve discovered that there’s loads of really interesting information out there about what life was really like for those damsels in distress and knights in shining armor, so I won’t go into it here. I just wanted to take the opportunity to talk about poop.

I just took one of our visitors to Trim Castle this past weekend. I’ve been there before..a few times. It’s pretty close to our house, it’s a cool-looking castle, it’s where they filmed parts of Braveheart, and they do some pretty interesting tours, so it’s wound up on our heavy rotation list.

There’s this one tour guide that I like in particular. He’s a refined, middle-aged man, very well-spoken, and has one, possibly, glass eye. As he’s waiting for the dawdlers to gather, we chat about how the area’s changing and he’s always got some choice words for the development taking place in the village. The juxtaposition of the bad, modern architecture with these kinds of castley-bits is, well, disturbing to some. But, the people gather, and then we get to the good part.

He’s already described the structure of the castle, how it was built for defense, this is where the Lord and his family slept, this is where they filmed that one scene in Braveheart, yadda yadda yadda.... Then he points to the hole in the floor. That is where the Lord of the manor shat, you see. And, as opposed to the internal plumbing that everybody else’s shat would flow into, the Lord’s shat went directly to the exterior wall (I take this opportunity to scan the faces of the tour group). Why’s that you ask? Well, displaying the royal shat in such a manner was a means of presenting to the surrounding serfs and occasional guests (?) that these folks ate well and were, therefore, better than them. Displaying ones shat as a means of exercising dominance. I hadn’t thought about that before (think about the application of this technique at the office....). And, if this didn’t do the trick, when they had really important guests, the “poopsmith” (the guy that stirred the poop in the internal holding tank) would paint the rich shat on the wall surrounding the castle entrance. A big, fecal “Howdy Do!”. Quite.

And then I take the opportunity to scan the tour group again. They’re LOVING this! All the kids that were yawning and picking their noses before, are now completely intrigued...asking questions...fully engaged. Husbands? LOVING it! The ladies? ...pretending to be appalled.

I LOVE this tour. I wave goodbye to our tour guide and tell him I’ll see him the next time we have guests in town....maybe next time we’ll have a pint.

Why four?

2006-08-20T20:57:00.000+01:00

I used to dread these things (memes?) because I would look at them and think, "shit, I don't know". But they force you to remember, which can sometimes hurt, but most of the time, it's good stuff. So, a big thank you to Atomic Mama for helping me remember what it felt like to dance around the living room to a Gene Kelly movie. So, here goes....

4 jobs I’ve had:

1. I was a papergirl when I was a kid. I weighed like 90 lbs. and, believe me, Sundays and Wednesdays (when all the coupons came out) were a bitch. One time, when I put the bag on, I just tipped over. Literally.
2. Back in high school, I was a hostess at The Old Spaghetti Factory (AKA The spag fag). One of the waiters asked me out on a date and took me to see Jethro Tull. Oh yea.
3. In college, when I was pretty desperate for cash, I worked at a cheap shoe store at The Mall. Trying to squeeze tiny shoes onto those big ole nasty feet is a sight (and, sadly, a smell) that I will always carry with me. The manager, who I’m pretty sure was doing coke in the back room, actually tried to convince me that high-heeled shoes were therapeutic (good for the calves).
4. I used to band spotted owls. We would catch them with a fishing pole (seriously) and weigh and measure them and put a little band on their leg. Then we’d let them go and give them a cute, little, live mouse to leave them with a happy memory.

4 movies I could watch over and over:

Well, like others, I just can’t watch a movie over and over again. And, even if I could watch a movie over and over again, I have a tendency to love really heavy movies, which you just CAN’T watch over and over because they would break you. But here’s some movies that I’ve enjoyed, and they’re light enough that I could probably watch them a few times ....

1. Any of the Coen Bros. movies but especially The Big Lebowski, Barton Fink, Raising Arizona...hell, probably all of ‘em.
2. Any of the Nick and Nora Charles movies (i.e., The Thin Man). That one scene where she comes waltzing into the bar of that ritzy hotel, absolutely laden with shopping bags, and she trips and falls on her face, makes me laugh out loud to this day.
3. Gene Kelly musicals. I haven’t seen one in a very long time but they gave me endless amounts of joy when I was a kid. They always had me dancing around the living room.
4. Best in Show. Knee-slappin’ good times.

4 places I have lived:

1. Washington State (Tacoma, Olympia, and Forks)
2. Puerto Rico (studying the Puerto Rican parrot-one of the most endangered species of bird in the world)
3. Anchorage, Alaska
4. Portland, Oregon

4 TV shows I love to watch:

I watch about 3 hours of TV/week so I’m pretty picky about what I’m going to spend that time on...but you may notice that this doesn’t imply “quality”.

1. Tommy Lee’s Rock Star Supernova!!! We’re LOVING this show at the moment but I think Ireland/UK are about a week or more behind so DO NOT tell me anything about who wins and please, please, please try not to write about it in your blog (or at least preface it by something like MILLICENT-FOR GOD’S SAKE, DON’T READ THIS!!)
2. Father Ted (fekkin hilarious Irish telly)
3. Absolutely Fabulous (haven’t seen it in forever but I was just reminded of it today and it made me smile)
4. Will and Grace

4 places I have been on vacation:

1. Costa Rica
2. Poland
3. Brazil/Venezuela (the Amazon)
4. Amsterdam

4 websites I visit daily:

Well, maybe not daily but here’s a few...

1. Go Fug Yourself
2. My Mom’s blog
3. All the usual adoption-related blogs (but I’m really enjoying Peter’s Cross Station these days)
4. Any recipe-related website where I’m desperately and usually at the last minute, trying to find something to make for dinner.

4 fave foods:

1. Fish and chips of the most delicate order (still seeking perfection)
2. Homemade macaroni and cheese (when my husband makes it)
3. My Grandma’s home-canned green beans (Mom – do we know how to make these???)
4. My friend Bill’s sweet-potato pie (it’s just best when Bill makes it)

4 places I'd like to be right now:

Heck, I’m pretty happy right where I am, but here goes...

1. Bathing in a vat of some cream that would make my 84 mosquito bites stop itching (WTF are they doing in the house??)
2. Sitting around a campfire with our friends back home
3. Hanging with my Mom and Ez in their motor home
4. Someplace with warm sand that I could squish my toes around in

4 people I am tagging:

I would tag my Mom but she hasn’t responded to the last meme that I tagged her on (S’up Mom?). So, if you haven’t responded to this meme yet (is that what these things are called?), and you’ve got something to share, then, tag, you’re it. Let me know when you’ve got something posted.

Hey, that was fun. Thanks Atomic Mama.

No surprises here...

2006-08-19T11:07:00.000+01:00

I just took this goofy little quiz and it informed me of this..."You're a punk rock mommy! DIY is probably your motto, because you're a punk mama at heart. Your kids are getting your independent spirit and guts, and learning to solve problems themselves. You love it when they show their independence, even when it's breaking your heart." Hmmm....and I didn't even have to admit to the tattoos or the time I kissed Johnny Rotten.

And, Atomic Mama, don't think I forgot about that taggin'!

What was your first...?

2006-08-13T09:22:00.000+01:00

Now, now...get your mind out of the gutter people! I’m talking about your first baby thing...the first little thing that you went out and bought for your baby-to-be. Wzgirl wisely suggested a “round robin” so that we could learn about what other folks have deemed worthy of “their first". Great idea!

There was a comment over on the NO that really summed it up for me (duh, do I have a post where I don't reference the NO? Shhno). Cagey said...”For me, the clothes was not about the CLOTHES, it was about imagining my baby boy actually IN THEM. This isn't some shallow thing about dressing up babies like dolls. It's about having a tangible object in your possession that helps to make it real for you. Because with adoption or pregnancy, it is hard to wrap your brain around it.”

Ain’t that the truth?

I know there’s some folks out there that started shopping for their baby-to-be around, oh like 9th grade, while others wait until after they get their referral (or give birth...“post family-expansion” shall we say), and there may be some that even wait until they get to China (you can’t beat the prices!).

And I’ll also bet that not every “first” was clothing. Maybe it was a stroller? Anti-fungal cream? A kids book? Whatever it was, we’d love to hear about it. How have you commemorated, and made a little bit of commitment to, that twinkle in your eye? And if you haven’t bought a thing yet (and don’t plan to until you get a call from their school) we’d love to hear about that as well.

So, what was it folks? Do tell!

Logistics: You could either leave your story in the comments section or you could post your story on your blog...but then let us know to go over there by leaving a comment. Or...whatevuh. I just thought it would be cool to make a list (or maybe a powerp*int presentation with charts and graphs ;0)).

First.....tartan?

2006-08-10T10:24:00.000+01:00

We’ve got these great friends back home that are about five months ahead of us on the China adoption path. Like us, they were excited and apprehensive about buying their “first pink”. I know...”first pink” sounds kind of...not so innocent, but that was their name for the first thing they were going to buy for the twinkle-in-their-eye, baby girl from China....and it stuck. First pink. They already have a boy (i.e. lots of blue stuff) so I think they were looking forward to (and apprehensive of) buying that first, cute little pink dress. First pink.

I can’t speak for them, but for me, buying things for a baby that is still just a dream is a serious commitment to faith. Obviously, we’re already committed to the idea of having a baby. We’re so there. Rather, it means a commitment to faith in the adoption process. Now, for folks like us, who have tried other ways of starting a family, and failed (again and again and again), this commitment can be a very difficult one to make. Let’s just say trust is a little hard to come by at this stage. I don’t want to start buying things for Thor, only to find out that WHOOPS China has decided to close their doors on us...or whatever.

But we’ve recently watched other folks get their referrals and seeing those beautiful, baby faces for the first time, and feeling the excitement of those new parents, well, it gives you some faith.

So, on our trip to Scotland we bought this. First tartan. Momma and Thor matching tartan at that. Man oh man...I never thought I’d see the day. It felt sooooo goooood. When we were standing in line at the cashier I just wanted to yell, “I BELIEVE!!!” at the top of my lungs....but I didn’t. So, I’m imagining Thor with the “kilt”, a cool, black t-shirt, and some black converse. I will, of course, be wearing mine with black boots.

I know, I know...it’s not pink. But it is the first. And that’s what counts.

Ullapool on my mind

2006-08-08T21:35:00.000+01:00

Floyd and I went to the Scottish Highlands this past weekend and we had a wonderful time...but I have a few little bitches that I should get out of the way, and then we’ll be done with them. You see, everything went according to plan except for....the airline neglecting to send Floyd’s backpack on our flight (and the next flight wasn’t for two days) AND his backpack had our tent AND we had been planning on camping AND the camera broke on the 2nd day. So there...hmph....got that out of the way. But hey, we were in Scotland....how bad could it be? (actually, our woes were beat by the guy from the States that had come all this way to play at St. Andrews golf course [aka golf mecca] and the airlines failed to send his clubs....sadness and woe were most certainly upon him.)

We flew into Inverness, rented a car then drove west (completely skipping Loch Ness, even though, as a kid, I was TOTALLY into the Loch Ness monster AND Bigfoot...I’m still into Bigfoot, but not Nessie). We drove straight to Ullapool (go on, say it....”oolapool”...it makes your mouth do funny things and it makes you laugh like you’re being tickled), a little fishing village on the west coast. Imagine our surprise when we saw two big ole cruise ships parked in the teeny-tiny harbor (look at the picture...then imagine cruise ships in the background...wuh?) and loads of peeps hanging out all over town. This is why we’ve chosen to only take one vacation during the European “high season” because everybody and their dog travels at this time of year and everywhere you go, even the most remote parts of northern Scotland (which Ullapool isn’t), will have a surprising number of people in it. They’re all hanging out, eating soft ice cream cones, and wearing those horrible, clamdigger length pants that are all the rage over here right now (which make even tall, skinny people look short and dumpy – even Grandma and Grandpa are wearing them...argh). But, Ullapool ruling the way it does, the tour boats left, we got the BEST fish and chips we’ve ever had (which is a really big deal for me) and we got the last room at a funky B&B...with a view...AND the most amazingly, funky, swirly carpet you’ve ever seen in your life (sorry, no pics – but think really bad, early 70’s, in pink and green and burgundy).

From Ullapool (say it again) we drove north and stopped at the Knockan Crag interpretive center in the Inverpolly Nature Reserve, which describes the geology of the area and how the geologists that did their thing in this area discovered that Scotland actually has more in common with the Appalachian Range than with England (geologically speaking, of course). How crazy is that?

There’s this one spot on the trail where you can span 500 million years of time with your hand. That’s what I’m doing in this picture (and, yes, those are binoculars around my neck and a bird book in my pants...and, yes, I’m a total bird geek). It was one of the best interpretive centers we’ve ever been to and, once again, that’s a big deal to me (and, yes, this means I’m a total geek – but I can also wear killer, black boots so it’s OK).

Then we headed out to the coast, where, after asking at a few places, we found Charlie, the guy that’ll take you out to Handa Island on his boat. Handa Island is a great place to go if you’re a bird geek or if you’re married to a bird geek and you want to make them happy (thank you Floyd).

It was a bit late in the season, so we didn’t see any puffins or guillemots but we saw loads of nesting great and arctic skuas (I know some [or at least one] of you care about this stuff), kittiwakes, and fulmars. I even found an eggshell and managed to get it home, mostly, in one piece. I was sad that we didn’t see puffins...I mean, only really grumpy people wouldn’t care to see a puffin...but the timing just wasn’t right...(heavy sigh). Oh, and this is where our camera broke so there will be no more pictures...at least until we can get the disposable camera developed. It’s a good thing this place isn’t very picturesque...(shuh).

We, once again, lucked out and found a funky little B&B (where the carpeting was equally fascinating) in the wonderful village of Durness, where John Lennon used to holiday. I can see why. You feel like you’re at the tip of the world and still, there are gorgeous, sandy beaches and crystal clear water. If you could ignore the misty rain, cold winds and barren landscape, it’d be just like the tropics. It was here that we ran into a German couple that were even more geeky than I am and they mentioned that they actually saw puffins on Handa Island. Loads of them in fact AND they showed me the fantastic pictures on their (functioning) camera as proof (not to rub it in or anything). They told us that another bird geek they had run into had recently seen some puffins off the nearby peninsula, Faraid Head. So, guess where Floyd and I went after breakfast? Floyd was a little grumpy about it because it was totally against our better judgment. We had a looong way to drive that day, we didn’t know what the roads were going to be like, this just wasn’t on the itinerary, and Floyd could see the whole framework of our existence beginning to crumble away. But, yes, we made the hike and, yes, we saw puffins (and, no, we did not perish). They were really far away but you could still see what they were...and they were really cute...and they were puffins. Joy.... Sometimes it’s good to make decisions with your heart.

After we loaded up on mind-blowingly delicious, handmade chocolates at this great place in Durness, we headed inland on a single lane road, through some of the most remote landscape I’ve ever had the pleasure of venturing through. Actually, there used to be people here, but in the mid-1800s the Chieftains decided it would be more profitable to graze sheep on their land, rather than let poor people live there so they kicked folks off the land...usually in a mean and nasty way. As one gentleman told us, “if ye’ve a Highland bone in yer body it’ll make yer blood boil.” The Clearances, as they’re referred to, left this area mostly vacant. Even the sheep turned out to not be as lucrative as they thought, so now many of the landowners make their money from people who like to shoot things in remote, pristine areas (not that I have an opinion on the matter).

Once the highlands spit us out onto the east coast we made our way to Dornoch, where people were generally snotty to us...so we headed further south to the lovely little village of Tain, where we, once again, completely lucked out and found a charming, flowery wallpapered B&B, where you just wanted to call the lady of the house “Grandma” because it was all just too warm and cozy.

Scotland is an amazingly beautiful place, with incredibly gracious and kind people. There was no litter. The roads were safe. We had perfect eggs every morning and we want to live there.

Meme...who me?

2006-08-07T23:25:00.000+01:00

I got tagged (by wzgirl)...and it feels good. Not like in tag football, and not like the wall-art in my neighborhood back in the States, but tagged like as in "you're it". It means that a) somebody thought about me (which makes me feel really warm and mooshy inside) and b) now I have to tell you more about me than you really wanted to know (or less, depending on whether you're one of those freaky deakies reading boring adoption blogs for your kicks). I think people call this type of thing a "meme" but don't quote me on that because I really have absolutely no idea what that is and I may be talking out of my blogging arse. So here goes...

I am....so blessed in so many ways.
I want....to take Thor to Africa to see the giraffes.
I wish....people would think about the kind of world they’re leaving for their children.
I hate....litter.
I miss....our friends and family (and bras that fit well).
I hear....the whirring of the computer fan (it’s really quiet out here).
I wonder....what Thor’s laughter will sound like.
I regret....a few errors in judgement but, surprisingly, very little.
I am not....comfortable standing on the edge of really high cliffs.
I dance....like a fool to anything and everything.
I sing....to my heart’s content…and to most people’s dismay.
I cry....when Thor feels so real she fills my heart to bursting.
I am not always....well-groomed.
I make....decisions with my heart.
I write....because it feels really, really good.
I confuse....this blog with a journal, with a newsletter, with a travel diary, with a letter to Thor, etc. (I’m still trying to figure out exactly why I’m doing this…why are we doing this?).
I need....surprisingly very little (but that includes buying a great pair of boots every now and then).
I should....volunteer more.
I start....so few projects that...
I finish....most of them.

So there you have it...my attempt at riding the fine line between spontaneity (the real me...yawn) and intrigue (somebody waaay cooler than me). So now it's my turn to tag somebody...how's about...hmmm...MY MOM!!! Are you out there Mom? Everybody...meet my Mom. Mom...meet everybody (Everybody be nice...it's my Mom).

It Can Really Happen!

2006-07-31T20:54:00.000+01:00

Whew. What a day! And it’s not even really OUR day...it’s somebody else’s day. In fact, it’s somebody we don’t even know, but we feel like we know them. I’ve been following The Naked Ovary for about six months now. Her ramblings and musings during her wait for her daughter in China have made me smile and grumble and laugh...and sob on many occasions. And, Lord, how this woman has waited. I can fully appreciate why she intends to blow-dry her hair and wear pointy shoes when she goes to China. After what she's been through, shit, she could wear a fekkin' tutu in China and I'd still give her the nod. I like her...even though I don’t know her.

And today she (finally) became a Mom. I didn’t run my errands today because I couldn’t leave the computer for that long (well, that, and I needed to take a two-hour nap). Me, and thousands of other women, were glued to their computers...waiting for Karen to become a Mom. It was surreal. Go check out her posts from today and pay attention to the number of comments she was getting with each one. Seriously, the world was watching. I was so anxious and excited I had something like a mongoose running around in my stomach. And then it happened. I swear there was an audible gasp, a universal gasp, when she finally posted... “WE HAVE A DAUGHTER!!!!”. We all held our breath while we read the details of Maya. And then the universe could finally breathe again.

Whew.

So, it really happens. I mean, this is a big deal! Families really are made through this process, and arms that were once so heavy with emptiness, can now grow strong by carrying a child, their child...our child. This is huge!

I’m sure you’re thinking, “Uh, yea...duh...” But, you see, waiting for your baby through adoption is VERY different from being pregnant. When you’re pregnant, you’ve got a baby growing inside of you. You’ve got this thing, a bump, that you can rub, and sing to, and other people can point to, and it’s real. With adoption, you have a dream, you have a promise, a “contract” (and, actually, we're the only ones that have signed anything. Our agency and China have made no real obligations to us...gulp), and you have the stories and experiences of the families that have gone before you. This is VERY different from having the bump. And, because of that, it sometimes seems less...real. And that can be scary.

But it’s made a little less scary, and a little more tangible, when people like Karen, and all those other families that have gone before us, share their experiences with us. It helps us realize that it can happen. That there is a light at the end of the tunnel. That there is hope. That we will have a baby someday. And that maybe, just maybe, it might be safe to go out and buy Thor a little dress with flowers on it. Maybe....

So what’re you doing over here??? Go check out The Naked Ovary! Oh...and check out Sophie's video while you’re at it. Made me cry like a baby.... What a day.

Color Fuh-reak

2006-07-28T23:28:00.000+01:00

I am a color fuh-reak. Did you know there are more shades of green than any other color? Well that’s what the paint store guy told me when I went in there for the third day in a row. When we painted our bedroom a couple of years ago I went through 17 shades of green before I picked the right one. Fortunately (or unfortunately – depending on your perspective), this paint store lets you rent quarts of paint before you're ready to commit. I would come home with my new shades and paint them on big pieces of paper then hang them on the bedroom wall so I could see how the colors changed with the light. It amazes me when people can just paint a room (or their house!) based on those tiny, little swatches. That’s so. not. fuh-reaky.

So, for the two of you that have visited this blog more than once, you may have noticed that I’ve been going through some color changes in the last couple of days. I was really happy with the first colors. Nice, earthy green background, bold print, etc. But then Floyd pointed out the links in the text were hard to see...ack!..., which led to a complete overhaul. During the overhaul I realized the colors were different, sometimes very different, depending on the computer. The nice earthy green on my laptop was an icky, dirty chartreuse on the desktop. Most (normal) people wouldn’t have really noticed (and certainly wouldn’t have cared)...but now I was obsessed. I quickly found out the nice antique white on one computer, was light pink on the other...pink on one was a weird salmon on the other...now I’m really (color) fuh-reakin.

I learned a lot about myself this afternoon when I took a glimpse into the proverbial mirror and saw myself surrounded by, at one point, four computers (all with different interpretations of the colors). In the midst of the frenzy, I realized I had hit bottom. So, I took a deep breath, gave myself up to a higher power, and went with the white background (which still looks like light pink on one computer). If you liked me better with the earthy green background, well that’s fine, it was good times, but please respect my decision to go colorless. It’s better for me in the long run.

Baby? What Baby?

2006-07-26T11:28:00.000+01:00

When you look around our house you’d have to be very perceptive to see evidence that a baby is going to come into our lives within the next year or so (heavy on the “or so”). I see the red folder sitting in the corner that holds all of our dossier material. That red folder was a very big part of my life for a few months there...and now, I can honestly say I haven’t looked at it in quite some time. There’s a few scattered books on Chinese history, a Chinese travel guide, some borrowed Chinese language tapes, and a couple of popular books on Chinese culture/lifestyles, etc...just enough to make someone think that we might be considering a trip to China at some point. There are a few books on international adoption, Chinese adoption and attachment issues, one of which I even keep on my bedside table, but a perceptive person would see the dust collecting on it. There’s no nursery, no baby clothes, no “What to Expect, The Toddler Years” or any other books on how to take care of a baby...nothing, nada, zip. It’s weird, and I’m pretty sure it means I’m going to be a terrible mother.

We spent the last two years totally focused on having a baby. I threw myself into the chase, not to the extent that some gals have, but it consumed me nonetheless. Then, when we decided to just adopt my days continued to be consumed by the chase, but this time it was the paper chase (I loved that show!). So, now, our dossier is sitting in China, I’ve got the books (and, yes, I’ve read some of them, thankyouverymuch) and...and...and, now what?

You see, we can’t decorate a nursery because we’re not “at home”, meaning we don’t live where we will be living when we bring Thor home (at least not by current predictions). Besides, I don’t even think I could bring myself to buy things like changing pads (despite sporting fabrics that I would design an entire room around) at this point, because I’m still only marginally convinced that we’re going to have a little Thor at the end of all this (but that sounds like another post to me). And I guess this is why I can’t even bring myself to buy the baby clothes that I’ve been drooling over for years now. WHY IS THAT?? (oh my, that would certainly qualify as a whine....yep, definitely a different post).

So, what’s this stage called? Adoption-limbo? Adoption oblivion? Sometimes it feels like that, but in some ways it feels like adoption nirvana (see, I am going to be a terrible mother). I mean, we’ve done our work, we’re (supposedly) going to have a little Thor come into our lives in the not-so-distant future (it’s all a matter of perspective), and now all we have to do is....wait? Hell, I can do that...on some days (nirvana days). On other days (the limbo/oblivion days) I scurry about, going to the waiting children sites, learning about different “special needs”, investigating adoption from other countries, scurry, scurry, scurry...because that’s what I’m used to doing. You can’t just SIT BACK and expect your baby to come to you???? You gotta go out there and GIT IT! scurry, scurry, scurry...

But then on other days, like today, I can just wait. I think it’s called faith. I don’t have much experience with it, but I think this is what faith feels like. It’s kind of like knowing you’ve done what you need to do and that somebody else is going to fulfill their part of the bargain. Faith is a nice, peaceful place....it’s where the bluebirds of happiness* hang out.

So, with a little bit of faith, and a little bit of patience, maybe I can enjoy this next year (or so) of our lives. A little bit of travel (have I told you we’ve added Turkey to the list?) and maybe even a little bit of shopping for Thor (I’ll need a little more of that faith stuff first). Yea, that sounds nice. OR...maybe I’ll get my panties in a bunch and convince Floyd that we gotta go to Kazakhstan RIGHT NOW to git Thor. Maybe I should go get a Kazakhstan travel guide just in case....

*Bluebird of Happiness courtesy of Morgan Gleave (morgangleave.co.uk)

Totally Irish, Vol. 1

2006-07-23T23:01:00.000+01:00

Totally Irish, Preface

Since we’ve been living here in Ireland I’ve been wanting to write about, well...living in Ireland. Because it’s different here. Like really different. (when I say “different” I mean different from Oregon, USA because that’s where we're from) Before we moved over here we thought “how different can it be?” We’ve both traveled a bit, lived in a country where the language was foreign, and consider ourselves pretty open-minded, worldly people...so we’ve experienced “different” and we just weren’t expecting much of it from this adventure. We were wrong. It’s difficult for me to explain the differences in one, succinct, little blog post...so I’m not going to try. (Besides, I need stuff to write about.) Instead I think I’ll just write a little story every once in a while about something that I think is “Totally Irish”. Please know that I am not a Sociologist, Psychologist, Irish Historian or even very smart, so if I start throwing opinions (or even facts) around...well, take ‘em with a grain of salt. And I would welcome anybody that knows anything about what I’m writing about to comment...nicely, of course. So, here goes...

Totally Irish, Vol. I, Hurling

Hurling is totally Irish. There’s a few other folks that play games that look kind of like it but, whatever dude, it’s Irish. If you have a chance, treat yourself to the movie “The Wind That Shakes the Barley”. It’s a wonderful movie and there's an old-school game of hurling in the opening scene.

They say hurling is arguably the fastest team field sport...but I have no idea what this means. What I can tell you about this game is that there are loads of lads (15 per team) out on the pitch (that’s what the field is called) all carrying big sticks (hurleys) and whacking at a little ball about the size of a baseball (the sliotar, pronounced sli-her). They can kick the ball (usually a last-ditch effort), smack it with their hand (but not throw it), whack it with the hurly, or, my favorite, running down the field balancing/bouncing it on the end of the hurly....very cool. As you can imagine, it’s pretty dangerous, what with whacking the sticks and all, but helmets are optional and some lads choose not to wear them. I hear broken teeth are common. Oh, and the refs? They stand on either side of the end zone and wear lab coats. Lab coats?! It’s very scientific dontcha’ know.

So, Floyd and I went to our first hurling match this afternoon and it was a blow-out. The teams were playing up to the Christy Ring Cup and we were supporting our home team, the Lily Whites of County Kildare (Go Lilies!!), and they were completely shut down by the County Antrim Saffrons (I know, I know, but believe me, you would not walk up to these fellas and start picking on their team name). Final score was 2-21 to 0-06 (you figure it out).

You know how the Irish have this reputation of being fond of the drink. Well, there was no alcohol there...at least not that we could see (other than the beers that we brought but didn’t drink because it was obviously not cool). It was very family-oriented. Loads of kiddies. Now I just can’t imagine going to a baseball game and not having a hot dog and a Bud. Sports and alcohol, man. They just go together. I seriously doubt that every hurling match is as sober as this one was...but it was interesting...and nice.

There was great team spirit without getting nasty. Nobody was bitchin’ at each other and nobody was bitchin’ at the refs. In fact, there was one obviously bad call and the fella in front of us turned around and said, very calmly, “Now that was an unusual call...” Unusual?! That’s a far cry from the American parent shrieking and foaming at the mouth at their kids’ soccer match. “Unusual” is probably not the word they’d be searching for.

Hurling has been around a very long time…there are some references to it all the way back to around 400 AD. It’s a common man’s game and it always has been. Even today, while being an Irish obsession, it’s still strictly amateur…meaning none of these lads gets paid. It is played purely for the fun and passion of the sport. When the game is over the lads go raise a pint together then go back to their regular jobs the next day. There is no glamour, no posse, no ‘tude. And because they’re playing for pride, and not money, they play honorably, which means they’re not out there whacking each other with those sticks. But pride also means they’re playing with all they got, so look out for that stick (remember the broken teeth?).

As this fella Tom Galvin wrote, “Hurling is a great game, not just because it is a great game by itself, but because it seems to illustrate the best of Irish culture -- its folksy character, its work-hard and play-hard virtues, and its community-based values.” Here here….

So after the match we came home and watched Tiger win the British Open and Floyd (Landis) take the yellow jersey in the Tour de France. USA #1!! Oh, wait....that was so. NOT. totally Irish.

Don't Worry Mom

2006-07-21T10:04:00.000+01:00

We won’t be naming her Thor. Not that that’s a bad name. Floyd (darling husband’s nom de blog) was almost named Thor....seriously. You see, I wanted to pick a nom de blog for the little twinkle in our eyes. Something cute and pretty like Bunny, or Pumpkin (what Mom called me) or Jennifer Aniston. But then there were the....boy referrals (gasp). Yep, there were a few referrals last month of beautiful little baby boys....to parents that had not “requested” boys. It had the Chinese adoption community all a-twitter. So that got us thinking. What if little Jennifer Aniston turned out to be a boy? With that in mind I decided to butch it up a bit.

And, then, there’s the fact that we may be waiting a loooooong time and a lot can happen in that length of time. Importantly, I could get fed up with the wait and decide to go someplace else for our little angel. So, that leaves out the China-centric names, like Panda or Ladybug (ugh) or Little Empress (now, if you know me, you may know that I couldn’t go this route anyway).

But I think the biggest factor at play here is that I have a weird sense of humor. You see, I really like the whole God of Thunder thing. I mean, that’s what our little ray of light will be....right? All-powerful, smiting their enemies (with a keen wit instead of hammers of thunder, of course), and saving the planet...regardless of whether they’re a boy or girl, Asian or white, black or purple. (Although some Thors decide to forgoe the whole saving of the earth thing and just become Legendary Rock Warriors. That's their choice.)

Floyd’s still a little uncomfortable with the nom de blog, but he’s a scientist and prone to being pretty literal (as am I), but this is for fun. He wanted to know if this would be, like, a real nickname...like would we call her this when we get her (or him)? Hmmmm....Maybe when she’s screaming at the top of her lungs in the midst of the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale (see below), I could gaze at her lovingly and say, "awwww.....are you my Thor, my little God of Thunder?" I mean, really, doesn’t it make you smile...just a little?

P.S. Please don’t tell me you can’t take your babies to the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale...please.

The Road to Thor

2006-07-19T23:23:00.000+01:00

Part I. Dusty Eggs.

When the Reproductive Endocrinologist told us we had less than a 1% chance of conceiving our biological child we thought the world had caved in on us...for about two days...and then I just got ornery. My diagnosis was high FSH as a result of premature ovarian failure. Talk about a shit sandwich. This diagnosis doesn’t really leave one feeling like there’s a whole lot of options. I got it a few times from a couple of docs (because I was ornery) and each time they delivered it with a little cock of the head. You know, that look that attempts to indicate empathy. I think because of my advanced age (?! I was 37 at the time) we never found an RE that appeared to give a rip. Had we elected to proceed with high-tech (expensive) options that may have changed...but that’s just my bitter perspective.

After the diagnoses I consulted my good buddy Dr. Google (where you get what you pay for) and found that there was, indeed, LOADS of hope for my dusty ole eggs (heh). So began the regime...acupuncture, Chinese herbs, wheatgrass, temperature charting, loads of obscure supplements, sex on a schedule (hardly inspirational, my good friend calls it “gas station sex”...ding ding...fillerup!), cleansing fasts, special diets, and NO ALCOHOL (emmmm...excuse me?). In the meantime, I watched my friends get pregnant again, and again...sometimes accidentally.

Then we moved to Ireland. Oh. My. God. I have never, in my life, seen so many fekkin’ babies and pregnant women in one place. It really does live up to its reputation as a fecund nation. I tried to continue with the Eastern medicine regime, even going so far as to send digital pictures of my tongue to my Chinese doc back home (a means for diagnosis) and having monthly telephone conferences with her. We even upped the supplement intake to the point where we were each taking about 20-30 pills/day. Fun. We looked into going the high-tech/IVF route over here but I never really felt good about it. You know. Even though I watched my friends getting pregnant through IVF, the “gut check” just never revealed that warm-fuzzy feeling of hope. So I took some more wheatgrass.

Then winter set in. Now, Irish winters can be pretty damn dark and dismal...especially if you’ve lost all hope. There was just no light at all....and all of our friends and family were really really far away. But it was in this darkness that a little light appeared. We’ll call that little light....Thor, God of Thunder (or just Thor for short, I’ll explain the name in another post).

Part II. Sandwich Gone.

We had discussed adoption briefly when we were first handed the shit sandwich but the time just wasn’t right. I was too busy being ornery. But when I brought it up in the midst of the dark Irish winter (actually, I think we were in Scotland over Christmas) it was a pretty simple conversation.

Me: “Should we adopt?”
Floyd (that’s what we’ll call my darling husband): “Yea.”

Whew. It was just that easy. We always knew that it was the making of a family that was the most important thing for us and we were open to the different ways that can happen. Once we finally decided to adopt we felt like a huge weight had been lifted from our shoulders. The sun came out and we could, finally, FINALLY feel hope again. I think The Naked Ovary put it best when she wrote about adoption after infertility, “I never imagined that hope can have other soil.” (credit where credit’s due – that was the inspiration for my blog name. Read her post "The Mom Precipice" under Adopty when you get a chance.).

We pretty quickly decided on international adoption (for all sorts of reasons) and then chose China (for all sorts of reasons). I doggedly researched agencies. I worked off a list of agencies that work with Americans living abroad (there’s easily about 100 of them), made phone calls, reviewed their websites and mission statements (I was uncomfortable with the agencies that were heavy on religion), developed spreadsheets and did more gut checks. Once we picked our agency it started to feel pretty real.

So now the light of Thor was getting brighter...

Since I’m not working much over here I was able to kick some serious butt in getting our homestudy done and preparing our dossier (our paperwork). This whole process was made slightly more complicated and time-consuming by the distance from things like authenticated birth certificates, as well as our expat status, but, if you don’t spend too much time bitching about it, you just get it done. So we got our dossier over to China on May 22nd (DTC) and we were logged into the Chinese Center for Adoption Affairs (AKA God) on May 24th (our LID). And now we wait...and wait...and wait.

When we got started we thought the wait was going to be about 8-10 months but now they’re telling us the wait will be somewhere around 12-18 months (from LID). Jaysus. This puts our gestation period at somewhere between a sperm whale's and an Asian elephant's. Needless to say, this is a serious bummer. I’m trying not to bum out about it too much. Downside? It’s not the way we planned it (stomp my foot). We wanted to have this time in Ireland to make our family. Upside? Instead of starting a family while we’re over here we’re going to take the opportunity to travel. And travel we will. Scottish Highlands in early August, London-Paris in late August, Croatia in September, the south of France in October and Prague-Budapest in late October. But all this travel is just not distracting enough....I still think about ways to decrease the wait...but I’ll save that for another post.

So, we’ve gone from eating the big shit sandwich to feeling like we’re the luckiest folks in the world...because we have Thor to look forward to. Isn’t life funny?

Ballyknockmilliedoon

2006-07-18T14:03:00.000+01:00

This is where we live. It’s not really called Ballyknockmilliedoon but that’s pretty close. My husband and I are the luckiest people in the world (don’t worry if you think you’re luckier – we won’t argue with you). We’re living in Ireland for a couple of years and we live in a 200-year-old stone cottage at the end of the road. Well, it’s not really the “end” of the road, but it turns to gravel after our place.

It’s a big ‘ole estate with cows, horses, wheat fields, pheasants, badgers and hedgehogs (yep, hedgehogs). There’s even a river, from which I caught my first ever brown trout. Our closest (human) neighbors are the owners of the place and they’re about a 10-minute walk away. The estate is bounded by an old stone wall and there’s a big, iron gate that prevents just about everyone but the mailman from getting in. Quiet is an understatement. All this and we're only 20 minutes outside of Dublin.

The estate has some interesting history involving nasty landed gentry and some underground tunnels dug to facilitate an easy escape from the, understandably, angry Irish folk. Our cottage is right next to the old, cobblestoned stables and, if you’re really quiet, you can still hear the click-clack of horses and carriage on the stones. It’s pretty cool and creepy. A cab driver once told us that Michael Collins used to hide out here during “the troubles”…but I’ll bet he says that to all the ‘yanks.

Last night I was sitting outside, soaking up the quiet, and I realized it wasn’t that quiet after all. First I heard the heavy hoof steps and exhales of the new stallion anxiously exploring his new stomping ground. Then there was something rummaging around our compost pile…a badger maybe? I couldn’t see. Then there was a tiny, chaotic rustling under the hedgerow and a rotund little hedgehog ambled out into the moonlight. Hedgehogs make for perfectly delightful neighbors. My goal is to get a picture of one…if I do I’ll surely post it.

So this is where we live. I realize it may not be for everybody but it’s perfect for us.

Lamentation and Woe

2006-07-18T09:12:00.000+01:00

Have you ever regretted playing hard to get (eh hem...)? Maybe you've come home from the party and wished you had given that guy your number? Well, there's a serious case of regret going on in our house today. The pugs are gone and Jezebel, our cat, is in the throes of self-reproach. She just lays in bed..."Why? WHY didn't I just let them sniff my butt once? I mean, they were kind of cute in a playful kind of way... Why? WHY do I always have to be so damn cold? (pounding her paws on the pillow...) I mean, if anybody could've melted my icy facade...it would've been...the pugs (more sobbing...)." She's just got to work through this herself. When she's ready to open up...we'll be there for her.

The running of the pugs.

2006-07-15T20:24:00.000+01:00

How's this for a first post? We're pug-sitting this weekend (for our friends that went to Pamplona to see the running of the bulls!) and these two handsome beasties inspired me to finish designing (i.e., picking out the colors for) my blog.

We love having the pugs over because they make us take two walks a day, they're so cute they make us talk funny (HOOsagudboy?? DATsagudboy....), and they snore like two old men. But it's not all roses. Our cat won't allow them to sniff her butt, so their relationship is in a holding pattern, AND they have really stinky farts. But who could resist faces like theirs?