Shooting Spring

(It all gets bigger than life with a click)

Surely Seems It's Here to Stay

Spring.

click here for the rules.

Sun touching your skin? Celebrate with me!

Leave a comment and leave your link if you're playing.

1. citizen jane 2. Flower Child

3. Goofball 4. mariposa

5. mentalmosaic

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Music and Medicine

laughter.

click here for the rules.

Is it echoing in your ears?

Join the play. Leave a comment and your link if you've posted.

1. Flower Child

2. Mariposa

3. Anneke

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And Then the Tears Fell

I woke up this morning to a sweet surprise in my inbox. A surreal surprise really, but a welcome one all the same.
Judd Corizan of The Rising Blogger dropped me a line, a warm message, and a code for this button:

It is an award for this post. Someone pointed it out (who are you? I thank you kindly) and he picked it for the post of the day.

So I cried. Not only when I read his words in the email, but also when I read the post at his place. I don't have words enough to say thanks enough for the kindness shown. Perhaps you can help by popping by his and leaving a comment. Tell him I sent you.

Thanks and thanks and thanks again.

All my love,

Jenn

Apply Within

As I am writing this I am staring straight on at my eldest son, who, perched in front of me, hand outstretched in hopes of some money sliding across his palm, is wearing a t-shirt with a single sentence written across the chest.

I didn't do it.

Kind of the perfect sentiment for this kid, I'd say. It may fall just short of Do I have to? if you were actually looking for the mantra most repeated.

I am suddenly thinking I should take up t-shirt writing and design. And start a screen printing business.

I could start simply with just the most oft spoken phrases around this house. Things like:

'We gotta get us a cool car!' (Andrew)
'Okay, okay, hang on a sec.' (Emma)
'Is this a paid job?' (Ian)
'I'll be there directly' (Don)
and 'Seriously, dude, where are your pants?' (that's me)

I'm thinking there just might be something to this.
Feedback for market research now being accepted in the comments section.

***************************

Sunshine on display at the photo blog.

Come on over, bask in it.

Tell me you stopped by.

My Office: Fridays 4 p.m.

Stop by anytime.

Red Wine Wednesday

Enjoying the Journey

While we were in Ireland last week (did I mention I was in Ireland?) we took the kids to a mall to do some shopping for souvenirs and the like. They each had money burning a hole in their respective pockets and a deep desire to bring something home to remember the trip by.

So, a mall.

Dividing to conquer, the big kids took off to search and spend while Andrew, Don and I wandered the mall together. Okay, really, we manhandled this ridiculously awkward car-cart which we rented to make the transportation of he-with-little-legs more manageable as we navigated the shops, but certainly meandered all the same.

As part of the bribery inspired motivational learning parenting we do, Andrew was in search of a "prize" which was being rewarded for having tried scrambled eggs for breakfast (trust me, this is a VERY big deal). His search led him to the video shop, which in turn led him to finding not one, but two DVD's of his latest children's show obsession: FIREMAN SAM. (don't ask, I won't tell)

Upon approach to the counter, Don and I were distracted by not one but two impulse purchases. The first being a CD of Irish ballads (Emma queried later: "So, are they all about beer?") and the second being, wait for it, a discovery of throw-back memories-- of the make you feel 17 years old again, arms wrapped around your deep crush at the prom, memorizing lyrics by heart kind-- in a JOURNEY'S GREATEST HITS CD. Because, really, what's not to bring back some sweet, sweet memories if not a vision of this:

And being able to belt out (without mistake) every word to the quintessential love-me-as-I-am-my-heart-bleeds-for-you ballad of the 80's while driving the roads of Ireland?

Lying beside you, here in the dark
Feeling your heart beat with mine
Softly you whisper, you're so sincere
How could our live be so blind?
We sailed on together
We drifted apart
And here you are by my side

So now I come to you, with open arms
Nothing to hide, believe what I say
So here I am with open arms
Hoping you'll see what your love means to me
Open arms.

That, friends? Is an impulse worth following.

*****************************************

Belt it out with us. Come on, you know you want to.

At the Heart of it All

love.

click here for the rules.

Write your name in my heart below. er... I mean in the link box.

Please leave a comment too. It does my heart good.

1. G 2. Goofball 3. Jen of a2eatwrite

4. Flower Child 5. citizen jane 6. Anneke

7. Kate Forsey 8. Mariposa

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From My Vantage Point

I work in an office.
I have a desk and a chair, a computer and a phone.
It's possible that sounds like the makings of the world's-most-boring-job-on-the-planet but trust me when I tell you that the moments in a day wherein I actually get to light in that chair and stay for any extended period of time are few and far between.

Everyday is a whole new adventure in chaos at the office.

Just the way I like it.

When I do get to sit and *ahem* work at the tedious tasks which are indeed included on my list, this list following is part of what surrounds me to make my desk space my own, and dare I say, meaningful to me.

1. My psychedelic sock monkey, hand made with love and stellar skill by Leslie of My Mommy's Place. He is the talk of all who spot him tucked perfectly underneath the computer monitor sitting cross legged and still, smiling at me constantly. He's been named by the children: "twilight" and I dare say he's coveted daily, but that doesn't worry me. I know he's all mine.

2. On the wall near the monthly calendar (hand-highlighted for all holidays!) hangs the tag from a set of flowers delivered to my co-worker and I early in the year. We had been effective in assisting someone through a nerve-wracking crisis, and after all had settled the family sent us thanks by way of a bouquet. The tag reads: Cartier & Taylo. We have long thought these variations on our last names were most fitting to our super-power prowess, and if we ever reveal our cape-clad-world-saving-inner-selves, this just may be the name of our famous duo.

3. Two water bottles sit sentry at the edge of my desk. I wish I could tell you they were empty because I fill and drain them multiple times each day, to keep the waterworks clear and all, but in spite of my recent descent to bladder infection hell (Level 9) I sometimes mostly forget to drink the water. Somebody shoot me.

4. Next to the photos of my husband and my children hangs a postcard. It's an Edward Hopper print sent to me spontaneously from a friend in Boston (have I mentioned her before?) and I love it. I carried it around for months in my bag so the edges are soft and frayed. It now hangs with pride in my office and every time I see it, I grin.

5. Underneath that postcard hangs another, freshly arrived, from Texas. Meaningful on several levels to me, this new card from a dear friend reminds me that friendship, once discovered, is a forever thing.

6. Tucked away inside a tin which once held delicious shortbread cookies (thanks Kate!) personally delivered from the Isle of Wight, is my secret stash of chocolate and other treats. Okay, it's not so secret really, since most of the staff is on to me and more than once in any given day someone will stand at the office counter with puppy dog eyes full of longing, and ask 'if isn't there please somewhere something a body could eat?' and I drag the tin out from it's hiding place and share the goodness within with any and all who ask.

7. No list would be complete without mention, real mention, of the woman who works opposite me in this shared place. She has been not only mentor and teacher to me this year as I have learned the ropes of the job and all it entails, but she is ultimately and at the heart of it all, my friend and an incredible support in my personal life. I feel lucky, nay, blessed, everyday to sit across from her and share the frustrations and the triumphs of the little and the big moments in our day. She is a friendship treasure.

So, there you have mine. Show me yours?

********************************************

Newly on display: A photo blog

She calls it Project 1 Picture a Day

and the redundant rules state:

1. post 1 picture

2. everyday

3. for one year

Please take a minute to visit, bookmark and return to watch her complete the challenge.

Help me welcome her to the neighborhood.

Say something about her photos.

Go. Click here. Click-click-click.

Nothing Says Spring Like a Snowstorm

Springtime Wednesday

Considering As

We sat together on the train headed to the Amsterdam airport. The rain was pouring in earnest (when has it stopped recently?) as the engine hustled along the tracks.

"Look" I said to him and pointed toward the way the rain was streaking along the windows of the train.

Rather than meandering paths of water dripping and curving over the pane, the streaks ran parallel to the train itself. Rainstreams sliding in quick rhythm across the glass, the car propelled straight into the rain and bore down against the wind. I could feel the urgency of both the rain and the movement of the train, strong forces both, and sensed the forward motion of the train which seemed to dominate with its push against the onslaught of the storm.

We watched together in silence for a moment and then he asked "Do you see a photograph?"

"No," I replied, "I see a metaphor".

too ra loo ra loo ra

When I was a wee child Wait, no, sorry, I am not Irish--I only want to be.

When I was a young child I spent the better part of my life singing. From a very early age I was involved with a children's SING OUT group (could it be called anything else with 50 kids ages 2-12 sing/shouting classic songs while wiggling through the accompanying actions?) called SMALL WORLD ENTERTAINERS. We performed in a million venues throughout the Salt Lake City area; for nursing homes, at business conventions, in shopping malls, you name it, we sang there. Much of my musical training, or at least my song vocabulary comes out of the years of singing with that group. How else really would I know such classics as "I'm an Old Cowhand from the Rio Grande", "That's Amore" or "Winchester Cathedral"? (which I must admit, I can still belt to perfection)

Between the lyric training within that performing group and the standing around our own piano at home learning and singing songs, my repertoire is replete with songs from around the world and through the ages.

Standing out among the crowd of them, there are one or two which seem to have stuck in my very psyche. I can't name the time and place that I learned them, but I can triumphantly proclaim them as soundtrack to my very life.

Soundtrack which came through loud and clear yesterday as we drove The Ring of Kerry here in Ireland. Sight upon stunning sight unfolded as we made our way through storm and cloud break along the road circling some of the most magnificent scenery on this planet. I kid you not.

And all along the way, I kept humming to myself this anthem of Ireland:

When Irish eyes are smiling,

Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring.

In the lilt of Irish laughter

You can hear the angels sing.

When Irish hearts are happy,

All the world seems bright and gay.

And when Irish eyes are smiling,

Sure, they steal your heart away.

Ireland has stolen my heart. There is no doubt that this place speaks to my very soul. Given the rocky road I have recently traveled in my personal life (not necessarily shared here) to travel the rocky roads of Ireland has been poetic and meaningful on the deepest level for me. Somewhere on that roundabout road yesterday, the magic in these hillsides worked into my heart and understanding reached my mind.

There's a tear in your eye,

And I'm wondering why,

For it never should be there at all.

With such pow'r in your smile,

Sure a stone you'd beguile,

So there's never a teardrop should fall.

When your sweet lilting laughter's

Like some fairy song,

And your eyes twinkle bright as can be;

You should laugh all the while

And all other times smile,

And now, smile a smile for me.

Indeed, these eyes are smiling. This has been an exquisitely beautiful weekend full of Irish blessing.

Here's wishing you the same magic.

******************************

Sing along at SMID's today.

Join all of us in celebrating the magic of music.

Shooting Ireland

All photos will enlarge with a click (of the heels).

Top o' the mornin' to ya.

You'll Find Me Here This Weekend: dancing with faeries

Ireland.

click here for the rules.

P.S. Distinctly missing you. Wish you were here.

1. Goofball 2. Mariposa 3. citizen jane 4. Kate Forsey

5. Soccer Mom in Denial 6. CableGirl 7. Flower Child 8. Anneke

9. Res 10. jenn

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They Say It's Your Birthday*

It's my birthday too, yeah.

* sung by The Beatles

Light Sight

Spring is making its definitive move for season debut here in The Netherlands. In between fits of rain, wind and hail the blue sky is making appearances, along with the occasional light, fluffy, white cloud.

That's a sight for sore eyes.

I spotted the first (for my eyes) cluster of tulips last week, sprung up in the meridian between roads, standing in all glory and full color.

I allowed for a tear to slide down my cheek upon that sight of first light.

Just a few days ago the first of my garden tulips opened its red head and welcomed the spotty sunshine into its petals.

That sight caused my heart to soar as I recognized in that moment the magic of a return to light. It's always astounding to me, after the onslaught of darkness, dreariness, and heaviness to witness the opening of the earth's soul and the welcome warmth of spring.

I can see clearly now.

Long Lead, Full Punch

The setting:
3 friends plan a drive to Delft to shop at Ikea on a Saturday afternoon.

The plan:
All friends will meet at mine.

The conflict:
One friend is stuck on the tram while it "waits" for the City-Pier-City half marathon runners to clear the path.

The new plan:
She will get off the tram still sitting in its tracks and will begin walking through the city toward my place. Other friend and I will climb in the car and drive toward her, using our super location powers to pick her out of the crowd of thousands and pick her up so all can get down to the adventure of the Ikea shopping day.

The players:
Me, aka Mom.
Kate, aka Miss Forsey, aka Andrew's teacher at school.
Sue, aka my colleague at work, better known as my friend.
and Andrew, of course.

The conversation:
"Mom, mom, mom are you going to go now?"

"Yeah, buddy, Sue and I need to go rescue Miss Forsey from the tram."

"You're gonna get Miss Forsey from the tram?"

"Yup. We will drive down the road and go get her."

"Uh, yeah. You're gonna be superheros and get Miss Forsey!"

"Hahaha! Yeah, superheros. Okay."

"Yeah, you gotta rescue Miss Forsey Mom. You gotta be superheroes! You gotta go! You gotta rescue Miss Forsey Mom! You're superheroes!"

The conclusion:
We should all have such faith in our humanity.

It's Music Monday!

Sing along with SMID and all the other players!

Where Life's Momentum Moves Me

forward.

Learn about the game here.

Rolling along too? Please leave a comment and your link below.

1. Anneke 2. Soccer Mom in Denial 3. Fourier.Analyst

4. citizen jane 5. Flower Child 6. Mariposa

7. I.T. Guy 8. Goofball 9. res

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Coming Apart at the Seams

Two days ago as I was working through the morning preparations to get myself ready for my workday, I stepped into my favorite pair of black slacks. These trousers are evocative of so many things for me: They were an accidental eBay find when I was "shopping" for something else entirely. I bid on a whim and celebrated when the email arrived that I had won the auction. I have loved them deeply ever since they arrived in the post from the UK. Purchased just months after our arrival in The Netherlands, they have been (up to this year) the one piece of dress up clothing in my closet. Generally relying on the mommy uniform of jeans and oversize t-shirts in my life at home with my youngest son, the trousers haven't seen too much action outside of the wardrobe. That's all right. Some things are meant to be kept precious. And untouched. My attire of choice worn to the important events and moments of the past two and a half years, these are the trousers which have a story, or several stories to tell. If I were to assign further meaning to this article of clothing, they remind me that sometimes, when you are not really looking for it you can find something perfect.

After pulling the zipper to the waistband top, I realized that I had a problem. Upon close inspection I saw that there was a slight gap between zipper and fabric; otherwise known as a hole. I cringed and then sighed as it came full view to my attention that there was a crisis on my hands.

Something was broken.

And it needed mending.

Normally, my response in crisis--and I mean real crisis--is swift and effective. Without a moment's hesitation I dive in to sort any mess or handle any conflict. But this crisis, this moment of a broken zipper in my favorite pair of pants made me pause, then gasp, then nearly fall apart. And in that split second of sagging shoulders, stomping feet and quiet utterance of several inappropriate grown up words I figured something out.

If it's worth it, I can fix it.

Moments later I sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed with needle and thread in hand. I ignored the crunch of time and examined the problem from every angle possible. Then I took it to task and closed the gap. It's not perfection in sewing. None of my skills really merit a title like that. But it is workable. And like many things once repaired, that spot which stood bare and open is strong and stable now.

I love these pants. I think it's safe to say they are going to stay with me for a long, long time.

We're good together.

After Denial

acceptance.

Learn about the game here.

1. Mariposa 2. IT Guy 3. Anneke

4. Flower Child 5. Soccer Mom in Denial 6. jenn

7. Jen of a2eatwrite 8. Kate Forsey

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Embracing it at Every Step

If you ever find yourself traveling in The Hague, The Netherlands, say, by tram or bus or train, follow these tips from a seasoned rider.

1. After you've stamped your ticket at the machine, state loudly "I can hold it myself" and then clutch it tightly in your fist, or better yet fold it multiple times and push it deep into the pocket of your jeans for safe keeping.

2. When you see the tram approaching the platform, thrust your arm out straight and strong from the shoulder, fingers extended and cry out "STOP TRAM STOOOOOOOOP" at the top of your lungs.

3. When the tram comes to a halt near you declare "He heard me Mom! He heard me!"

4. Push the button for the doors (by yourself) and board the tram.

5. Select your seat inside based on the simple criterion of which bench will get you the best view of the driver's station so you can see all the pedals, buttons, lights and dials she uses to drive the tram.

6. Chatter about everything you see along the way.

7. Wonder aloud what the name of the driver is.

8. As you approach your stop, scoot your bottom forward on the seat until your feet dangle only centimeters from the tram floor and then continue to slither off the seat like a slinky winds itself down a set of stairs.

9. Gallop with thunderous enthusiasm toward the exit doors.

10. Shout "Yes!" when the tram pulls to a stop and the doors open wide. You can thrust your fist into the air for dramatic effect if you like.

11. Exit the tram.

For your return trip, you can follow the steps above or mix and match the bits that work best for you. But for good measure, before you step back onto the public transport, be sure to step into the automatic photo booth you've spotted inside the train station.

That's what we in the business call making a memory.

Viva Cioccolato

Melt in your mouth Wednesday

Watch the Language, Please

Nothing says living on the continent more than the way a body speaks English. I have mentioned before that the definitive influence on the English spoken here is that of the Brits. The English. The Mighty UKs. (Okay, that last I just made up, but I am hoping that if enough of us start using the term it will really catch on.)

In our own house we've become quite Englished in our speech as well. In spite of the fact that none among us spent our formative language years under influence of our cousins 'cross the channel, you can hear it in the lilt and flow of our sentences. And in our vocabulary of course.

It sneaks up on you a little. Before you are even aware you are using posh phrases like 'one off' and signing off on correspondence with Kind Regards.

Yeah, I know. Kinda freaky.

Not long ago I shocked myself just a little when I was responding to a text message from our babysitter who had sent a note telling me she was sick and wouldn't be able to pick Andrew up from school the next day.

Without thinking I opened the phone and quickly typed in the reply:

No worries. We'll sort it.

I sent it.

Then blinked.

Then snorted aloud at my absolute britspeak.

I had just written "no worries, we'll sort it". Huh? Wha? Next thing you know I will be wearing large hats at weddings and singing God Save the Queen.

Dude! Who am I and where did my American go?

If ever you find yourself on this side of the pond, perhaps you could pop round to mine and you know...

KNOCK ME UPSIDE THE HEAD?

Doubled Up

I have been remiss in telling tales of the legendary weekend when Allison came. You heard about that right? My blogging friend and co-creator at the photo site flew across the ocean to meet me.

Yeah, it was so cool.

Or more to the point it was downright hot; at least it was for a weekend in February. An absolute subjective phenomenon. One of the first conversations we shared as we hit the streets, cameras in hand on that weekend, was about our desperate need for sunglasses to shield our tender winterized eyes.

When you get up in the morning and the light is hurt your head

The first thing you do when you get up out of bed

Is hit that street a-runnin' and try to beat the masses

And go get yourself some cheap sunglasses

First stop then when our shoes hit the sand at Scheveningen beach in The Hague was to stop off at the first shop on the board walk and do just that.

Get ourselves some cheap sunglasses, that is.

Spied a little thing and I followed her all night (well, it was day actually)
In a funky fine levis and her sweater's kind of tight (not so tight, no)
She had a west coast strut that was as sweet as molasses
(she's from New England, but yeah, I'll have to go with her strut being sweet)
But what really knocked me out was her cheap sunglasses

In truth what really knocked me out was the absolute natural rhythm we fell into, both with our conversation and our photography. I kinda thought we might, but was rather pleased that we did. It's nice to walk alongside someone who moves at the same pace as me. Meaning, someone who gets equally distracted, camera in hand, by the moments awaiting a photograph.
That's how I see it, when I am looking through the lens--the objects and spaces around me are animate and beckoning. So I investigate as I walk and I pause a lot to see what I can capture. Generally, I am the hold up to any crowd I try to tour with but even with her long legs, her steps (and crouches) matched mine.

Told you she was cool.

Now go out and get yourself some big black frames
With the glass so dark they won't even know your name
And the choice is up to you cause they come in two classes:
Rhinestone shades or cheap sunglasses
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah *

We perused the rack and modeled them boldy for one another, then bought two pairs the same. She has them in brown, and I the same pair in black. Two peas-in-a-cheap-sunglasses-pod you might say. But alas since that first weekend, the investment hasn't had much payoff and the glasses haven't seen much action in use. As predicted might happen, the fluke of a spring weather weekend didn't last for long.

But, oh, baby, when that sun returns?

I am ready.

*ZZ Top Cheap Sunglasses

It's Music Monday! Visit Soccer Mom in Denial.

Well, do ya wanna?

dance.

If you're singularly minded today, please leave your link below.

And a comment.
Ready? On 5-6-7-8!

Wonder how to join the show? The steps are here. Let's dance!

1. Mariposa 2. IT Guy 3. Anneke

4. Flower Child 5. Soccer Mom in Denial 6. jenn

7. Jen of a2eatwrite 8. Kate Forsey

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Generally, You'll Find Me Barefoot

As both a child and a teenager I traveled a lot with the dance company I trained and performed with. Most of that performing was what I would deem local, as in traveling within the state where we were based. Occasionally, that traveling took us to world wide venues, you know, like all the way to Canada. When I was sixteen the horizons expanded to this side of the pond as the company ventured forth to a Dance and the Child conference in Stockholm, Sweden. It was my first trip to the cultured and refined continent of Europe and I was smitten in every sense of the word. To me, it felt like every day I was waking and walking in storybook land, and I was utterly, helplessly in love with every moment of the experience.

We stayed (as only a company of 75 dancers under age 18 and their chaperones can likely afford) in youth hostels and the like throughout our trip. In Stockholm, the hostel was a decent distance from the Balletschool where we were in class and rehearsals each day which required a lengthy walk to and from the location morning and evening.

In between rehearsals and workshops and performances there was sightseeing for the group as a whole. In between the sightseeing there was sometimes some down time for all of us to explore or rest or play gin rummy and roll each other's hair in curlers. Whatever.

One particular afternoon with some down time on my hands I went for a walk. It was a lovely day and I was particularly longing to spend some time exploring by myself. I donned my shoes and began my adventure. I hadn't wandered very far from the hostel, when I encountered two (or was it three?) harmless looking young guys hanging out behind the hostel.

"Hallo." They said to me.
"Uh, hi." I said.
"You want to buy some shoes?"
"Huh? Some what? Did you say shoes?"
"Yes. You know... some shuuuus." One boy pantomimed inhaling a cigarette, you know of the funny kind, and then added:
"Make you feel good."

So, picture me, attempting to take this in, and while picturing thusly remember who I am, where I am from, and under which strict religiously conservative culture I was raised, and then try to stop laughing as you imagine me very ungraciously declaring that "NO! I DON'T WANT ANY SHOES! NO SHOES! NEVER!! NOOOOO SHUUUUUUUSSSS!"

And ran.

Away.

Fast.

With my shoes on.

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Flashback Friday is hosted by 42.
Go, look, reminisce. Participate.

Swish

The shower in my house shares space with the laundry room. It's not luxury digs but it will do. Recently remodeled it is a simple, yet classy, separate structure consisting of a basin and clear curved plexiglass doors which stand probably about six feet tall.

While showering I like to pitch the empty shampoo bottles* over the top of the walls to see if I can land one squarely in the garbage bin in the opposite corner. I want desperately to make it in with a single bounce or less.

It's never happened.

*Two things which seem to be in endless supply at our house:

Empty shampoo bottles still sitting on the edge of tub or shower,
empty toilet paper rolls still sitting on the dispenser,
and nearly empty cereal boxes still occupying space in a space deficient kitchen.

Oh, wait, that was three things. Maths is not my strength.

Nor, apparently, is a free throw.

Looking for Light

Seeking Balance Wednesday

Magic Words

I try not to take myself too seriously.
I am not often successful in this endeavor.
I tend to read too much into things. I lean toward the over-thinking regarding any given situation; I over analyze most everything I do or say. Or write.

So, after weeks long agony over whether I should/shouldn't would/wouldn't share the news about four-year-old Andrew's recent autism diagnosis here at the blog, I settled (in a moment of zen) on doing so in a most unconventional way. I wrote it, I published it, and then I fretted over it.

I didn't need to.

The response to that post was in a word: incredible. I have been moved beyond words by the outpouring of support and understanding, both in the comments section and via email which many friends and readers reached out with. It was the safety net I was looking for to catch me as I struggled with what it all might mean, for him, for us, for life.

And then, in only the way the blogging world can, I received accolades for the post.

First, Kelly of Kellyology awarded the post with this:

Which was followed up by a reader's vote choosing it as the winner of Most Evocative Haiku at Leslie's Haiku Buckaroo contest.

Beyond that, it was also awarded an Honorable Mention overall in the same contest, being selected by Jami of Not That Different, the contest judge (and original reigning queen). She had this to say of the poem:

"In terms of evoking the emotion of a moment, this haiku is almost perfect.

It’s a 17-syllable short story that rocked my world, too."

Now I ask you, with that kind of heady praise and acknowlegement, how can I not take it seriously?

The thing--the absolute thing--is that in the beginning steps of this journey I am buoyed up by the support around me. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for that. As we move along this road, I am quite certain I will be using this moment in time as a touchstone for steadying myself and moving with a more sure step. With everything I have and everything I am, I want to give my son everything I am able.

After all, he gives me so much.

Oh, my!

It's possible this is the final evidence that I am not in Kansas anymore*. Obviously, once I mastered the bicycle as transportation idea, and learned to love coffee, it was clear that the assimilation to life in The Netherlands was nearly complete. But this? This I find a little disturbing and must admit to being more than slightly uncomfortable about.

The confession:

I have the skin color of a northern European.

Yikes.

I stepped into the shower innocently this morning, and took care of all the necessary grooming steps, not particularly aware of anything out of place or odd or strange in any way. It wasn't until I was toweling off and inspecting the shave job on my legs (I am still not very good at that, even after 30 years of practice) when I noticed there was very little difference in color, or lack of color as the case may be, between my winter-white towel and my shockingly pasty-white skin.

This is not to say that I have ever, ever sported a very deep tan. I am after all, a white--very white--girl born and white bread bred in Utah. I admit, when I was young I was enamored of getting a tan and did my fair share of laying out under the sky attempting to darken my skin, which only ever worked to a point. Now, knowing what I know about my skin, and more to the point, knowing what I know about sun damage I am a cautious sun worshiper and spend time under the cover of hats, glasses and sunblock. Though I have never been dark, I can say freely that I nurtured a healthy glow of sun kissed skin. Or at least I did under the Arizona sun.

And then I moved to Holland.

I don't know why it's bothering me so much this morning, but seriously if you could catch the glare off my epidermis, it would likely bother you too.

It is a matter of simple observation here that many, many, many of the Dutch attempt to stave off the white skin glare by lotioning up with the over the counter chemicals which promise to give you a summer skin. In reality, what those do (with over application?) is make the skin glow with an orangey-tone not unlike the color of newborn baby poo. Not to put too fine a point on it.

And really, that's not what I am after.

Poo-skin, white skin, or summer in Italy--

Which way do you lean?

*Dorothy to Toto in The Wizard of Oz

The Only Sound Uttered from Four-Year-Old Andrew's Lips When Courageously Facing a Four Vial Blood Draw on Friday Morning

ouch.

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Window Peeping

I am flashing back today and cheating maybe just a little to do it. This post that follows is one which sits in the archives of my blog. Initially this little bit of writing was shared via email with friends and family back in those long ago days which preceded the obsession opening of this blog. Originally dated 10 October 2005, these are the musings and observations of a newbie to the land of Holland. So much of it still holds true, though I do have to say I wish there was still that feeling of "newness" in everything. I like that feeling.
For more walks down memory lane, click on the button above to visit Cablegirl's blog and check out the links.

If the eyes are indeed a window to the soul, then it follows that the windows of a home are a direct line to the psyche and the personality of its residents.

To stroll down a street here in Leiden is to take part in my newly discovered preferable pastime, that is by name, window gazing.

Most homes here are built simply and for efficiency in design rather than style. In fact, from the structure of the outside it’s difficult to tell one home from another without the house number in front delineating that it belongs to you. So to make up for lack of design and form in the building structure, it seems that the Dutch take window design very seriously, using it as a means to give a home personality and distinction. From the window treatments to the decorated panes and ledges, each one seems to me a telling of the inhabitants within. I like to make up my own stories about the people inside based upon the window displays.

I suppose you could call it people-watching one-step-removed.

Topping the list of my favorite things is the lace curtains which grace many windows here. I remember when I was very small and I learned to draw a house, I would always add windows, and to the windows I would draw an exaggerated swoop of a curtain hanging down from the top and then cinched tightly in the center and pulled to the side where the bottom part of the drape would billow out toward the floor. (Pretty fancy digs for a simple line drawing, huh?) At any rate, these windows with white lace curtains are something out of my childhood fantasy. They are picture perfect. I absolutely adore them.

As a general rule, the Dutch keep their curtains open. My ex-pat books tell me that as a culture perhaps the Dutch feel they have nothing to hide, and therefore do not feel the need to close the drapes and/or blinds in their homes. Whatever the reason behind the tradition, you can generally count on window treatments, whether traditional lace curtains or modern mini blinds, to be cinched back or set in open position.

Window ledges are a terrific place to display collections, plants, decorative items, etc. and this is where the personality telling begins. Take for instance, the home just down the street from mine, where the kitchen window is lined with silver teapots of all shapes and sizes. At my cursory count there are 15 pots standing at attention on the windowsill. Or, there is the home crammed with plants of all varieties lined up on the ledge, pressing their leaves against the glass, vying for sunlight. Every day on the way to Emma’s school, I ride my bike past a home where the front window boasts a single row of sticky package bows in a rainbow of colors.

There are windows with candle arrangements, windows with flower arrangements, windows with candle and flower arrangements, and windows with candles, flowers and live cat arrangements. (It seems that a window ledge is an optimum spot for cat napping.) There are displays of Virgin Mary gracing windows and I have spied Buddha in multiple forms on others. There is the laughing Buddha, the praying Buddha, and Buddha in repose. Your choice.

My favorite Buddha themed window consists of an elegant statuette of a Buddha in prayer pose on one side and on the other a hand-built ship model constructed from Heineken beer cans. I shall let you jump to your own conclusions about the residents of that house.

Also on the route to Emma’s school is the rooster house, with a collection of ceramic roosters lined up on the ledge and then soon following, there is the swan house which boasts several elegant blown glass swans, their long necks reaching up nearly the full height of the window. Not to be outdone by anyone however is the gnome house, where a minimum of 50 clay gnomes decorate the front window and the front yard of a home I spotted only once while out on a bike ride. I have had more than one good giggle over that one! There must be a personality class for “gnome collectors” right? Something akin to “cat person” or “Trekkie” I would think.

In our own home, on the ground floor it is our kitchen which faces the street. The far wall of the kitchen holds five large windows. Running the length of the windows is a six inch ledge. At this moment, on that ledge sits a single desert plant, a watering can, a row of matchbox cars, and a partly eaten stroopwafel.

Now what, I wonder does that tell you about us?

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And now, for some shameless self-promotion:

My haiku about Andrew made the finalist list in the second edition Haiku Buckaroo contest at My Mommy's Place. You can go vote for my poem (or one you like better) by clicking on the button above. Or you can click here if it's easier for you. The voting is easy and guess what? You don't have to be a blogger to cast your vote. What this means, of course, is that even my beloved lurkers (you know who you are) can click here and go vote. It's a snap to do and it would build my esteem immensely if you'd take a minute to do it.

So, go. Do it. Okay?

Wait a second... are you supposed to water these things?

Too sad for words Wednesday