3.25.2007

Pinkie Swear



Last night Demelza and I had a joint birthday celebration at her new flat. The theme was "Pink" and it was a great gathering of people both from work and outside of it. A highlight was the lighting of the "Intellectual Candle" -- a pink plastic lotus flower that came out of the box as a closed-up bud. I was given explicit instructions to use the provided incense stick to light the wick inside the flower. Each petal had a wax birthday candles on the end of it, so when the fuse light up, the candles did too and the flower slowly opened to the strains of digital "Happy Birthday." The photo above shows it in action. Also pictured is Elisa (behind the pink curtain), Nick, Dagmar and yours truly. The dress came from a thrift store in Haarlem that I thoroughly enjoyed and the champagne came from a generous party guest. I thoroughly enjoyed it too.

3.22.2007

On love.

I have had one perfect mixed tape made for me in my life...and I think that is something rare and amazing in itself. Not to get all Nick Hornby about it, but to be the recipient of so much thought, joy and winking humor during the heady flirting days of infatuation is a divine gift.

The power of music is obvious when you are away from the sources of your memories. I heard one of the songs from that epic mixed tape when I was out tonight (done with a Euro-dance beat, of course) and I was instantly transported back to the sunny streets of South Pasadena. Then, when I sat down to write and iTunes started shuffling, a T. Rex song that is all top hats and husbands was the first song to play. And I was sent back to Friday nights with many cocktails and impromptu dance parties in the living room.

But the second song that played was my own: discovered while I was here, with the help of a musical pied piper at work who sends out weekly suggestions with excellent commentary to accompany them. I feel like this song belongs to me. Years from now, when I hear it again, I will think of Sunday mornings in the black and white chair, views from train windows on the way to somewhere new and bike rides home in foggy air.

Which brings me to love. I have been thinking about love a lot lately -- shouting about it loudly inside my head. Mr. Epic Mix Tape was the first man I ever loved without reservation or protection. He brought chaos and destruction along with laughter and that indescribable feeling of being, not only seen, but celebrated for being exactly me. ["Rebel Girl" is playing right now -- featured on another great mixed tape I received many years ago from a manboy with blue hair. Irony. Love that.] When he left, I emotionally packed up because I was sure I would never feel that way about anyone ever again and I was certainly never going to open myself up to that kind of hurt. I became a Jean-Val-Jean disciple -- better to have loved and lost...blah blah blah.

There were a few years of searching and failure after that [see Blue Hair], and then I met Mr. T. Rex on a blind date. I won't write about my marriage or what went wrong, except to say that I spent 10 years loving a man as best I could, and I know he did the same. Our collective best, unfortunately, wasn't enough to elevate either one of us, which I think love should do. There are happy memories and many regrets. I wish I could talk to him sometimes.

And then I was given the greatest gift ever. I got Tom. As I said, I never thought I could be unprotected ever again, but with him, I am. All the warts, all the doubts, all the geeky enthusiasm. He lifts me up without even trying and is the most secure, patient, funny man I have ever known. And he loves me. The biggest difference of this love and old loves? I know how lucky I am, I know how lucky he is, I know that love should be balls out and exuberant. There has never been a moment where he made me feel less than amazing -- in fact, he sees someone in me who is a far better person than I see.

I wonder, sometimes, if Tom is a reward, ala Maria and the Captain ("Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good."). Perhaps he is. Or perhaps this type of love is our birthright -- the Manifest Destiny of emotions. I don't know. Regardless, it is good and affirming in a myriad of ways. And I close this post listening to "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen. Again. Irony.

3.21.2007

Happy Birthday Aries



"I am, I am the ram" has now become my new bike riding mantra.

3.18.2007

Mannny kisses

It is Sunday morning and I am performing my favorite weekly ritual: sitting on my black and white chair, drinking coffee, reading my book and, every once in a while, absently staring at the world out of my back windows. And feeling smug. Oh so very smug.

A few minutes ago, I got up to refill my coffee cup, carrying my open book with me, with my fingers marking the spot where I left off. Mid-pour, a piece of paper dropped out of the book and fluttered to the floor.** This is what it says:
I send you manny
kisses
Love Annie***

And smack! I am crying. As life gets more comfortable here, the time I mentally spend back home diminishes. Which is a good thing since, if I live by the quote featured on the greeting card I have been carrying with me for years and years ("If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I will tell you, I came to live out loud. -- Emile Zola"), then I have to be intentional here. I have to actually be here. And apparently I have to write incredibly long sentences that are so self-referential I feel dirty.

I don't want to be away from any of you. I want you here with me every second of every day. I miss you so much and each time I carve out some comfort or feel that wave of wonder that makes me smile like a fool, I celebrate for me and for you as well. But I can't pick up the phone and tell you what I am seeing. Or feeling. And this blog isn't any substitution for spontaneous emails that say, "Are you doing anything tonight?" Just by virtue of being far away, I am missing things -- tiny changes, bad days, good days, gossip, ennui, the lead up to major decisions, mood swings, first warm Saturdays, the introduction of cotton to our collective wardrobes, etc.

And that sucks. I can't be two places at once, nor can I live in two spaces at once, and I have to be here, finding a space that you would all fit seamlessly into as my friends. I send you manny kisses and will try harder to be in touch.

**fluttered -- too precious to use as an adjective? It describes the action, but is not the way I talk. Thoughts? Opinions?

***Annie. My neice whose previous note, "You are the best ant!!!!" is taped next to my desk at work.

3.11.2007

Cheese carnage

Gentle readers. You may have thought that my love of cheese has waned in the past months because I have been so lax in documenting new discoveries. I assure you, and my waistline will back me up on this, that my total and complete adoration of all things curd-based is intact and flourishing.

I had a Sunday lunch today that culminated in the all important cheeseboard coarse. Beautiful. The meal was amazing, if I do say so myself: salad of sweet Chevre, endive, tomatoes, avocado and a seed assortment for texture, risotto with young asparagus, lemon zest, Parmesan and fresh mint, main course of rare steak on top of white beans and leeks with roasted rosemary potatoes on the side. Melanie brought desert of Cognac-infused straw, blue and rasp berries that she served with sour yogurt and mango sorbet, and then after 10 bottles of wine and as many packs of cigarettes, came the cheese. Brie, Port Salut, Manchego and the best Stilton I have ever had in my life. Deeee-licous.

The company was sterling: Peter, Martin, Mel and Maya (from Portland!). It lasted for more than six hours and I performed "Wig in a Box" on my coffee table, which I doubted I would ever do here. It went over big. Huge even. And so the cheese lives on in many ways -- dairy and non.

3.08.2007

As for the rest of the trip

You would think that the wedding was the pinnacle of greatness for the trip to NYC, but it wasn't. It did yield the most entertaining anecdotes...I'll give you that.

Saturday night I managed to get Tom to go into the city and to Old Town Bar on East 18th under the guise of meeting my friends Linda and Chris. When we walked through the door, his friends were there to give him an early birthday surprise and it was great. He had no idea it was coming and the expression on his face was beautiful. I love his friends and they clearly love him.

Sunday we went to Point Pleasant Beach on the Jersey shore to wander down the boardwalk and along the beach. We went to the arcade where I cleaned up on video poker (me and the old ladies) and won many, many tickets worth over 2,000 points. And what could I "buy" with my winnings? A New Jersey shot glass and a disturbing plastic clown. I took some photos, gathered sea glass and had such a lovely day. I made Tom turn his back to me and wrote what I was giving him for his birthday in the sand: "I am giving you a trip to Thailand." Exciting! Let the planning commence! We will probably go in January of next year since there are lots of things up in the air for the rest of this year. Sunday night I sat and read the New York Times in Tom's comfy chair. Perfect.

Monday I went to MOMA and visited my favorite Rothko and Motherwell paintings and had a lovely few hours wandering through the new building. Tommy and I had lunch together and he drove me to the airport where I jetted home to my bike and some beautiful warm weather. And that is all.

3.04.2007

Wedding wonderfulness and the WWF

Preface: Everything I am about to write comes from an affectionate place. I do not intend to sound superior, condescending or judgmental, but I probably will.

Friday was Johnny Lyman's wedding to Alice English in lovely Rockland County, New York. The ceremony took place in the Church of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, a small chapel where Alice's brothers were all married (which they mentioned during the service) and Johnny's father was memorialized (which they didn't). Tom looked fabulous in his tuxedo, and I, having inadvertently sat on the bride's side, had a perfect view of him as he sat on the dais carefully avoiding any genuflecting. I think he managed an, "And also with you." at some point, but I can't be certain, as I was concentrating on not giving away my Presbyterian-ness and was repeating, "Forgive us our trespasses, not debts, trespasses...and stop after deliver us from evil because you DON"T want to be that one Protestant in the audience who goes into the power and glory line again." A friend of Alice's read the "Love is patient," speech from Corinthians. She introduced it by saying, "...from the gospel of St. Paul," only it sounded like, "...from the gospel of Saint Puwall," at which point Tom's eyes popped out of his head with surprise. He apparently didn't know that there would be communion, as at one point he looked at his family and mouthed, "Is there communion? Communion? No one told me. Told me. No. Told me. Communion. Yea. No."

So Johnny and Alice got hitched up. I went out to the parking lot to wait for the receiving line to finish and met some of Tom and John's friends from childhood. Apparently they all played on the CoOLotSH basketball team and practiced at the gym next to the chapel when they were 8 or 9. Patty (Tom and John's oldest sister) told me how all the families that they grew up with had originally come from the Bronx and moved to Rockland County in one mass exodus in the mid to late 60s, so not only did the kids all know each other from childhood, but their parents often did too.

Cut to reception at the Florentine Gardens in River Vale, New Jersey..."Where we invite you to live the dream of your most magical day in classic elegance and romantic seclusion." If you can read that sentence in your best Tony Soprano voice, that would be great. The place was beautiful -- many ubiquitous columns -- but very nice and tricked out for events such as the Lyman-English wedding reception. There was an ice sculpture of swans at the cocktail hour. Nice. It ends up that the sculpture could have been anything and it wasn't until after Alice picked the swans that Johnny said they should have got an ice sculpture done of their dog, which actually would have been really cool, but, unfortunately, it was too late. Food was abundant at the cocktail hour and I, being from casual wedding land of the Northwest, thought it was actually dinner. Everything was divided by stations -- the seafood station, the crudites station, the cheese station (yea!), the prime rib station -- and there were three people with headset walkie talkies walking amidst the guests and directing the food and drink flow, "Can we get a glass sweep at table seven. More Fontana at station four." And these same three people were responsible for getting the families and bridal party to their special, undisclosed location before dinner. That was great. "We have a sister at 3 o'clock and we have locked the mothers at the champagne station. Missing the nephew. Has anyone located the nephew?"

The dinner was in the Grand Ballroom. Our place card read, "Mr. Thomas Lyman and guest." Even though the invitation came to both of us. Got to respect a woman who can get that little jab in so skillfully. Well played Alice. Well played. I went to Table B and was standing there alone when the lights fell and a booming World Wrestling Federation-type announcer came over the loudspeaker saying, "Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Florentine Gardens. We want you to put your hands together for some very special people. Introducing.......the father and mother of the bride, Mr. and Mrs. ---- English!!!" and then these double doors opened and three blue spotlights swung from the ceiling to shine on Alice's parents as they walked out onto the dance floor accompanied by, "Are You Ready for This," (heard at sporting events throughout the world) and having the walk projected onto a giant video screen. Their entrance was followed by Mrs. Lyman ("accompanied by her nephew..."), the sisters and brothers with their families, the best man and maid of honor and finally, the moment we've all been waiting for, Mr. and Mrs. John Lyman!!!!! And the crowd went wild. It really did.

Tom's speech was lovely: funny, heartfelt and personal. When Kenny Malaguchi yelled, "Wrap it up!" as Tom was starting the final tearjerker part, I shot a look of pure venom his direction and frightened Tom's other friends with my wrath. Not that Tom needs defending, but no one is going to heckle my boy unless he wants them to. Word.

Other details: the food was fabulous, we danced a lot, including "Living on a Prayer" but the DJ stopped the song after the first chorus because Tom and I were the only ones on the dance floor and we were sort of acting the lyrics out. Apparently no one pokes fun at JBJ in the state of NJ. I loved my French frock, Tom's family and friends are very fun and my date was the best looking one there.

2.28.2007

NYC girl

I am flying to NY today for a five day stay, and instead of feeling giddy, I am feeling a little sick because when I got home from work at 10pm last night, I thought it would be a great idea to watch the Oscar telecast on DVD while drinking half a bottle of Cava and eating chocolate for dinner. Yea. Great. Packing? Wasn't really a priority and still clearly isn't since I am writing my blog instead of bustling around my room trying to gather things together. No matter. Tom said he'd prefer it if I showed up with an empty suitcase anyway. Baby might get his wish.

Tom's brother is getting married on Friday, and while we discussed me walking into the church late, with a burning cigarette in hand and a Euro sneer and giant sunglasses on my face, I will behave. It isn't that we aren't excited for the wedding, but when you travel across an ocean to be a + 1 sort of guest, it is tempting to bring on the drama just for fun.

I'll keep you posted...

2.25.2007

Google Earth

I have been sitting in front of my computer for two hours, eating chocolate mini-eggs in my bathrobe and saying, "Wow man." over and over like Dennis Hopper in Sunday morning drag.

If you haven't downloaded Google Earth to your computer yet, you should. It is free and one of the coolest things I have ever seen -- truly using the internet to show how tiny and interconnected we are. You can map locations all over the globe and "fly" from one location to another. I went from my apartment in Amsterdam (I could see the bike racks two buildings aways, so I knew right were it was) to Tom's apartment in New Jersey (the Galaxy Towers had been mapped about 6 times already, so I went right there). That is what makes this so great -- when you add a location -- say, The Green Kitchen Diner in Guttenberg, NJ, the global map stores it for everyone else to see and use. So this map of the globe is getting compartmentalized on several levels: landmarks, cities, businesses, homes, parks, etc. I even found mom and dad's house at Black Butte. It makes my brain hurt and buzz all at the same time.

And this brings up an interesting point about privacy. When I can sit at my kitchen table and zoom all over the planet, looking at specific places belonging to specific people, how private can any one of us be? Do the Muslim women who live behind me and who cover their faces just to change the laundry hanging out their windows know that they are being photographed by satellites? That the top of their head may show up in a future map?

Anyway. Download the program and dream about travel. Even if you can't get on a plane, you can fly around and see just how amazing this tiny planet is.

Raclette

How I managed to get to this point in my life without experiencing the deliciousness that is Raclette baffles me. Raclette is a cheese, but it is also dish that depends on cheese so much that the pans have special compartments just for the proper melting of said cheese. And there are special scrapers for getting the melted cheese out. The cheese has accessories. Like a dairy dream car.

At this point you might be thinking, "Sounds like fondue. I don't understand what the big deal is (I just typed that in a snooty accent)." Well Mister Doubty vanDoubterson, let me tell you what else is involved in eating Raclette. Meat. Yes. And not dipped in hot oil meat, but individually grilled pieces of meat that you get to cook yourself on the pan that sits over the mini cheese saunas.

And this brings me to the most wonderful part of all. Since each guest is responsible for cooking their own meat, everyone has the perfect reason to disengage from the conversation and stare at the chicken when they need to. I am a huge fan of any meal that helps cover up moments of social awkwardness through the act of grilling. This is why barbeques are so popular.

It was a great night at Dario and Marika's last evening. The food, obviously, was a hit, and the company was good fun.

Oh. And did I mention that you POUR THE MELTED CHEESE OVER LITTLE POTATOES? C'mon.

2.24.2007

Happy Birthday Pisces

Oh the funny. The very, very funny. Thank you Mr. Theo Alto for introducing me to Mr. Harvey Sid Fisher -- you have enriched my life once again.

2.22.2007

Geeking out

I may well have reached the height of geekiness last night when I saw The Decemberists at Paradiso. What makes a concert experience truly geeky?
1. You are part of the huddled masses at the doors when they open.
2. You strategically place yourself in the optimal seat for band view, sound quality and minimum interference by tall people in front of you.
3. You see people you know, but are so scared of losing your seat that you don't go say hi.
4. You sing loudly and with great enthusiasm to every song. And clap. And chair dance.
7. You give an audible, "WOO HOO" when the band mentions Portland.
5. You buy the t-shirt.
6. You tell the bass player, "Great show man" as you pass him by while riding your bike home.

It was a great show. A great show. I think it cracked my top 5 of all time concerts, but I can't be certain yet. Next up? The Shins on 5 April. If their new album is any indication, this show should be epic. "Wincing the Night Away" makes me grin like an idiot every time I hear it.

What else. Work has been nuts. I made popcorn tonight -- the old fashioned way with oil over the stove. I managed not to burn anything or set off the smoke alarm. It was delicious. I have missed popcorn. Thinking about bringing an air popper back with me in my suitcase.

2.17.2007

Gung Hai Fat Choi

I am celebrating Chinese New Year night watching a repeat telecast of the Grammy Awards and eating green curry. Note to self: use half the amount of green curry paste that is called for on the conveniently translated instruction sticker. My lips are burning. What is Kanye West wearing? You are at the Grammys and you are wearing a hoody? A hoody? Pul-ese.

Today I went up to the Buddhist temple in Chinatown and bought a candle to burn on the alter (alter? I might have made a giant cultural mistake right there...) for good luck. There were tons of people up there today and many fireworks going off. I then discovered a proper Asian grocery store, "Oriental World" where you can find a vast array of delights, including the green curry paste mentioned above.

It has been in the 50s for a week and definitely feels like early spring. I rode around the town a bit and took some photos of random things. I was charmed by this city once again and taken aback by how familiar it is becoming. I officially reached 8 months of living here and am beginning to look forward to doing things again -- can't wait for summer.

Oh my. Rascal Flatts should never be allowed to play, "Life in the Fast Lane." I love the Grammys for the odd pairings. It is like Snow White dancing with Rob Lowe every single year.

2.12.2007

13 years!

It is my nephew's 13th birthday tomorrow and I can't quite believe it. I can remember the day he was born amazingly vividly, despite waking up that Sunday morning on Stacy's couch after a pre-Valentine's day pink wine-in-a-box night where I played, "Desire" by U2 over and over on her record player. I called my answering machine from her kitchen and heard my brother say, "Congratulations Aunt Katie. You have a new nephew." I went home, brushed my Jane Mancini (thank you season three of Melrose Place) haircut and drove the Ford Escort Pony to the hospital where I met this little tiny baby boy who has grown into a charming, funny, talented young man. Time flew.

News from the Dam: Tom was here for over a week and it was great. We went out a bit, bowled with people before the Superbowl, played some pool, ate some food, saw some friends, laughed a whole bunch and enjoyed being together again. It snowed on Thursday and that was completely cool. Very pretty to see the city covered in white. It melted after a few hours, so it never got a chance to get slushy and dirty. Work is very busy, as usual, but good. I go to New York in two weeks for Tom's brother's wedding, so I don't have many days to get through before I get to see him again. Then I get back and have just a few weeks before going to Florence with my mom and then just a few more weeks before Paris with Jonna. And then it will be spring!

Oh. And speaking of. Tulips are ridiculously cheap here already. I bought 50 tulips for 5 euros! And then spent 6 euros on a vase large enough to hold 50 tulips. I imagine that by April they will be throwing tulips at you, begging you to take them away.

And the last tidbit: Big Balls the Cat and I have been establishing quite the relationship. He sits on the fence and we chatter back and forth, and then I give him food. Hitler the Cat is a little threatened.

Here is a piece of graffiti that is showing up all over town. Cool, no?

2.02.2007

Strong Legs

The moment you discover that you have girlfriends in your corner in a brilliant moment indeed. Not a, "I love you sooooo much" sort of moment, but more of an, "Ah ha. Wow. Cool" sort of moment. That happened to me tonight when I got calls and notes left by girls I work with when they thought I was caught in a tough meeting at the same time we were all supposed to be going to dinner. I wasn't in a meeting and I was fine, but they were concerned. It surprised me and made me feel all sorts of good inside (and a little Sally Field -- You like me, you really like me!)

When I finally got to dinner and had my glass of champagne in hand, I proposed a toast to "strong ladies", but they thought I said, "strong legs." Huh?

After laughing (at me and with me), they raised their glasses and we collectively decided that toasting to strong legs is a good code for being willing to stand up for yourself and defending what is right and what is fair and not being afraid to say it (to be honest, this was an unspoken collective decision -- they might think "strong legs" is code for being brave enough to wear plaid stockings, but it is my blog, so my interpretation rules). Perhaps I discovered my Amsterdam legacy tonight. Years from now, project managers will be toasting to strong legs and not even know why.

And speaking of strong ladies...one of them lost her dad yesterday after a long battle with Parkinson's. If you get a chance, please raise a glass to my dear HotGirl, and take a moment to treasure your steady hands, good balance and clear mind. STRONG LEGS everybody!

1.29.2007

“It looks like sloth, but it feels like war”

This is a quote from a very well written essay on depression that my friend sent me today. I think this may be the best description of living through it that I have ever read. Though I have been off meds for years now, and made intense choices and kept moving forward without their help, the thought of going back on...or needing to...is never that far away. Sometimes I wonder if my Sundays spent alone in my apartment or on solitary walks through the city are a sign that I am receding into myself too much. Perhaps yes. Perhaps no. I tend to think no. It feels vastly different to be alive in my skin now than it did then. It actually feels quite good.

People around me are living through some seriously brutal chapters right now and I wish I could help them with their pain. It has to be ok for people to shut down when they need to and it has to be ok for people to find help in whatever form works for them. There is no weakness in feeling fragile or lost -- this is the cost of being human. It is sometimes hard to remember what it was like to just get through the days and keep breathing.

If you are interested in reading the essay, here is the link: http://www.dervala.net/archives/000873.html

1.24.2007

Look mom, I'm wearing your hat!

My mom gave me this hat to wear in cold weather. And it is. Cold. Especially on a bike, but it is also sort of an adventure -- I'd never imagined myself as Sir Edmund Hillary before the ride in to work this morning.

1.18.2007

Windy days

















Check this out! This tree fell onto a houseboat one canal from where I work. There are bits of roof flying around and broken glass scattered on the street where windows broke from debris.

The pigeons are being blown across the street!

There will be no bike ride home tonight.

1.12.2007

Psych!

These are the things I bought to combat my week's worth of insomnia:
  • Valerian capsules
  • Sleepytime tea
  • Extra-strength herbal sleep pills with Valerian, Passionflower and Melatonin
  • Whisky
  • Ny-Quill
  • Sounds for Meditation, Relaxation and Sleep album from iTunes
  • Advil

Before you think, "That Katie sure believes in treating insomnia in a healthy, natural way," don't. You can not buy any sort of sleep aid over the counter. Not Tylenol PM, not even Ny-Quill (I had brought that back from the US). It is herbal or nothing here. So if you don't finish your prescriptions for muscle relaxants, pain killers or sleeping pills, please remember your friend Katie and save them for me.

The insomnia cured itself (though the soothing sounds of rain, waves and whales on the CD didn't hurt) and I am back on track. Only I'm not. Because it is 4:00am and I am STILL AT WORK! Sweet Jesus. It hurts my head. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

1.09.2007

Stuck between places

Last night was the first night since I have been back where I slept more hours than I was awake. It has been a bizzarre trip to function without sleep. I began to feel, and look, vaguely vampire-like (and not in a hot Drusilla from "Buffy" kind of way, but instead a Paul Reubens from the other "Buffy" kind of way), and I didn't like it much. But it was amazing how easily things snapped back to normal today. Apparently I even had color in my cheeks.

It has been strange to be back. I think a lot about the friends I have in Portland and struggle with being here without them. Life is short...perhaps too short to live without your people. But on the other hand, there are weekends in Florence with my mom (who is coming over on her own in March) and going to Luxembourg just to see the new modern art museum. I am between a golden rock and a diamond hard place.