Goodbye, 2011 - hello, 2012

Some more thoughts to consider, and a sentiment to value as we embark on a new year and new beginnings. May your new year be safe and happy!

‎"It's (the Times Square ball) suspended there to remind us before we pop the champagne and celebrate the new year, to stop and reflect on the year that has gone by. To remember both our triumphs and our missteps, our promises made and broken. The times we opened ourselves up to great adventures or closed ourselves down for fear of getting hurt, because that is what New Year's is all about: getting another chance. A chance to forgive, to do better, to do more, to give more, to love more. And stop worrying about 'what if,' and start embracing what would be. So when that ball drops at midnight, and it will drop, let's remember to be nice to each other, kind to each other. And not just tonight, but all year long."

- Hilary Swank, New Year's Eve

For the Christmas weekend...

A friend posted this on Facebook - some food for thought. We always have much for which to be grateful.

If you have food in your fridge, clothes on your back, a roof over your head, and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of the world.

If you have money in the bank, your wallet, and some spare change, you are among the top 8% of the world’s wealthy.

If you woke up this morning with more health than illness, you are more blessed than the million people who will not survive this week.

If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the agony of imprisonment or torture, or the horrible pangs of starvation, you are luckier than 500 million people alive and suffering.

If you can read this message you are more fortunate than 3 billion people in the world who cannot read it at all.

We would all be more happy and have plenty to be grateful for...if only we would count our blessings rather than our problems.

Pet Diaries

My aunt sent this to me - I love it!


Excerpt from a Dog's Diary:

8:00 am - Dog food! My favourite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favourite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favourite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favourite thing!
12:00 PM - Lunch! My favourite thing!
1:00 PM - Played in the yard! My favourite thing!
3:00 PM - Wagged my tail! My favourite thing!
5:00 PM - Milk Bones! My favourite thing!
7:00 PM - Got to play ball! My favourite thing!
8:00 PM - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favourite thing!
11:00 PM - Sleeping on the bed! My favourite thing!




Excerpt from a Cat's Diary:

Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.

Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. Bastards.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now.

One holiday at a time

LOL! Love this!

November moon

For Gran, Dad, Lynnie, and Mom - who were either here when I took these, or driving away encouraging me to do so. :p

Lorenza Ponce

A few months ago, when I wrote for CSU Northridge's student newspaper, I wrote a review of a jazz vocalist I really enjoy. She herself was gracious enough to help me with some of the details and give me permission to include audio tracks of her work on the website -- I was really excited about this piece, and then it never got published.

So I wanted to share it here so I can still do her reputation some justice (hopefully) - and introduce her to people who may not have heard her work before. She's a very talented musician, and I only wish I could have helped expose her more.

Lorenza Ponce's 'Soul Shifter' is a spellbinding musical journey
By: BECKY MAHAN

Think jazz meets rock, with a twist of Americana. Think poetic lyrics underlined by a powerful violin base, an album that doesn't churn out the same machine-generated melodies commonly seen in mainstream music. That's violinist Lorenza Ponce's latest album, “Soul Shifter.”

Ponce is an already accomplished violinist, but her songwriting profile becomes obvious in “Soul Shifter.” With upbeat, groovy tracks and a varied instrumental foundation, this is the piece that has launched Lorenza's name onto American music charts and mainstream media. Originally known primarily as an accompanying stage musician for well-known artists including Sheryl Crow, John Tesh, and Bon Jovi, Ponce proves with her debut rock album that she can stand on her own.

Raised on a farm in Maryland, Ponce hit New York City at the ripe age of 18, violin in hand. In 1994, she collaborated with Jon Anderson of Yes, who encouraged her to start writing her own music. Her first album was released in 1997, the same year she appeared in the theme song for James Bond’s “Tomorrow Never Dies,” with Sheryl Crow’s string quartet. She ended up touring with Crow, and credits her with transforming her from background musician to “rock chick.”

“Soul Shifter” is Ponce’s fourth solo record.

With a soulful, gentle voice that resembles Chantal Kreviazuk and Colbie Caillat, Ponce has a dramatic, yet graceful presence as vocalist. Add to that her spellbinding violin talents, and she has the uncanny ability to captivate listeners, resonate with them lyrically, and satisfy both classical and modern music fans.

The opening track, “Casual Girl,” initiates the journey with a catchy number that offers all the best of the album in one succinct presentation. Ponce doesn't disappoint, setting the tone with a whisper-infused voice that instantly captivates.

The title track, “Soul Shifter,” is the best one in the lineup. Sounding like the perfect New York City movie soundtrack, it exudes a groovy kind of feel with an irresistibly catchy chorus that pays tribute to Ponce's icon: Frank Sinatra.

“Let It Down” is the edgier side to the album, a cabaret style number showcasing Ponce's hauntingly seductive vocals and a rhythmic, gyrating melody dominated by violin.

“I Won't Lose Faith” wraps it up with a beautiful, moody take on human faith, a predominantly blues piece punctuated by echoes of New Age style.

Elegant, classy, sultry, and bold all at once, “Soul Shifter” takes the listener on a musical journey from start to finish, and leaves them wanting more. While each track can stand out as a solo, they are best complemented by their preceding and successive tracks to allow for maximum appreciation of Ponce's talented instrumental and vocal diversity.

Perfect for open-top car rides along the coast, intimate evenings enjoyed with a glass of wine, or even karaoke-inspired Friday nights, “Soul Shifter” is a dynamic, multi-dimensional work of art that should not be missed.

Readers can listen to and purchase "Soul Shifter" on Ponce's Web site. The album is not available in stores at this time.

Pumpkin Spice Latte

Hello, lover. I've missed you.



My favorite drink at Starbucks, only served in the fall. Steamy, creamy, pumpkiny, spicy...it's pure heaven.

Letters to Juliet

This love letter is from the movie "Letters to Juliet", a ridiculously sweet and adorable love story that I gush over. No shame.

An American girl staying in Verona, Italy with her fiance (whose workaholic tendencies lead him to trade her for research on their pre-honeymoon) stumbles upon an unanswered letter left at the house of Juliet - the romantic starlet from Shakespeare's famous drama. Sophie, an aspiring writer, is curious, intrigued by the 50-year-old letter, and writes back as Juliet. The letter's owner is an old woman from England named Claire, who arrives in Verona a few days later with her grandson - they meet Sophie, and set off together on an ambitious journey to find her long-lost lover Lorenzo - whom she left waiting for her in the vineyard when they were teenagers (played by Vanessa Redgrave and Franco Nero - recognize them?)

The letter that Sophie ("Juliet") writes to Claire has always gripped me, not just for its beauty, but for its final few sentences:

What' and ‘if’ two words as nonthreatening as words come. But put them together side-by-side and they have the power to haunt you for the rest of your life: ‘What if?'

I don't know how your story ended. But I know that if what you felt then was love - true love - then it's never too late. If it was true then it why wouldn't it be true now? You need only the courage to follow your heart.

I don't know what a love like that feels like... a love to leave loved ones for, a love to cross oceans for... but I'd like to believe if I ever felt it, I'd have the courage to seize it. I hope you had the courage to seize it, Claire. And if you didn't, I hope one day that you will.

A love to leave loved ones for, a love to cross oceans for...

Who knows where it will lead, but I'm glad I had to courage to seize it.

Misunderstood Amsterdam (and some thoughts on the rest of the country)

As you know, I love Rick Steves's books and advice. I devour his Back Doors articles, and have integrated many of the places he suggests into future (and past) trip plans.

But I am saddened to see the lack of attention he gives to the Netherlands: on his web site, and in the books I've read of his, the only towns he mentions are Amsterdam and the side town of Haarlem. Yes, I understand that as a travel writer and guide, it is his duty to focus on the places people want to visit. But as an advocate of "the back door" - seeing the hidden jewels outside of the tourist-ridden cities - I'm very surprised that he sticks to the country's capital here.

His article on Amsterdam, which is both available on his website and printed in his Back Doors books, is also a bit misleading. It's heavy on the stereotypes: that Amsterdam is a drug-dealing, porn-filled, freewheeling city of psychadelic misadventure. That's not necessarily false - the city IS known for its loose laws on drugs, acceptance of legal prostitution (up until recently, when the government cracked down on it), and a fun, lighthearted approach to experimentation. However, those elements alone do not comprise an accurate picture of the city - and to only discuss them in an introductory passage for first-time visitors is to do it a sad injustice.

After visiting it at least a dozen times, it is the only city in Europe I can comfortably and confidently write this article about. I've navigated its streets, both on my own and accompanied by a native Dutchman, over a dozen times in the last five years. I've poked my nose around many of its corners, sniffing out its various quirks and charms. I've interacted with people, from friendly locals to confused tourists. And I've been both of those myself.

Rick Steves, in all his enviable exposure to Europe and depth of knowledge about the continent's hidden treasures (and I usually regard his books as the Bibles of travel), may have missed the mark just a wee bit here. So I thought I'd write up my own "introduction" to the city, as a way both to rectify some of the misconceptions, lighten some of the stereotypes, and ease the anxiety some tourists may have arriving in this misunderstood city.

The last line of Steves' article is: "Amsterdam, a bold experiment in freedom, may box your Puritan ears."

That's a good way to put it, to an extent. Americans are generally overly conservative (especially One Million Moms) and perhaps the most impressionable and sheltered will bristle in the Netherlands' capital. The youth, however, flock to it to try legal drugs, enjoy a lower drinking age, and perhaps leave the city grinning stupidly. But they miss out on a world of culture and new horizons.

Consider my perspective. At first visit, I was 18. I don't smoke, I'm more a wine drinker than a party animal, and as a woman, I had no desire to hire the "services" of the girls in the windows. Yet, Amsterdam didn't assault me. Rather, I was enchanted - and not just because I was a first-timer on European soil.

Amsterdam is alive, bustling, and teeming with life. Culture awaits around every corner. History is seeped into the very streets. Art greets you in every possible form: from expression graffiti on the city walls to centuries-old paintings that hang in museum glass cases. Coffee shops sit nonchalantly on public blocks - serving actual coffee and pastries, as well as, yes, your choice of joint.

Canals sparkle in the sun as boats of all kinds float on the water: guide boats for sightseeing, and house boats for cheap floatable living. Tiny cars beep, pedestrians leap out of the way, and bicycle bells ring down narrow streets lined by crooked, multi-colored buildings. Boutique hotels are rampant here - small, homestyle B&Bs with old-fashioned Dutch charm that are overwhelmingly preferred over 5-star hotel chains.

Museums throb with people, both locals and foreigners. Parks are filled year-round - with children playing, lovers strolling, dogs trotting, and ducks waddling. And everyone stops to enjoy the seasonal beauty: whether it's the bright green trees and blue sky in summer, or the bare-branched, frozen pond wonderland in winter. The only difference in activity is sun-tanning versus open-air ice skating.

These are the impressions I think you are more likely to have of this beautiful city. Yes, you may see gay lovers kissing or gazing fondly into each other's eyes in open public, prostitutes shimmying in underground windows (though now more subtly and only in specific parts of town), or smell the pungent aroma of marijuana on the streets. And yes, in winter, when the sky is right and the sun is low, the horizon just may be tinged with green. (I've seen it more than once.)

But Amsterdam is so much more than a counter-culture. Its people are friendly and willing to help, in ways that may surprise private, keep-to-yourself Americans. Almost everyone speaks English. And in all my trips to the city, I've never been inside a coffee shop or sex shop - which doesn't mean they aren't there, but they aren't as in-your-face as visitors may be inclined to believe.

Consider Amsterdam's role in World War II. Go to one of the small street blocks on Prinsengracht - the most beautiful canal in the city - and stop at number 267. Its unassuming homefront, easy to pass by unless you're seeking it out, hides one of the most famous places in Europe: Anne Frank's annex. Tour the home and the room of the girl who was forced to hide for years in a tiny attic with ten other people, whispering, tip-toeing, and craving sunshine 24/7, eventually outed, captured, and transported to a death camp at the hands of the Nazis - and still believed people were good. Explore this sad home-turned-museum and leave with wet eyes.

Stroll with everyone else in Vondelpark, one of the prettiest and most charming parks I've seen in Europe - surrounded by quaint, Victorian-style homes on quiet blocks. Plop down beneath a lush tree in summer to people-watch, or gather at the frozen ponds in winter to watch brave (or perhaps crazy) teenagers test the thickness of the ice and walk across the surface.

Make your way through the enormous Rijksmuseum, which houses Golden Age masterpieces by the likes of Dutch artists Rembrandt and van Gogh. Stop and marvel at the famous Nacht Wacht (Night Watch), which takes up an entire exhibit wall.

Behind the museum, in a huge city park square, buy a frikadel (minced-meat sausage), and either enjoy it as the locals do (with gobs of mayonnaise and onions) or simply by itself. Meander through the open park to the famous "I AMSTERDAM" sculpture, snap a photo, and linger to observe a myriad of cultures and walks of life gathered at this tourist point.

At a streetside cafe, order a pint of Amstel beer, not Heineken - which the Dutch turn up their noses at.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Yes, Amsterdam would be a glaring red boil in America. But in friendly, comfortable, easy-natured Holland, it's a city that offers everyone and anyone everything and anything they could want. If you're seeking out the drugs or sex, there's plenty. But if you're seeking culture, art, and history, there's even more. And that's why I absolutely love it.

Just as you shouldn't misjudge Amsterdam by its liberal attitude, you also shouldn't judge the Netherlands by Amsterdam. Just outside the city borders, rolling fields, grazing cows, and beautiful farm houses make up the countryside - a lovely passing scenery on a cross-country train. Yet you won't find the image of bonneted, wooden-clogged, tulip-picking milkmaids anywhere except nostalgic paintings. Wooden clogs are the containers for potted plants nowadays. Women wear jeans and tennies, just like other Western world women. And in five years, I have not seen a single live tulip in this country; they grow during limited times of the year, and only in certain areas of the country.

One stereotype is true, however: the bicycles. Yes, the Dutch definitely have a love affair with bicycles - and with good reason. They're efficient, cheaper, cleaner, and way more environmentally-friendly than cars, and with the ease of the "fietspads" (bike paths) integrated all over the entire country, they're safer, too. Everyone has a bike. I've seen children as young as three toddling after their parents on a tiny bike, balancing perfectly upright without training wheels. Smaller children zip around in little seats attached to the front of their parents' bicycles until they're old enough to balance on their own. And once they are, they will continue to ride a bike until the day they can no longer move their legs. Adults in their 90s still ride, pedaling with strong, healthy thighs. Bjorn's grandfather, at age 83, was still climbing trees until he was diagnosed with cancer. The Dutch are a healthy, strong, handsome race.

The Netherlands is a country of sensible social control, practical politics (for the most part), and a respectful appreciation for its citizens that puts our "land of the free" to shame. Its people are lovers of art and music, beer and cheese, and there's never a poor excuse to sit with friends or family for a cup of coffee.

Towns are family-oriented, children play in the streets, and public transportation seamlessly gets you practically anywhere you want to go. Shops close at 6pm during the week, and are closed entirely (though some major city stores have limited hours) on Sundays. The city of Hilversum is the Dutch Beverly Hills - home to national celebrities and the major TV network stations. In the south, the residents celebrate the end of the work week with frites (fries) for dinner every Friday.

Rick Steves recommends Haarlem as the country's back door. I want to add the beautifully preserved Nijmegen - the oldest city in the Netherlands, whose recorded history dates back to the first century BC, and which contains several Roman ruins and part of the ancient city wall. Its cobblestone streets and open square are so perfectly Europe, you'll drool.

Or even nearby Breda, a charming city with a small-town feel. Plenty of trees/parks, cafes, museums, and music performances give travelers a good day or two of low-key relaxation.

But wherever you go in the Netherlands, just as you should do with any city or country in the world, be sure to broaden your mind and take it all in. The Dutch are considered vanilla neighbors to their hard-nosed German and eccentric Belgian neighbors, but they provide a friendly, welcoming, and hospitable relief from the intensities of the rest of the continent.

The Bjorn & Becky Show

These are the kinds of conversations Bjorn and I have before we fall asleep. No script, people.

Me: In this lighting, your arm looks sickly. Like you have anemia.
Bjorn: What the heck are you talking about?
Me: Do you know what anemia is?
Bjorn: Yes, but how do you figure that?
Me: I don't know, it just looked sickly to me.
Bjorn: I look sickly?
Me: Your arm does.
Bjorn: Are those things sickly?
Me: What things??
Bjorn: Those things...the floaty things in the ocean.
Me: The what?!
Bjorn: The anemias!
Me: ...
Me: Those are anemones!!
Bjorn: My arm looks like an anemone?
Me: Nooo, it looks like you have anemia!!
Bjorn: You are so confusing, woman.

A not-so-Southern-California season

That's right, folks, while most of you back home are still enjoying flip-flops, tank tops, and temps in the mid 80s, flip-flops, I've been trotting around wrapped in a coat, scarf, and boots, watching my breath in a cloud.

It's nearly November, which means it is well into the Autumn season - a season I have never in my life experienced outside Southern California. While the rest of the world prepared for ice and snow, we still visited beaches, shocked ourselves on metal surfaces during the staticky, dry Santa Anas, and feared wildfires spawned by dry land and high winds. Nevertheless, I still enjoyed the gradual approach to the holiday season - October meant harvest festivals, pumpkins, fairy tale and monster costumes, apple-picking, and scary movies on TV.

They don't celebrate Halloween in the Netherlands. The utter lack of all of the above is counteracted by the chilly weather, but it's no fun to bundle up if there's no festive feeling in the air.

There is, however, one huge advantage. What this country lacks in the absence of Halloween/harvest celebration, it makes up for with nature.



We've been lucky enough lately to only have had a few days of clouds and rain/wind this month - so far. The past few weeks have been more clear blue sky, contrasted by the deep reds and golds of the foliage below. From my living room, I have a gorgeous frame of golden leaves and Autumn sunshine.

On days like this, I have the overwhelming urge to bundle up and go for a long walk (and I usually do). I can't get over the beauty of these sights, and I've learned that living in a cold climate really makes you appreciate the sunshine - something I've always taken for granted in SoCal.

This past Sunday, Bjorn and I went for a walk together - which is infinitely more enjoyable than alone. It was the kind of day where the air is crisp and refreshing, it's easy to breathe, and the sky is high. We took a different path he knew, winding through a shady little park, crunching through dry leaves, and coming out onto a long path lined by a gulley stream and towering red-leafed oak trees. There was a slight breeze, which loosened leaves and sent them floating down to earth from the oaks' heights; some landed in the water, some hit little children (who gleefully grabbed them), and still others stayed adrift in the open air, enjoying their last moments.



We climbed a little hill (probably the highest altitude in this entire country) and enjoyed a 360 degree view of this beautiful region: behind us, a lake and small forest; to our left, a wide open field where a family was playing with a Frisbee; in front of us, another forest stretched out; to our right, the city glittered in the late sun.



Martin says we have a hard, long winter coming. I think Mother Nature is messing with me - dazzling me with her red and gold beauty, all the while planning on freezing me out soon. The first snow is supposed to fall in the short space of three weeks. I'm excited to build snowmen and play in the snow like a child, appreciating the beauty of snow like I appreciate the beauty of Autumn colors.

But knowing that the white stuff will persist until the end of February (and perhaps even longer), I think I'd prefer to keep this open blue sky and crisp air. It's hard to get tired of a Technicolor world.

(Remember to hover your mouse over the slideshow, hit the stop button, and then manually scroll through the photos with the arrow buttons.)

Ultra-conservative moms of America, unite!

This news article caught my attention, and I thought it was interesting enough to merit a blog post, because I already know the opinions of most of you who read this will be like mine.

Some stores freezing out Ben & Jerry's new flavor

Ben & Jerry's Schweddy Balls ice cream is too hot to handle for some supermarket chains. While the new limited-edition flavor has brought chuckles from fans of the "Saturday Night Live" skit on which it's based, some supermarket chains aren't laughing and have been giving it a cold shoulder.

The flavor featuring fudge-covered rum balls has been absent from some grocery freezers since it was unveiled. The title was inspired by an innuendo-laced 1998 skit featuring Alec Baldwin as baker Pete Schweddy, who promises, "No one can resist my Schweddy balls."

But apparently some grocery store chains can, and so can supporters and members of the One Million Moms group.
That Mississippi-based moms organization has been putting the heat on retailers to keep Schweddy Balls out of their freezers and encouraging parents to ask the Vermont-based Ben & Jerry's to stop production of the item, saying the name is nothing but locker room humor that's not appropriate for young children.

Read the full article here: http://news.yahoo.com/stores-freezing-ben-jerrys-flavor-213431173.html

~

Okay, first off...seriously?! Amid the thousands of comments tumbling in on this topic (on Yahoo alone), I read several that made me laugh out loud, including:

"So we have to ban Blow-Pops now too?"

"Schweddy Balls is not allowed, but the Cosmopolitan Magazine on display at the cash register with half-naked bodies, HOW TO HAVE GREAT SEX! in huge letters, and the word "va-jay-jay" everywhere IS??!?!"

"Maybe they should have called it Alec's Balls instead."

"Ban Barbie dolls, kids might see them naked. Silly people."

"I think the next flavor should be called 'Go fudge yourself.' "

I was relieved to see that 99% of the comments I read thought this whole issue was just as dumb as I did. There were some, however, who were simply laughable because they were so up in arms over the word "balls" - like the one woman (from Mississippi, go figure) who commented:

"It's stupid and vulgar. You can't help but see it if it's in the store. It's not like it's novelty ice cream at a sex shop. It's offensive that they would sully our eyes with this language. I do my best to instill respect and self-worth in my kids, and this screaming at them from the grocery store shelf counteracts all the hard work I do."

Okay, Miss Texe. Those arguments just don't stand. YOU think it's stupid and vulgar, but clearly most other people (aside from the "one million moms", apparently) don't.

You're right, it's not novelty ice cream at a sex shop...because it doesn't HAVE to be. It's the word "BALLS"!!

And if your children seeing the word "balls" on an ice cream carton is going to counteract all your hard work, I wonder what you're really teaching them.

~

As most of you know, I nanny two young girls. As intelligent, precocious, and cunning as they both are, I GUARANTEE that if I showed them a carton of this ice cream, their only concern would be "what flavor is it?" Or even, "how do you pronounce the first word?" (And I laugh out loud just imagining the sarcastic tirade their mother would throw at this whole issue.)

Sometimes, the excuse that something "is inappropriate for kids" is really just a mask to hide the fact that the adult is so easily offended. And even if it's not, the fact remains that the kids AREN'T GOING TO GET IT. They don't understand the sexual and political innuendos or jokes adults swear are corrupting them. So if they don't grasp the concept, how is it dangerous to their delicate little brains?

(It's like the "Disney is corrupt" bullshit - the sweeping argument that there are phallic messages in their movies. Don't even get me started on that one.)

These "save the kids" campaigns really get on my nerves...America is the only country so concerned with children's censorship, and yet we have some of the worst performance and education levels among first world countries.

Obviously, I'm commenting more on a broader picture than just this ice cream debacle. Now living in the Netherlands, I've seen more bare breasts and butts on public television than I ever have in my life. At first, I was taken aback. Not that I had just seen some woman's breasts in a commercial for Dove body wash, but that it was allowed to be aired (during the day, of all times). When I brought this up to Bjorn, he shrugged, surprised at my surprise. "What's the big deal?"

He's right, really. They're just breasts. They're a natural body part, and every woman is born with them. It's the overprotective censorship ideal that conservative America has shoved down my throat that made me think it was taboo.

I'd love to show these One Million Moms that commercial. Better yet, I'd love to start a campaign to allow bare breasts on public television in America - just to see the frantic scramble to shield their kids' eyes and have my head on a platter.

Of course, there are a lot of people who think there's a very solid line between "Schweddy balls" and breasts on public TV. I get that. My own opinion is that they don't bother me, but my point is that much of the rest of the world is far more nonchalant about issues Americans get so up in arms about.

Honestly, there are so many more things to worry about. If you're so offended by the name of an ice cream flavor - first off, lighten up. People are much happier when they don't allow themselves to be so offended by things.

Secondly, if you still have a problem - just don't buy it! Why are you feeding your impressionable-aged children gourmet ice cream anyway?

And thirdly, if you really think the term "Schweddy balls" is going to corrupt your children, maybe you should re-evaluate your own parenting methods.

Meanwhile, the rest of us will continue to have a laugh at your expense.

I'm going to go eat my balls now.

Care package from home

I got the best "present" today - a package from home (which I knew was coming) with some things I needed, as well as a few surprises.

Katie sent along a package of Ranch dressing mix - which, though it seems trivial, excited me ridiculously. You can't find Ranch anywhere over here, and I've been missing it when we have burgers, fries, chicken, etc. So...YAY! (I'm sorry, Uncle Tom, but this one is exempt from my recent email response about processed foods. hahaha! ;))

My college diploma finally arrived a few weeks ago (only took the university 3 months, geez), and Mom had it framed for me. :) It's beautiful, and the second I unwrapped it from the package, I cried. It's FINALLY real. I finally feel like I actually did it, I really graduated. The last few months have felt pretend, even though I finished school in early July. But this simple piece of paper, stamped and signed by the powers that be in Northridge, gives me full rights to my accomplishment. I am the proud owner of a Bachelor of Arts, and it is the BEST sense of accomplishment.



Now...on to a Master's??

Lazy Sunday

I have found some good in this endless rain (for now):

A lazy Sunday afternoon, the kind when time ticks slowly but no one complains.

A fabulous new book (having just finished my last; review coming soon), the kind you can run away to and get lost for several hours.

A cup of hot coffee, the Starbucks kind.

A new cinnamon candle - not the harsh potpourri kind, but the sweet, nostalgic, holidays-are-coming kind.

A sleeping boyfriend on the couch.

Rain on the window.

This stuff is from movies, and my daydreams. I can't describe how much I adore it.

Some interesting things about myself that I didn't know

Clearly, I was bored.

But I kind of like things like this, if only to challenge them on accuracy. These results, however, were quite accurate - not foolproof, but certainly captured my "essence" better than most auto-generated meanings.

And the random statistics were just plain entertainment.


My birthdate

30 March 1989

Your date of conception was on or about 7 July 1988 which was a Thursday.

You were born on a Thursday under the astrological sign Aries.
Your Life path number is 6.

Your fortune cookie reads:
The one you love is closer than you think.

Life Path Compatibility:
You are most compatible with those with the Life Path numbers 3, 6 & 9.
You should get along well with those with the Life Path numbers 2, 4, 8, 11 & 22.
You are least compatible with those with the Life Path numbers 1, 5 & 7.

The Julian calendar date of your birth is 2447615.5.
The golden number for 1989 is 14.
The epact number for 1989 is 22.
The year 1989 was not a leap year.

Your birthday falls into the Chinese year beginning 2/6/1989 and ending 1/26/1990.
You were born in the Chinese year of the Snake.

Your Native American Zodiac sign is Hawk; your plant is Dandelion.

You were born in the Egyptian month of Paony, the second month of the season of Shomu (Harvest).

Your date of birth on the Hebrew calendar is 23 AdarII 5749.
Or if you were born after sundown then the date is 24 AdarII 5749.

The Mayan Calendar long count date of your birthday is 12.18.15.16.11 which is
12 baktun 18 katun 15 tun 16 uinal 11 kin

The Hijra (Islamic Calendar) date of your birth is Thursday, 22 Sha'ban 1409 (1409-8-22).

The date of Easter on your birth year was Sunday, 26 March 1989.

As of 10/6/2011 6:19:07 AM EDT
You are 22 years old.
You are 271 months old.
You are 1,175 weeks old.
You are 8,225 days old.
You are 197,406 hours old.
You are 11,844,379 minutes old.
You are 710,662,747 seconds old.

Celebrities who share your birthday:
Scott Moffatt (1983) Norah Jones (1979) Matt Doran (1976)
Celine Dion (1968) Ian Ziering (1964) M.C. Hammer (1962)
Paul Reiser (1957) Eric Clapton (1945) Astrud Gilberto (1940)
Warren Beatty (1937) John Astin (1930) Rolf Harris (1930)
Peter Marshall (1930) Frankie Laine (1913) Vincent Van Gogh (1853)

Top songs of 1989
Another Day In Paradise by Phil Collins Miss You Much by Janet Jackson
Straight Up by Paula Abdul Right Here Waiting by Richard Marx
Lost In Your Eyes by Debbie Gibson Like a Prayer by Madonna
We Didn't Start the Fire by Billy Joel Two Hearts by Phil Collins
When I See You Smile by Bad English Blame It On the Rain by Milli Vanilli

Your age is the equivalent of a dog that is 3.21917808219178 years old. (Life's just a big chewy bone for you!)

Your lucky day is Tuesday.
Your lucky number is 9.
Your ruling planet(s) is Mars & Pluto.
Your lucky dates are 9th, 18th, 27th.
Your opposition sign is Libra.
Your opposition number(s) is 6.

Today is not one of your lucky days!

There are 176 days till your next birthday
on which your cake will have 23 candles.

Those 23 candles produce 23 BTUs,
or 5,796 calories of heat (that's only 5.7960 food Calories!) .
You can boil 2.63 US ounces of water with that many candles.
In 1989 there were approximately 3.7 million births in the US.
In 1989 the US population was approximately 226,545,805 people, 64.0 persons per square mile.
In 1989 in the US there were 2,404,000 marriages (9.7%) and 1,163,000 divorces (4.7%)
In 1989 in the US there were approximately 1,990,000 deaths (8.8 per 1000)
In the US a new person is born approximately every 8 seconds.
In the US one person dies approximately every 12 seconds.

Your birth flower is DAFFODIL

Your birthstone is Aquamarine

The Mystical properties of Aquamarine

Aquamarine is often used to experience love and mercy. It is said to help ease depression and grief.
Some lists consider these stones to be your birthstone. (Birthstone lists come from Jewelers, Tibet, Ayurvedic Indian medicine, and other sources)
Jade, Rock Crystal, Bloodstone

Your birth tree is
Hazelnut Tree, the Extraordinary
Charming, undemanding, very understanding, knows how to make an impression, active fighter for social cause, popular, moody and capricious lover, honest and tolerant partner, precise sense of judgement.

There are 80 days till Christmas 2011!
There are 93 days till Orthodox Christmas!

The moon's phase on the day you were
born was in its last quarter.



My name
You entered: Rebecca
There are 7 letters in your name.
Those 7 letters total to 28
There are 3 vowels and 4 consonants in your name.

What your first name means:
Hebrew Female Variant of Rebekah: Captivating; knotted cord.

Your number is: 1

The characteristics of #1 are: Initiating action, pioneering, leading, independent, attaining, individual.

The expression or destiny for #1:
A number 1 Expression denotes the skilled executive with keen administrative capabilities. You must develop the capacity to be a fine leader, sales executive, or promoter. You have the tools to become an original person with a creative approach to problem solving, and a penchant for initiating action. Someone may have to follow behind you to handle the details, but you know how to get things going and make things happen. You have a good mind and the ability to use it for your advancement. Because of these factors, you have much potential for achievement and financial rewards. Frequently, this expression belongs to one running a business or striving to achieve a level of accomplishment on ones talents and efforts. You have little need for much supervision, preferring to act on your own with little restraint. You are both ambitious and determined. Self-confident and self-reliant must be yours, as you develop a strong unyielding will and the courage of your convictions.

Although you fear loneliness, you want to be left alone. You fear routine and being in a rut. You often jump the gun because you are afraid of being left behind.

The negative attributes of the 1 Expression are egotism and a self-centered approach to life. This is an aggressive number and if it is over-emphasized it is very hard to live with. You do not have to be overly aggressive to fulfill your destiny. The 1 has a natural instinct to dominate and to be the boss; adhering to the concept of being number One. Again, you do not have to dominate and destroy in order to lead and manage.

Your Soul Urge number is: 11

A Soul Urge number of 11 means:
With the 11 Soul Urge, much of your thinking and interests relate to the abstract, the spiritual, and utopian dreams. You are motivated toward idealistic concepts, and the sharing of your ideas and concepts with humanity. This number is not one that is giving in a material or a practical sense, but rather one who desires to help mankind with a more abstract commodity such as religion, spiritualism, occult studies, or even psychic abilities.

If you possess the positive 11 Soul Urge traits, you have a dream of the perfect world; you are highly idealistic and inspirational. Your inner strength and devotion to your beliefs are extremely strong. You have a very good mind that is especially well equipped to handle the higher, more abstract forms of thought.

If there is an excess of 11 energy in your makeup, you may possess some the negative 11 traits. There is a tendency for the 11 to produce considerable amounts of nervous tension which is bought on by a very high level of awareness. You may be too sensitive and overly emotional. In some cases, these sensitivities and emotions are quite repressed, and this tends to add even more to the sense of nervousness in the makeup.

The strong 11 is not a very practical person because of the extreme idealism; often, there is a degree of self-deception present. There is usually a rather fixed idea of right and wrong held by those showing strong 11 traits, and with this very often is a resulting attitude of inflexibility.

Your Inner Dream number is: 8

An Inner Dream number of 8 means:
You dream of success in the business or political world, of power and control of large material endeavors. You crave authority and recognition of executive skills. Your secret self may have very strong desire to become an entrepreneur.



If you want to try it out yourself, check out http://www.paulsadowski.org/BirthData.asp (for birthdates) and http://www.paulsadowski.org/NameData.asp (for names).

I, the Domestic Goddess.

Forget what I said before about not being a domestic goddess. I have now got this homemaker thing DOWN.

Bjorn and I woke up at 7:45 to prepare for the delivery of our new bed (FINALLY!), which was scheduled to arrive between 8:30 and 10:30. We had cleared out the bedroom last night, but this morning we had to strip the sheets and fold up and put away the temporary cots we've been using for a month.

With that done, my OCD-self itched to clean up the piles we have everywhere. We have basic furniture, but no shelving or storage units, so that means everything goes in stacks, piles, and groups of items collected as neatly as we can possibly make them.

I had already planned on cleaning the bathrooms this morning. One thing I have maintained for the last several years is a religious adherence to weekly bathroom cleaning. I HATE dirty bathrooms. I want the faucets to sparkle, the toilets to gleam, the floor to be smooth and polished. And of course, I want the knowledge that everything is sanitized and anti-bacterialized. (Yes, that's a word.)

But now, for the first time in my life, I'm responsible for two bathrooms. In the same house. Even in our dorm, we had one bathroom. Luckily, our downstairs bathroom is a tiny room with just a toilet and sink, but that also means it starts to smell funky pretty quickly.

So we had breakfast and awaited the bed delivery - which arrived at 9:00 sharp. (It looks beautiful, by the way -- as soon as we get proper bedding, I will share pictures! For now, Bjorn's fighter jet comforters are our nightly warmth, and I refuse to let the public see them.)

Once the bed was in place and the men left, on went the gloves, out came the antibacterial cleaner, the glass spray, the toilet bowl gel, the sponge...and the iPod speakers, for auditory entertainment. I happily scrubbed, wiped, brushed, rinsed, swept, and mopped the upstairs (big) bathroom for 45 minutes while Bjorn began assembly of our new wardrobe to go with our bed.





When I finished, the bathroom smelled like lilies and lemon. And I moved downstairs to the next bathroom, where I battled FOUR daddy-long-legs and a plumbing problem that gets in the way of any lily or lemon-fresh scent. (Add that to the list of things the housing company needs to fix.)



Then I moved to the kitchen. Wash a counter full of dishes, wipe down the counters and stove, put away dishes and electronics we don't need on the counter, take out the trash and separate the recycling, sweep and mop the floor.



Then I busted out "James" - our friendly vacuum (see picture), who is very different from the push vacuums I have used all my life, and whom I discovered does NOT do well with the downstairs carpeting. For some reason the carpet downstairs is thicker and denser than upstairs, so pushing that little handle and brush around required a TON of manual labor. And of course, it's the biggest spanse of carpet in the whole house! It took me 20 minutes, a great deal of huffing and puffing and sweat, and sore shoulders and back by the time I flipped off the switch and collapsed on the sofa.


(His name "James" is on the back of the blue body.)

But I wasn't done. I still had to bring boxes we had downstairs up three floors to the attic, use the dust-buster to vacuum up the carpet fluff, dirt, and other debris from each step of both staircases, and then stop cleaning - not to rest - but to help Bjorn with several steps of the self-assembly wardrobe - which involved ladder climbing, heavy lifting, hammering and drilling, and then shifting a unit twice as tall and wide as I am into the corner of the room.

Then I had to go up to the attic, where I had to fold one load of dried laundry, remove load #2 from the washing machine and hang the clothes each, one by one, with clothespins on our drying rack (because Bjorn insists on air-drying clothes like his mom does, and refuses to get a dryer) and then put load #3 into the washer.


(When I took this pic, load #3 - bed sheets and hand towels - was already drying on the rack. (These are faster to hang than a bunch of shirts and socks!)

Then I had to run down to the ground floor, out to the backyard, grab all three rolling trash bins and rush them to the curb because the trash truck was rumbling down our street.

Then it was back up the bedroom to help Bjorn again with the wardrobe.

Then I had to unwrap the new mattresses, insert them into protective covers (an exhausting chore in and of itself), and set them up in the bedframe.

By then, it was 2pm. And I was exhausted. And I smelled. And I looked like hell - wisps of hair flying out of my ponytail, dirt and grime on my clothes and skin, and my face flushed red.

Mind you, I've cleaned house before - I often spent similar Saturday mornings at the dorms, cleaning the kitchen and bathroom, vacuuming the whole apartment, and running down three flights of stairs every hour to get my laundry at the communal washers. It took about 2 hours if I had a full list of chores to do.

But I've never been the primary cleaner or caretaker of a HOUSE. A three-story, two-bathroom, three-bedroom house. AND consider the fact that in between every action I was performing, I was running either up or down a flight (or two) of stairs. And it took 6 hours, not 2. I absolutely, undoubtedly got more exercise and burned more calories today than I did walking around Prague all day on my trip.

Once I FINALLY stepped into the shower and washed off all the sweat and dirt, donned fresh clean clothes, and collapsed on the sofa to write this, I came to two very important realizations.

1. It's true: you really do appreciate that which you've cleaned and cared for yourself - especially a house.

2. I don't care; I want a maid.

More bomb-diggity dinners

I'm really getting the hang of this culinary thing. With new foods to try here, and the absence of some of my favorites (no Kraft mac & cheese, no deli rolls for sandwiches, no Red Robin or Submarina...), I've kind of tapped into my inner (wannabe) chef.

Making food for Bjorn is simple, and actually quite boring. He likes chicken, meatballs, boiled potatoes, salad...and that's pretty much the range of it. And, of course, hamburgers and fries, but I don't make those very often.

I am constantly baffled at how often he eats peanut butter sandwiches (willingly), and how many foods he DOESN'T like. Example: pasta.

I am a huge pasta and potato fan. There are so many ways to prepare both that I find them a constant source of nourishment. And, as of recently, a learning experience. Currently, I am experimenting with pastas. While I made that delicious grilled chicken/potato/chef salad dinner that I was so proud of a few weeks ago, my pasta dishes have turned out far better - and more delicious.

The only problem: Bjorn won't eat them. Sure, he politely ate my first attempt at chicken alfredo, but I could tell he would have been far happier with his jar of "pindakaas". No matter how flavorful or creamy or cheesy the pasta is, he just can't - or won't - get into it.

So, I have been trying new ways to make chicken when I cook for the two of us (I'm running out of variations), and then experimenting with pastas on the weekends - when he eats sandwiches (because his family always did), and I make my own dinners.

A few weeks ago, I tried a new recipe I found online for chicken alfredo. It was a fairly simple recipe, calling for a white wine, cream-based sauce with herbs and cheese. The only difficulty was finding the right equivalents of the ingredients here in Dutch stores - particularly when it calls for parmesan cheese, and 99.99% of the cheese sold in stores here is Gouda.

Second challenge: whipping cream, or half and half. The only creams we could find were in the coffee aisles of the supermarket, so I simply looked for a cream without sugar or sweeteners and hoped it would work.

Unfortunately, that first attempt didn't go exactly as planned. It was a perfectly fine meal, but the sauce lacked the "wow" factor. The cream was not right, the wine was too sweet, and the ratios of the ingredients (I cut them in half since the original recipe was for 4 people) didn't exactly combine quite right.

I was determined to try that recipe again, however, and make a few small adjustments. I knew what to do differently: get a dry wine, find a better cream, and make the full recipe and just save the rest.

A week later, attempt #2 on a Saturday evening went absolutely flawless. I found something in one of the bigger supermarkets here that said "halfvolle met halfmelk", which I knew meant half fat (cream) and half milk...thus, essentially half and half. I bought a Chardonnay instead of a dry Riesling, and I made a full recipe so the proportions were more accurate.

And it was perfect - the sauce even looked better when simmering in the pan - and an hour later, I had a picture-perfect pan of chicken alfredo that made Katie beam with pride when I showed her on Facebook. ;)

Last night was another chance to make something new for myself, so while Bjorn munched on his bread, I found another pasta recipe that called for a white wine garlic sauce.

This one was oil based, and far more simple. I mixed oil, water, minced onion and garlic, and some herbs in a pan, and added white wine. Then, I let it simmer WITH the pieces of chicken in the mix for 15 minutes while I cooked the pasta.

Result: my favorite dish so far.

The chicken was to DIE FOR. Tender, juicy, and melt-in-your mouth, since it absorbed the oil, wine and herb flavors in the low heat. With other dishes I've made, the recipe has always called for the chicken to be cooked separately, but I found that simmering it in the sauce is a fantastic way to ensure moisture, tenderness, and full absorption of flavors. I'm sure more skilled cooks know this, but it was a lesson for me.

I used linguine (the recipe is really flexible with pasta, since it's more focused on the sauce), and added my own touch of parmesan cheese on top of the finished product - which I think gave it just the right boost.

Unfortunately, I was so excited with the intense flavors that I forgot to take a picture. :(

But if you're interested, I am providing the recipes (makes 2 servings) -- with my adjustments/notes in bold.


CHICKEN ALFREDO (with fettuccine noodles)

Ingredients:
1 lb. boneless, skinless chicken breasts
4 tbsp olive oil (divided in half)
1/2 cup onion (chopped and divided)
2 garlic cloves (chopped and divided)
1 tsp dried oregano
1 cup dry white wine (I used Chardonnay)
1/2 cup whipping cream (I used half and half)
1/2 cup +1 tsp grated parmesan cheese (I used 1 cup, but I like things cheesy)
1 lb fettuccine
1 tsp ground black pepper
2 tsp dried parsley flakes

Directions:
1. Bring 6 quarts of water to a boil and cook pasta until done (see step #2).

2. While water is coming to a boil, heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add 2 tbsp olive oil, 1/4 cup onion, and 1/2 of the garlic. Add chicken pieces to mixture and saute until done (about 5 minutes). Remove chicken.

3. Add remaining oil, onion and garlic to skillet and saute about 1 minute. Add white wine (take skillet off stove while adding the wine to prevent fire) and continue to cook over medium heat until reduced in half (about 5 minutes).

4. Lower heat to simmer and add cream (half and half) and 1/2 cup parmesan cheese. Stir until thickened (about 2 minutes). Add parsley flakes and stir.

5. Drain pasta and reserve 1 cup of pasta water. Add pasta to sauce (in the skillet) and mix. (If pasta is too thick at this point, add the reserved pasta water). Place all but a few pieces of chicken in the pasta.

6. Pour pasta into a serving bowl, place remaining chicken on top.

7. Sprinkle with remaining parmesan cheese and some parsley.


Total Time: 45 mins
Prep Time: 15 mins
Cook Time: 30 mins



~

CHICKEN & PASTA IN WHITE WINE GARLIC SAUCE

Ingredients:
2 boneless skinless chicken breasts
1/8 cup water
1/4 cup dry white wine
1/8 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup finely chopped white onion
1/2 clove crushed or minced garlic
1/8 teaspoon oregano
1/8 teaspoon parsley
1/4 lb linguine or other pastas
Salt and pepper (to taste)

Optional ingredients (I didn't have these in stock, so I didn't use them)
1 (3.5 ounce) can diced tomatoes, drained
1 (1.5 ounce) can sliced mushrooms
1/8 teaspoon thyme
1/8 teaspoon rosemary
1/8 teaspoon basil
1/4 bay leaf


Directions:
1. Cut chicken breasts into bite-sized pieces.
2. Combine chicken in large skillet with water, olive oil, mushrooms, onion, garlic, and spices.
3. Cook until onion is tender.
4. Add tomatoes, wine, salt and pepper to taste.
5. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer about 15 minutes while preparing pasta, stirring occasionally.
6. Drain pasta, place into serving dish and toss with olive oil.
7. Pour chicken mixture over pasta.
8. Sprinkle parmesan cheese over finished dish.

Total Time: 35 mins
Prep Time: 15 mins
Cook Time: 20 mins

Good morning!

Just thought this was adorable - and it made me laugh out loud. So I thought it made a good morning greeting. ;)

Happy Tuesday!

Backyard flower photos

I just went out and took some photos in our backyard - we have wildflowers growing, since we haven't had time to "groom" the flower beds and lawn yet (and there's no point in doing so with the winter frosts coming in the next several weeks).

Ever since the bee sting at the beach, I'm utterly terrified of anything that flies and has a stinger. So I got some great macro flower close-ups, but then I saw a bee across the yard and jumped up to leave...then figured I could try out my camera's zoom. So the bee photos are taken from across the yard, with manual focus settings. Still turned out pretty good!

All of these photos are untouched/unedited (for now; I'm actually toying with them in a photography program I just got for my Mac!), and all the colors are real, though enhanced by the camera itself in a function called "TrueColor Fix" - which simply means the camera will pick up foliage colors and other vibrant colors in nature instead of dimming or fading them like regular photography will do.

Whatchoo think?

Vienna & Prague Calling...

I leave on Tuesday! YAY! I'm getting really excited now that I'm packing and reviewing all my itineraries...and actually able to USE Rick Steves for legitimate resource (instead of just wishful fantasy for the future).

I've got one backpack, a money belt, and the tiniest toiletry kit I've ever packed. I'm so proud.

But, I have also decided not to bring my laptop. Being brand new and close to $1,200 - I'm not going to risk it. Especially since Prague's two nicknames are City of A Thousand Spires.....and City of A Thousand Pickpockets.

However, never fear. I wouldn't dream of NOT blogging my adventures (hello!), so I have alternatives. I will ask my friend Kristin in Vienna to borrow her computer (I'm staying with her, so that shouldn't be a problem :p), and then I'm staying at a hostel in Prague, which offers free computers for an hour per day.

I also discovered that I may just be able to access wi-fi on my Blackberry - despite the phone network being disconnected, it is a wi-fi-enabled device - so if I find public/free wi-fi while I'm out and about, I can blog quick entries from my phone! Still have to confirm that, though.

But another reminder about my blogs...if you're following my Destination Anywhere: Europe blog, please remember that it is ONLY for the backpacking trip I have now postponed. So for this Vienna/Prague trip, make sure you are following/signed up for updates from my main Adventures Series blog. (Click "Join This Site" on the right-hand side, scroll down a little.)

With that said, emails will probably go delayed once I leave. If you're lucky, I'll get your email when I sign in and have free time, and I'll reply. Feel free to email me regarding my blog posts - I love the feedback! But count on my replying with a delay.

Okay, busy day tomorrow. So I'll check in when I'm in Austria!!

Cheers!

Ground Zero 10th Anniversary - missing some guests?

This is disgusting, disrespectful, appalling, and SAD. I see absolutely NO valid excuse for this.

Due to a "LACK OF ROOM," NYC Policemen and Firefighters are not invited to the 10th anniversary of 9/11 at Ground Zero.They weren't invited that day in 2001 either. They just showed up and did their jobs.

http://www.snopes.com/rumors/responders.asp

But the politicians are invited. Because they do so much for our country.

My bomb-diggity dinner.

Yes, that is the most sophisticated, succinct description I could come up with in my journalism-obsessed mind.

I've been the one making dinners for Bjorn and me lately, since the man can't even make toast. (I'm teaching him.)

I'm no domestic goddess, and I've never been too fantastic with a spatula, but I did feed myself just fine when I lived in the dorms the last two years. Katie is the Culinary Queen, while I can make KILLER chocolate chip cookies. (Humility fully intended.)

But the other night, and I don't hold back here, I made one BOMB-DIGGITY DINNER.

I grilled chicken breasts stove-top with butter, garlic, and a dash of salt and pepper. And they turned out not only FULLY cooked (something I fully expected not to happen, as I never have success with chicken that thick), but TENDER too! Bonus points for moi!!

Then I boiled potatoes with salt, pepper, and melted butter on top of them...the only thing missing was sour cream. :(

And I made a salad that I made a few nights ago that we LOVED - iceberg lettuce with herbs, hard-boiled eggs, and bacon crumbles.



YUM. E.

Go ahead. You have my permission to be impressed.

Belgium and updates

Good morning! And I say that because it literally is morning for everyone reading this...whether in Europe, or east or west coast of the U.S. But most of you aren't up yet. ;)

Anyway, I owe you updates. This is the third day I've been at home alone while Bjorn works, but the first day I've really felt like writing/blogging. I've been SO sluggish lately, and uninspired to write or do anything except sit on the couch and watch movies all day. Yuck. Luckily, I'm feeling much better today (about a lot of things - thanks, Mom!) and will share my latest adventure with you all!

First thing's first: we officially move into our new house this weekend. It currently consists of a sofa on loan from the furniture store until our permanent ones arrive in December, a handheld Philips dust-buster, Ester's old TV, and my suitcases in the attic.

Homey, right? Not exactly.

Luckily, Bjorn's Oma has two fold-out beds we are going to use temporarily until our real bed arrives in October, and we'll use a picnic table and chairs to eat on until December. Ester's old TV will stand in the living room until we get a bigger one (which will be soon, I think). The kitchen and bathrooms are fully functioning, electricity/power works, we have clean running water, and cable and Internet service will be turned on mid-September.

The inspection crew is coming on Thursday to fix a list of things Bjorn filed about - like cracks in the windowsill, a dead outlet, etc. And then we're hoping Bjorn can get the rest of the day and/or Friday off so we can go get a bunch of things like lamps, a coffee maker (very important), pots and pans, etc.

So really, we should be fine. We can survive. But I foresee a lot of knocks on Ester's and his parents' doors as we ask to join them for dinner and/or use their Internet for the next two weeks. :D

Although, perhaps not -- I leave for Vienna on Tuesday! I can't believe it's almost here already. I've been so busy with the whole moving and adjusting to living in Europe thing that I kept forgetting I had a vacation to look forward to. And I'm really getting excited now that it's becoming so real.

Bjorn leaves for Hamburg, Germany on Monday - for a week. He has a work conference to attend, but luckily I won't be left alone in the dust this time. In fact, HE will be alone for a few days between when he gets home and when I return from Prague.

So...we have a lot to do before Sunday.


~

In other news, I spent Sunday in Belgium! Bjorn had a three-day pass to the Spa Francorchamps Formula One races this past weekend, which meant he was up at 5am and gone until 8pm on Friday and Saturday. But he went with his uncle, who was a Ferrari VIP (lucky bastard!) and his uncle wasn't attending Sunday's race. So Bjorn's parents decided we'd go with him - drive him down to Spa, then spend the day sightseeing while he went to the track. The race would be over about 3:30pm, but we had to get down there early because it's an international circuit and a huge deal. Which meant huge crowds and insane traffic - and Martin remembered very UNfond memories of doing that last year, and being stuck in the village for 2 hours trying to get out.

So we were up at 5:30am. And on the road by 7am. All of us, in Bjorn's little Mitsubishi Charisma. Ester and I could barely see straight, and I fell asleep off and on the entire 2-hour drive down to Spa. It was barely 9am, and we were about 3 miles from the freeway off-ramp, when we came to a standstill behind a LONG line of cars waiting to get off. AT NINE A.M.!!!! The race wasn't until 2pm!!! I told you those people are crazy. I just didn't believe it until I saw that.

So after sitting in line forever, Martin finally pulled up along the left shoulder and passed everyone, got up to the intersection, and we booted poor Bjorn out of the car in the middle of the street. LOL. I felt so bad as Martin drove off, leaving my boyfriend to walk the remaining mile to the circuit. But it was kind of funny!

So Martin, Elly, Ester, and I went straight off in search of coffee - which we found in a cute little cafe at the base of green rolling hills and a waterfall. (Belgium is absolutely beautiful.)

We were in a tiny village at the outskirts of a famous children's theme park (Plop-something, I can't remember the exact name), which we walked around after we livened up on java.


RIDE OF DEATH. I did this in Luxembourg. Nee dank u.


Roller coaster with a spinning boat.


Spinning DEATH. Funny how these things work out.


Ester with Plop and Gert.


We strolled around, had an early lunch at 11am (traditional Belgian baguette with ham and Gouda "kaas", washed down by an itty bitty glass of Coca Cola with no refills). Then we piled into the car and Martin drove off through rolling farmland, up and down hills, around tight hairpin turns lined by trees, through villages so quaint and deserted that you blinked and missed them. It wasn't anything particularly eventful, but I really enjoyed the scenery and change of pace.

I filmed some of the drive, and there's some funny commentary from Ester and Elly here and there, but it's mostly a recording of the scenery and tight turns. So watch what you want, but you certainly don't have to sit through all of them in their entireties.





At one point, we came upon a roadblock to reroute traffic away from the circuit (the ENTIRE country stops for Formula One, I swear) and the officers spoke only French...even when Martin tried to tell them in English that we were trying to get to the town of Malmedy. "Malmedy?" the officer asked...and then rattled off rude, condescending instructions in French. We had NO IDEA what he said, but he waved us off to get out of there, so we just turned around and bolted back to a roundabout we had passed through a ways back, and hoped for the best. We eventually did find Malmedy, but I learned that it's not unheard of for people in that part of the country (French-speaking, versus the Dutch-speaking north) to be like that. Rude, unsmiling, and absolutely refusing to communicate in ANYTHING except French.

I found it so ridiculous - these officials are working at an international event filled with people from hundreds of tongues around the world; the least you can do is revert to the universal English (which most of Europe does, if you don't speak the native language). You want us to obey your orders and follow directions, but you refuse to communicate with us. Yeah, that works.

We did make one sightseeing stop at a famous dam called Barrage de la Gileppe - apparently the engineer who spearheaded the construction discovered that he made one tiny miscalculation after it was finished, and promptly threw himself off the dam into the lake. It was finished in 1878 and still works perfectly over 130 years later, so I'm not sure what miscalculation he made...but it clearly didn't make a difference!



The dam is crowned by a massive, beautifully majestic lion...who has one hell of a view.









We initially viewed the whole lake and dam from an observation point above it, but Ester wanted to walk down and see "big Simba," so we trekked down VERY steep walkways to the lake level. Nice way to stretch our legs after hours in the car, but definitely not for the faint-hearted.

From there we drove back to the village of Spa to wait for Bjorn - we parked a mile and a half away so we could walk and then be able to drive off without sitting in massive traffic. And then we drove back into the Netherlands and straight to the Pankoek Huis (pancake house!) for a special Sunday dinner.

Needless to say, we all slept QUITE well that night.

So now I'm enjoying a relaxed first half to this week before we do some major shopping and move in. And on Saturday I have a "date" in a town called Den Bosch (about 45 minutes by train) with someone I met on the travel website, CouchSurfing. She's from Asia, studying abroad in the Netherlands, and then just studied abroad abroad (?) in Prague! So we're going to chat about Dutch life and then I'll get some pointers on Prague. I'm excited. :)

Miss you all! xx