Another random question at a job interview:
"Are you extremely religious?"
Even without hearing the tone of voice (carefully neutral), you realize how the interviewer feels about religion, don't you? I tried not to grin, I really did.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Saturday, January 26, 2013
from the archives
we'll show the world that they were wrong
and teach them all to sing along
- Nickelback
and teach them all to sing along
- Nickelback
Friday, January 25, 2013
rooibos and the enchanted forest
Cosy on my sofa with a cup of steaming rooibos and some melted icecream. A candle nearby. Outside is the black January night - a lot of darkness but with a string of tiny lights around the bay and a special blend of dark beauty.
With me on the sofa are my new friends, Pinterest and Tumblr.
Can't say I really understand these two, they seem rather chaotic. But once I get lost in the jungle of pretty pictures - oh God.
I knew there is a lot of beauty in the world, but all this? Unbelievably incredibly unfathomable incomprehensibly inconceivably unimaginable beauty. All these places I never knew existed! All these wonderful things to experience! I get inspired to travel, eat, create and just generally love life. I get a little insane.
Just one example:
With me on the sofa are my new friends, Pinterest and Tumblr.
Can't say I really understand these two, they seem rather chaotic. But once I get lost in the jungle of pretty pictures - oh God.
I knew there is a lot of beauty in the world, but all this? Unbelievably incredibly unfathomable incomprehensibly inconceivably unimaginable beauty. All these places I never knew existed! All these wonderful things to experience! I get inspired to travel, eat, create and just generally love life. I get a little insane.
Just one example:
Thursday, January 24, 2013
my non-disclosure
I just wrote a blog entry called "What I don't want others to know" and listed all my secrets.
Then I came to my senses and deleted it. What is with this strange urge to disclose everything, to strangers, on a public blog?
I'm learning to share, with my best friends only, even the things I'm ashamed of. One thing at a time, when I feel safe. Because sharing is how you get closer to your friends and it can also save your mental health.
But in general, a little mystery makes life more interesting.
Then I came to my senses and deleted it. What is with this strange urge to disclose everything, to strangers, on a public blog?
I'm learning to share, with my best friends only, even the things I'm ashamed of. One thing at a time, when I feel safe. Because sharing is how you get closer to your friends and it can also save your mental health.
But in general, a little mystery makes life more interesting.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
counterfeiting Pollock
My first week ( unofficially ) in charge of the Little Shop of Harmony.
The highlight? That would be when I ( from the customers' point of view ) literally disappeared from behind the checkout counter by falling flat on my face, quite unexpectedly and spectacularly.
The most impressive side-effect of this was that the shop's expensive laptop, whose cable I tripped over, performed the same disappearing act half a second later. It made a much bigger bang than I did. Now the computer screen resembles a Jackson Pollock painting.
To preserve for posterity this memorable week, I want to include a picture of this hitherto unknown Pollock:
I borrowed it from mischiefmakersmanual.com. It never fails to entertain and amaze me how you can find pictures of anything on the Internet. Somebody out there apparently predicted that somebody out there one day would need an image of a cracked laptop screen.
PS. If a future, prospective employer of mine is reading this ( I might need a future, prospective employer much sooner than I thought ), please be advised that smashing computers is not something I normally do.
The highlight? That would be when I ( from the customers' point of view ) literally disappeared from behind the checkout counter by falling flat on my face, quite unexpectedly and spectacularly.
The most impressive side-effect of this was that the shop's expensive laptop, whose cable I tripped over, performed the same disappearing act half a second later. It made a much bigger bang than I did. Now the computer screen resembles a Jackson Pollock painting.
To preserve for posterity this memorable week, I want to include a picture of this hitherto unknown Pollock:
PS. If a future, prospective employer of mine is reading this ( I might need a future, prospective employer much sooner than I thought ), please be advised that smashing computers is not something I normally do.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
a rose by any other name
Last night, I dreamed that I was named Gurt. It's actually not a bad name ( does it exist? ) and would be convenient if people wanted to yell, "yo, Gurt!".
far from Jerusalem
I want to go to a place where I know God is. A physical place, like the Western Wall in Jerusalem. I want to hide a piece of paper with my prayer on it in the wall, lean my forehead against the sun-warmed stone and feel him close.
But Jerusalem is far, far away. And I am not Jewish.
But Jerusalem is far, far away. And I am not Jewish.
Friday, January 18, 2013
he took my secrets to his grave
The boy who almost dug up the devil in his backyard is dead. He was my first friend, the one I played with every day between the ages of two and seven. I haven't talked to him since. Going to his funeral was like revisiting my earliest childhood. There was the other friend we also hung out with as toddlers, a girl I also haven't talked to since. And there was the lovely old lady who used to look after us all. It was a truly bizarre experience.
( I feel so separated from my childhood self, as if it was someone else. )
And the horror of a young man being suddenly dead. His elderly mother and orphaned daughter crying in the church. It was almost too much to bear, just watching them. And the absence of a father ( my friend's, his daughter's, my own ) was so tangible that it sucked the breath out of me.
I took a close look at a picture of the deceased. Not having seen him for decades, I was surprised to see that he had grown up to be a strong, handsome man. I recognised his small-boy grin and remembered the secrets we shared with nobody else. I knew him so well, once. Today, at the funeral, I talked to some people who also knew him well, but as an adult ( and as such, of course, a complete stranger to me ).
Not a word to each other since we were seven years old. And he still knew things about me that nobody else did.
( I feel so separated from my childhood self, as if it was someone else. )
And the horror of a young man being suddenly dead. His elderly mother and orphaned daughter crying in the church. It was almost too much to bear, just watching them. And the absence of a father ( my friend's, his daughter's, my own ) was so tangible that it sucked the breath out of me.
I took a close look at a picture of the deceased. Not having seen him for decades, I was surprised to see that he had grown up to be a strong, handsome man. I recognised his small-boy grin and remembered the secrets we shared with nobody else. I knew him so well, once. Today, at the funeral, I talked to some people who also knew him well, but as an adult ( and as such, of course, a complete stranger to me ).
Not a word to each other since we were seven years old. And he still knew things about me that nobody else did.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
come away, o human child
A memory:
Around me twelve mountains, marshland, silence and the rich scent of the wild earth. I stand in the middle of all this, awestruck, and let it all sink into me.
Afterwards, I walk back to the road. My friends are having a spontaneous, quick picnic. In the car. They have only left it to take a couple of pictures of the magnificent landscape.
I don't understand. Sitting in the car, surrounded by twelve mountains, and you hardly even bother to take a look? We might never, ever come back here.
We are in Connemara, in the west of Ireland, it is July. I am tired but wild with freedom and saturated with beauty.
( Picture from Wikipedia - since I didn't have time to take any. )
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
(W.B.Yeats)
Around me twelve mountains, marshland, silence and the rich scent of the wild earth. I stand in the middle of all this, awestruck, and let it all sink into me.
Afterwards, I walk back to the road. My friends are having a spontaneous, quick picnic. In the car. They have only left it to take a couple of pictures of the magnificent landscape.
I don't understand. Sitting in the car, surrounded by twelve mountains, and you hardly even bother to take a look? We might never, ever come back here.
We are in Connemara, in the west of Ireland, it is July. I am tired but wild with freedom and saturated with beauty.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
(W.B.Yeats)
darling books: comfort food at Quentins
She had just got to telling the twins the bit of her very unhappy life where she hadn't been chosen for the hockey team.
'It doesn't sound terribly unhappy,' Maud complained.
'No real, awful things,' Simon added.
'If you wanted to be on the First Eleven, and should have been, then that's pretty terrible,' Ella protested.
Her phone rang again. This time it was Nick. She listened and her face got red and then white again. The twins watched her with interest. 'The bastard,' she said eventually. 'The class-A bastard.' She took down a number on the back of her notebook. 'Thanks, Nick, I'll get back to you on this.' Her voice was slightly shaky, but a promise was a promise.
Those children had got their heads around quadratic equations. Now she had to tell them the story of an unhappy life. 'So the day of the school's hockey final approached...' she began.
'Could you tell us about the bastard, please?' Maud asked politely. 'It sounds much more interesting.'
Maeve Binchy's novels - my comfort books, feel-good literature. Quentins is one of the best ones. Binchy does a neat story-teller trick in her writing that makes you get to know the characters in a roundabout manner - it's masterly and sometimes very funny. She tells several stories in one novel but it's always engaging and easy to follow. The characters feel like real flesh-and-blood people you might meet while walking down a street in Dublin.
And she makes you feel that if you are a normal, not very remarkable, and maybe very messed-up person, you may not get the happy ending you wish for but in the end, everything will be okay. And that actually, you are somehow very remarkable after all.
Yes, it's feel-good literature but it's anything but shallow. Any writer who makes me suspect that there is still hope and affection in the world gets my vote.
'It doesn't sound terribly unhappy,' Maud complained.
'No real, awful things,' Simon added.
'If you wanted to be on the First Eleven, and should have been, then that's pretty terrible,' Ella protested.
Her phone rang again. This time it was Nick. She listened and her face got red and then white again. The twins watched her with interest. 'The bastard,' she said eventually. 'The class-A bastard.' She took down a number on the back of her notebook. 'Thanks, Nick, I'll get back to you on this.' Her voice was slightly shaky, but a promise was a promise.
Those children had got their heads around quadratic equations. Now she had to tell them the story of an unhappy life. 'So the day of the school's hockey final approached...' she began.
'Could you tell us about the bastard, please?' Maud asked politely. 'It sounds much more interesting.'
Maeve Binchy's novels - my comfort books, feel-good literature. Quentins is one of the best ones. Binchy does a neat story-teller trick in her writing that makes you get to know the characters in a roundabout manner - it's masterly and sometimes very funny. She tells several stories in one novel but it's always engaging and easy to follow. The characters feel like real flesh-and-blood people you might meet while walking down a street in Dublin.
And she makes you feel that if you are a normal, not very remarkable, and maybe very messed-up person, you may not get the happy ending you wish for but in the end, everything will be okay. And that actually, you are somehow very remarkable after all.
Yes, it's feel-good literature but it's anything but shallow. Any writer who makes me suspect that there is still hope and affection in the world gets my vote.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
the little blog entry about absolutely everything
I'm nervous because I'm going to zumba class and I don't know zumba and when will I have time to eat before zumba class and there is so much stress at work and I don't have energy for my friends and I may have to go to the dentist because my tooth hurts and it's so expensive and I still don't have those flight tickets for my holiday and I might run into that terrible person today and somebody might call and offer me a job and ask about my French skills which are pretty much non-existent and what will my current boss say if I actually get that job and I'm getting old and did I forget something and I probably had too much coffee today.
Monday, January 14, 2013
the annual, annoying ice age
Winter is a fight you can't win - except through patience and enough time - but I roll with the punches.
I brush the snow off my car once again, scrape ice off the windshield, shiver while waiting for the heater to get going, and nervously wonder whether the car will handle the extreme cold or if the engine will stall the first time I stop at a red light.
I dig out woollen socks and thick sweaters to wear in my drafty flat.
I accept the fact that walking to work takes an extra ten minutes when a spell of milder weather has turned all the snow into slush and water, creating impassable lakes on street corners.
I sigh and walk with care the following day when all the lakes have frozen into icy patches.
I become an expert in driving on ice and in thick, mushy snow, and in avoiding the use of windshield wipers because they have frozen into place.
I take detours to avoid tall buildings where tons of snow and ice threaten to slide off the roof and kill an unsuspecting passer-by.
I wonder how many days or weeks it will be before the sun makes a brief appearance, hanging low in the southern sky.
I want to close my eyes when I travel on the main roads where salt has turned all the white snow into brownish-grey mush that makes the whole world look like a desolate, post-apocalyptic landscape.
I light candles to fight off the darkness that descends around 4 pm.
I also sigh with wonder at the beauty of the ever-changing white-grey landscape of the frozen sea and of bare tree branches glinting with frost or weighed down with snow.
I marvel at the fact that, even though many birds have moved south, rare birds of prey come out of the forests to look for food.
I even find entertainment in watching how deftly snowplows, tractors and lorries clear snow off the streets and sidewalks, easily moving around parked cars and signposts.
I watch the stars on clear nights, and sometimes the aurora borealis.
And sometimes, I walk out into the vast expanse of the frozen sea where there is only silence and wilderness, and I'm cold but I survive it and I love it.
Everything is asleep but maybe that is what we need for now.
I brush the snow off my car once again, scrape ice off the windshield, shiver while waiting for the heater to get going, and nervously wonder whether the car will handle the extreme cold or if the engine will stall the first time I stop at a red light.
I dig out woollen socks and thick sweaters to wear in my drafty flat.
I accept the fact that walking to work takes an extra ten minutes when a spell of milder weather has turned all the snow into slush and water, creating impassable lakes on street corners.
I sigh and walk with care the following day when all the lakes have frozen into icy patches.
I become an expert in driving on ice and in thick, mushy snow, and in avoiding the use of windshield wipers because they have frozen into place.
I take detours to avoid tall buildings where tons of snow and ice threaten to slide off the roof and kill an unsuspecting passer-by.
I wonder how many days or weeks it will be before the sun makes a brief appearance, hanging low in the southern sky.
I want to close my eyes when I travel on the main roads where salt has turned all the white snow into brownish-grey mush that makes the whole world look like a desolate, post-apocalyptic landscape.
I light candles to fight off the darkness that descends around 4 pm.
I marvel at the fact that, even though many birds have moved south, rare birds of prey come out of the forests to look for food.
I even find entertainment in watching how deftly snowplows, tractors and lorries clear snow off the streets and sidewalks, easily moving around parked cars and signposts.
I watch the stars on clear nights, and sometimes the aurora borealis.
And sometimes, I walk out into the vast expanse of the frozen sea where there is only silence and wilderness, and I'm cold but I survive it and I love it.
Everything is asleep but maybe that is what we need for now.
Friday, January 11, 2013
adventures in fog-walking
The Cliffs of Moher, on Ireland's west coast. A beautiful spot where tourists gather to view steep cliffs, unusual marine birds, and the waves of the unruly Atlantic crashing onto the rocks far, far below.
When I arrived there, all I saw was fog. And tourists. Disappointed tourists.
( I seem to attract fog, especially when I go to places of great natural beauty - see this post. )
I and my friends set out on a leisurely walk along a path. Away from the other tourists, it was lovely. One one side there was only fog. On the other side, you could vaguely see grassy fields and a few cows staring at us from the other side of a fence. The air smelled of grass and flowers and was warm, despite the fog. Larks were singing. I felt the peace of a quiet summer's day settle in me.
There was nothing, really, to indicate that you were near the sea, except a muted sound of waves somewhere. And the flat rocks we were walking on seemed to just end a few metres to our left. I went near the edge and had my friend take a picture of me from some distance.
Not until I actually saw the picture I realised just how steep the Cliffs of Moher are, or that there really was nothing but air beyond that edge.
I came back some time later and saw the cliffs and the sea in all their glory. But in this case, I was more impressed by the fog.
When I arrived there, all I saw was fog. And tourists. Disappointed tourists.
( I seem to attract fog, especially when I go to places of great natural beauty - see this post. )
I and my friends set out on a leisurely walk along a path. Away from the other tourists, it was lovely. One one side there was only fog. On the other side, you could vaguely see grassy fields and a few cows staring at us from the other side of a fence. The air smelled of grass and flowers and was warm, despite the fog. Larks were singing. I felt the peace of a quiet summer's day settle in me.
There was nothing, really, to indicate that you were near the sea, except a muted sound of waves somewhere. And the flat rocks we were walking on seemed to just end a few metres to our left. I went near the edge and had my friend take a picture of me from some distance.
Not until I actually saw the picture I realised just how steep the Cliffs of Moher are, or that there really was nothing but air beyond that edge.
I came back some time later and saw the cliffs and the sea in all their glory. But in this case, I was more impressed by the fog.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
ring a sacred bell
As I was walking to work this clear, frosty morning, a bell was ringing. And not through some automated timer system either, as in most churches these days. As I passed the beautiful Greek Orthodox church, I glimpsed a man in the bell tower.
( Picture from Wikipedia )
It must be a transcendent experience, standing in a bell tower one bright winter morning when the sun is rising, ringing a bell that echoes over a still quiet city. But I hope he was wearing earplugs.
It must be a transcendent experience, standing in a bell tower one bright winter morning when the sun is rising, ringing a bell that echoes over a still quiet city. But I hope he was wearing earplugs.
the receptionist who wanted to go home
It's a funny feeling you get when you browse through a bookshop while waiting for a flight at a London airport, pick up a book at random and discover you are mentioned in it (even if not by name).
"A wander past hotel reception offers a reassuring cameo, however, as a woman with a bevy of kids surrounding her is engaged in delicate negotiations with a woman behind the counter who is wishing she could press a button that would instantly sit her in front of the telly with her feet up on the sofa, fag in one hand, foaming pint in the other. She opens her eyes but the woman with the army of kids hanging from her arms, legs and pockets is still giving her a hard time. 'But you must be able to fit us in,' she is saying. 'I know for a fact that John Rooney isn't coming, we can have his room.' The reception looks warily at the children, who seem to be multiplying by the second. 'Yes, but it's only a single room ... it only has a single bed ... for one person,' she adds helpfully. 'So what?' says the woman, 'we'll manage.'"
It happened to me. The book was called In Search of the Craic by Colin Irwin - a fairly entertaining account of "one man's pub crawl through Irish music". The author travelled around Ireland and visited all the well-known traditional music events. As I had been working at a hotel that hosted a big pipe festival I looked up the chapter describing this particular event, and almost choked on my airport latte as I read this short passage.
As the receptionist in question, I can attest to the truth and accuracy of this part of the story. The children were in fact innumerable but I did end up giving them the single room, with the single bed, for one person, just so I could finally go home and have that foaming pint.
"A wander past hotel reception offers a reassuring cameo, however, as a woman with a bevy of kids surrounding her is engaged in delicate negotiations with a woman behind the counter who is wishing she could press a button that would instantly sit her in front of the telly with her feet up on the sofa, fag in one hand, foaming pint in the other. She opens her eyes but the woman with the army of kids hanging from her arms, legs and pockets is still giving her a hard time. 'But you must be able to fit us in,' she is saying. 'I know for a fact that John Rooney isn't coming, we can have his room.' The reception looks warily at the children, who seem to be multiplying by the second. 'Yes, but it's only a single room ... it only has a single bed ... for one person,' she adds helpfully. 'So what?' says the woman, 'we'll manage.'"
As the receptionist in question, I can attest to the truth and accuracy of this part of the story. The children were in fact innumerable but I did end up giving them the single room, with the single bed, for one person, just so I could finally go home and have that foaming pint.
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
read my mind
Sometimes I check my own blog and kind of hope that there will be a new exciting blog entry waiting to be read, right there at the top of the page.
Well, I never claimed to be completely normal.
Wouldn't I be surprised if one day there was a new blog entry I didn't remember writing. Posted by my subconscious, maybe. And what if it was really eloquent and profound?
Well, I never claimed to be completely normal.
Wouldn't I be surprised if one day there was a new blog entry I didn't remember writing. Posted by my subconscious, maybe. And what if it was really eloquent and profound?
Thursday, January 03, 2013
darling books: God on another planet
"He waited, shaking, daring them to speak. 'No questions? No argument? No comfort for the afflicted?' he asked with acrid gaiety. 'I warned you. I told you that you didn't want to know. Now it's in your minds. Now you have to live with knowing. But it was my body. It was my blood,' he said, choking with fury. 'And it was my love.'"
Mary Doria Russell: The Sparrow (picture by pauabooks.co.nz).
The books I present as my "darling books" are the special few that stand out in a lifetime of reading. But only a few among these I would define as "books that never let go". This one, and its sequel Children of God, belong in that category. I like books who take on original topics. It doesn't get much more original than this. Jesuit priests ( in love with God ) and agnostic scientists go off to search for intelligent life on another planet? And still, it's all very believable. I bond with almost all the characters. Only one of them returns to earth, the most loveable of them - now broken in body and soul, and accused of terrible crimes which are explained piece by agonizing piece. I'm not a fan of either science fiction or religious mysticism. This is both - and yet I was enchanted.
These novels are extremely well-written. I have seldom read scientific details explained so accessibly to a non-scientist or religiously devout persons made so real, human and likeable to us others. There is a lot of absolutely hilarious dialogue. There are heated debates among the characters on philosophy and religion - the kind of debates I never normally would be interested in, but here they manage to be both profound and refreshingly down-to-earth. There are fascinating descriptions. And above all, the plot is intriguing. After a while, you start to understand the mystery of the terrible tragedies that occur, although you have to keep reading ( which I did happily ) to the very end of the sequel to have some of your most troubling questions answered.
And the story is utterly, utterly heartbreaking.
"I am in God's hands, I thought. I loved God and I trusted in His love. Amusing, isn't it? I laid down all my defenses. I had nothing between me and what happened but the love of God. And I was raped. I was naked before God and I was raped."
The books I present as my "darling books" are the special few that stand out in a lifetime of reading. But only a few among these I would define as "books that never let go". This one, and its sequel Children of God, belong in that category. I like books who take on original topics. It doesn't get much more original than this. Jesuit priests ( in love with God ) and agnostic scientists go off to search for intelligent life on another planet? And still, it's all very believable. I bond with almost all the characters. Only one of them returns to earth, the most loveable of them - now broken in body and soul, and accused of terrible crimes which are explained piece by agonizing piece. I'm not a fan of either science fiction or religious mysticism. This is both - and yet I was enchanted.
These novels are extremely well-written. I have seldom read scientific details explained so accessibly to a non-scientist or religiously devout persons made so real, human and likeable to us others. There is a lot of absolutely hilarious dialogue. There are heated debates among the characters on philosophy and religion - the kind of debates I never normally would be interested in, but here they manage to be both profound and refreshingly down-to-earth. There are fascinating descriptions. And above all, the plot is intriguing. After a while, you start to understand the mystery of the terrible tragedies that occur, although you have to keep reading ( which I did happily ) to the very end of the sequel to have some of your most troubling questions answered.
And the story is utterly, utterly heartbreaking.
"I am in God's hands, I thought. I loved God and I trusted in His love. Amusing, isn't it? I laid down all my defenses. I had nothing between me and what happened but the love of God. And I was raped. I was naked before God and I was raped."
Wednesday, January 02, 2013
2012: Cleopatra, a fairytale cottage and freedom fighting
* With much-longed-for solitude, wine and the beginnings of a dream I entered the year of the world's end (according to the Maya calendar). Signed up (on FaceBook) for the Post-Apocalypse Party in December just in case.
* Chased a man all the way into a church.
* Entered the smartphone world and realised my days of texting while driving were over. So were my FaceBook- and Twitter-free vacation days.
* Chinese New Year celebration with vintage Pu'er tea, dumplings and non-Chinese people. Hail the Year of the Dragon!
* A sisterhood founded in the Beach Hut.
* Followed monsters around the Island on Shrove Tuesday and was a little bit scared and very fascinated.
* Almost fell through the ice walking across the bay. Excitement of the year.
* A new boss with digital ideas.
* Once again paralyzed by shyness - in the company of the closest family.
* Finished last in a volleyball tournament with much bloodshed and almost death by laughter.
* CABIN FEVER.
* Lots of coffee dates that never led anywhere.
* Fell in love with the sound effects in Angry Birds.
* Eastern Europe Easter - a dinner mixed with a little African colour and funny YouTube-clips. Our discussion topics: flash mobs, thesis writing, kulich recipes, Bulgarian Idols, man-hunting Chinese girls, Indonesian women who have plastic surgery to look like Korean women.
* A reminder that true friendship includes detailed involvement in somebody else's life, jealousy-free trust and bacon pasta.
* Bought my very first own washing machine. A washing machine is a heavier possession than a car - mentally speaking.
* Spent a morning at the police station and came back with a stolen laptop.
* Two days semi-paralyzed. Questioned the wisdom of getting that tetanus shot, but it turned out to be worth it since I almost lost a finger to the vicious teeth of a mini-turtle some time later.
* Me and my mother discovered Turkey. Celebrated my birthday and was thrilled to be brutally/seductively woken in the middle of the night by the call to prayer. Drifted around (lost but always finding a way, and loving it), tried to avoid the flirts, discovered the Turkish language is inundated with French loanwords, felt at peace among the ruins from Cleopatra's time, watched BBC, realised Turkish women sometimes bare their heads and tourists bare almost anything. Saw a camel use the pedestrian crossing, wearing a cowboy hat. And what is that spicy scent that always appears after nightfall around the Mediterranean Sea?
* A couple of clubbing nights with euphoria, beer spray and dancing on shards of glass. Also included a nice chat with my worst enemy ever, until two burly security guards told me enough is enough.
* Language-checked books on farmers and prophets.
* New experience: buying land and watching surveyors do their stuff.
* A summer month in the countryside, living in a fairytale cottage with a sheepdog, getting involved in the village gossip and contributing to it.
* Midsummer on the Island with the Midsummer People. It involved midnight shopping, tobacco flowers bought on credit, cat-and-dog fights (between actual cats and dogs), lots of food and laughs, a lullaby and a spectacular midnight sunset.
* Realised that a five-week summer vacation should always start with pavlova and bubbly.
* Summer weeks at the cotttage: Acted as mediator in dog fights, director of trampoline action movies, rescuer of drowning seagulls, volleyball coach, Twitter addict.
* Squeezed in as much as possible of what I live for, summer's essential activities: beach volley and raft floating. This makes me feel like myself. (And this is what I will be doing in heaven all day long.)
* Family reunion with seldom seen cousins, my hilarious aunts, mixed feelings and a sense of belonging after all.
* Road trip with mother and poodle.
* Proudly discovered that I'm woman enough to change a flat tire by myself, in a mini-skirt on a hot day.
* TV taught me to love my mother.
* Binged on clearing out closets, drawers and even those never-looked-at boxes of stuff in the attic storage space. OCD? Possibly. But such a feeling of freedom! When the time to fly comes, I will be ready.
* Happiness is a chilly evening playing pretend volleyball in high heels on a muddy lawn, warmed by three glasses of wine and cool people who laugh at my jokes.
* Impressed my dentist ( one of the few people I managed to impress this year ).
* Witnessed my laptop die and be brought back to life ( speaking a new language ).
* Got tired of church.
* Found the meaning of life in a great pair of jeans and a great pair of boots. Spent October haunting the city streets and rediscovering autumn leaves.
* Paid my last TV license ever.
* A visit to the maternity ward and plans for the baby's future - these plans included flirts with strangers on a train to Durban, South Africa.
* On the winning team in women's AND men's volleyball - at last!
* Made my modest contribution (a translation) to the geocaching world.
* Saw fighter aircraft fly in formation past my window and decided I live in a real city after all. Saw a big owl kill a hare outside my window and had to admit I live in the boondocks.
* New experience: push starting a car on my own, on a busy city street. ( Damn French cars in cold weather! )
* Seafood and laughing friends at a semi-oriental wedding.
* Spent the entire year addicted to a TV series I dreamed up as a 5-year-old. Hated Finland and experienced its beauty and quirkiness in intense detail. Trawled YouTube and found fascinating music I never knew existed. Had a troubled mind.
* And the world did not end. The last evening of 2012 was spent cooking for three hours, but in a very relaxed manner, and resulted in nine courses of real Chinese food, as well as in chocolate cake by the fireside, in the company of friends, when the clock struck midnight.
* Chased a man all the way into a church.
* Entered the smartphone world and realised my days of texting while driving were over. So were my FaceBook- and Twitter-free vacation days.
* Chinese New Year celebration with vintage Pu'er tea, dumplings and non-Chinese people. Hail the Year of the Dragon!
* A sisterhood founded in the Beach Hut.
* Followed monsters around the Island on Shrove Tuesday and was a little bit scared and very fascinated.
* Almost fell through the ice walking across the bay. Excitement of the year.
* A new boss with digital ideas.
* Once again paralyzed by shyness - in the company of the closest family.
* Finished last in a volleyball tournament with much bloodshed and almost death by laughter.
* CABIN FEVER.
* Lots of coffee dates that never led anywhere.
* Fell in love with the sound effects in Angry Birds.
* Eastern Europe Easter - a dinner mixed with a little African colour and funny YouTube-clips. Our discussion topics: flash mobs, thesis writing, kulich recipes, Bulgarian Idols, man-hunting Chinese girls, Indonesian women who have plastic surgery to look like Korean women.
* A reminder that true friendship includes detailed involvement in somebody else's life, jealousy-free trust and bacon pasta.
* Bought my very first own washing machine. A washing machine is a heavier possession than a car - mentally speaking.
* Spent a morning at the police station and came back with a stolen laptop.
* Two days semi-paralyzed. Questioned the wisdom of getting that tetanus shot, but it turned out to be worth it since I almost lost a finger to the vicious teeth of a mini-turtle some time later.
* Me and my mother discovered Turkey. Celebrated my birthday and was thrilled to be brutally/seductively woken in the middle of the night by the call to prayer. Drifted around (lost but always finding a way, and loving it), tried to avoid the flirts, discovered the Turkish language is inundated with French loanwords, felt at peace among the ruins from Cleopatra's time, watched BBC, realised Turkish women sometimes bare their heads and tourists bare almost anything. Saw a camel use the pedestrian crossing, wearing a cowboy hat. And what is that spicy scent that always appears after nightfall around the Mediterranean Sea?
* A couple of clubbing nights with euphoria, beer spray and dancing on shards of glass. Also included a nice chat with my worst enemy ever, until two burly security guards told me enough is enough.
* Language-checked books on farmers and prophets.
* New experience: buying land and watching surveyors do their stuff.
* A summer month in the countryside, living in a fairytale cottage with a sheepdog, getting involved in the village gossip and contributing to it.
* Midsummer on the Island with the Midsummer People. It involved midnight shopping, tobacco flowers bought on credit, cat-and-dog fights (between actual cats and dogs), lots of food and laughs, a lullaby and a spectacular midnight sunset.
* Realised that a five-week summer vacation should always start with pavlova and bubbly.
* Summer weeks at the cotttage: Acted as mediator in dog fights, director of trampoline action movies, rescuer of drowning seagulls, volleyball coach, Twitter addict.
* Squeezed in as much as possible of what I live for, summer's essential activities: beach volley and raft floating. This makes me feel like myself. (And this is what I will be doing in heaven all day long.)
* Family reunion with seldom seen cousins, my hilarious aunts, mixed feelings and a sense of belonging after all.
* Road trip with mother and poodle.
* Proudly discovered that I'm woman enough to change a flat tire by myself, in a mini-skirt on a hot day.
* TV taught me to love my mother.
* Binged on clearing out closets, drawers and even those never-looked-at boxes of stuff in the attic storage space. OCD? Possibly. But such a feeling of freedom! When the time to fly comes, I will be ready.
* Happiness is a chilly evening playing pretend volleyball in high heels on a muddy lawn, warmed by three glasses of wine and cool people who laugh at my jokes.
* Impressed my dentist ( one of the few people I managed to impress this year ).
* Witnessed my laptop die and be brought back to life ( speaking a new language ).
* Got tired of church.
* Found the meaning of life in a great pair of jeans and a great pair of boots. Spent October haunting the city streets and rediscovering autumn leaves.
* Paid my last TV license ever.
* A visit to the maternity ward and plans for the baby's future - these plans included flirts with strangers on a train to Durban, South Africa.
* On the winning team in women's AND men's volleyball - at last!
* Made my modest contribution (a translation) to the geocaching world.
* Saw fighter aircraft fly in formation past my window and decided I live in a real city after all. Saw a big owl kill a hare outside my window and had to admit I live in the boondocks.
* New experience: push starting a car on my own, on a busy city street. ( Damn French cars in cold weather! )
* Seafood and laughing friends at a semi-oriental wedding.
* Spent the entire year addicted to a TV series I dreamed up as a 5-year-old. Hated Finland and experienced its beauty and quirkiness in intense detail. Trawled YouTube and found fascinating music I never knew existed. Had a troubled mind.
* And the world did not end. The last evening of 2012 was spent cooking for three hours, but in a very relaxed manner, and resulted in nine courses of real Chinese food, as well as in chocolate cake by the fireside, in the company of friends, when the clock struck midnight.
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
and they're off! - first day of the year
Darkness and rain outside, endless episodes of Dollhouse inside, not wanting to answer that text message I just received from someone who wants to date me. No plans for 2013 because
"I just want to live now for a little while / and cast my dreams to the wind"
That was the first day of the year.
( Quote from Vonda Shepards song "Maryland" )
"I just want to live now for a little while / and cast my dreams to the wind"
That was the first day of the year.
( Quote from Vonda Shepards song "Maryland" )
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