bookratt

Oarfish are our Friends

2011-01-15T04:59:00.001-08:00

1860 illustration of an Oarfish, washed up dead on a beach in Bermuda (copyright free image, from Wikimedia Commons).

I have had a fascination with oarfish (ooh, and coelacanths!) ever since I first saw old b/w photos and illustrations of them when I was in the fabulous Mr Kovach's fifth grade class, circa 1979.

The only reasons I do not have an oarfish are that they are huge, at an average 30 feet long, and they live so deep in the ocean, a bathysphere thingy is needed to find them. Now, I don't have a coelacanth for a host of reasons, bizarre and mindane, which would take too long to get into here. Suffice it to say, it's mainly all the fault of my husband, to whom we in this house affectionately refer as The Pet Hater, and also The Grumple Puss.

While we know far too much about some species such as the Giant Panda, mostly because those are fuzzy and cute, not too much was known about oarfish habits before one was seen and studied swimming alive, in 2001.

The oarfish seems to range all over the world, which is why it's weird to me we know so little about it. It's been found off the coast of England, the Eastern, Southern and Western US, in the waters off most Scandinavian countries, and near Bermuda, Japan, Australia and New Zealand.

Because it is rarely seen at depths we humans swim or fish regularly, mostly they are studied in all their weirdly glory when they wash ashore dying, or are beached already dead. They've been dissected, poked and prodded in the usual way of scientists getting at the heart of things by killing and tearing them apart, but I suspect we'd know much more about them if they were edible, or their skin could be made into shoes.

They're not, and it can't, so we usually just let the bigger ones, called King of the Herring, go about their deep sea business completely unmolested. The smaller versions sometimes are eaten, being a kind of bonefish similar to herring--thus the moniker for the giant ones--but from what I hear, their gelatinous flesh and bony bodies taste pretty icky.

In the last few years the biggest of these Regalecus glesne seem to be showing up dead all over the place, and in numbers that are starting to scare people like me, who genuinely care for them whether food species be they, or not. We don't know what they are, or do, for the most part, and so all this carnage, origin unknown, disturbs us.

Here's a photo of a dead one, discovered in December, 2010:

Photo credit: Darrell Rae, LA Times

I soooo want to be that kid in the picture. He's pretty cool, too: he was the only person, at 7 years old, on that beach who knew what it was when it washed up in Malibu, California.

As these things, go that one is pretty small, most likely a juvenile. I think a cold water version of one of these, an adult, may be where The Loch Ness Monster story comes from; ancient sailors have thought they were mermaids or sea dragons, which, once you've seen one, makes perfect sense.

Interesting article on sea monsters and their myth-origins, here:

http://www.marinebio.org/oceans/mysteries

My son now has Oarfish Love, or as we say here, oarfishlove, with the letters all bunched up together, really fast. He also has a thing for mud and lungfish, which can breath air on land, or in water, and sleep for a really long time. Some of them "walk" on their fins too, which like the oarfish, freaks and fascinates him equally.

How could you not love these kinds of things? Yes, it's easier to love fluffy things with baby faces--and carry them in bags, dressed in baby-like clothes. But, and I am truly not as arrogant as this next will sound, I do think it takes a more mature person to love what is traditionally thought of as an ugly, or troublesome, thing.

So, people who love hairless cats and dogs, good on you, for being capable of grown-up love. You too, sloth and moray eel lovers! Join my club!

O Come, All Ye Yodas

2010-12-13T02:44:00.000-08:00

Alex asked for a real tree this year, and this being our family's only Christmas in any place we've lived or called home since 2006, we got one----and a lot more, besides.

He's always had a tree, real, resin or representative. In Poland, the ficus in the living room was packed full of homemade ornaments, topped with a taped-together Burger King crown. At home, he had a fully loaded, 8-foot fake one. And we visually borrowed our friends' trees when we stayed with them, in the intervening years.

Our plans to go to Brugge took a nosedive due to weather. Not surprising, in a country where airport admins forget to order enough plane de-icer and runway salt, with the result being the airport closes for two days during the holiday rush--and takes 8 days after that to get everybody where they need to go. After they shut down the trains in France and Germany, then closed the tunnels leading to most major Belgian cities, we chose to just give up and stay home.

Staycations aren't all that, and I finally get what the Donner Party and their eating habits were all about. 10 inches of snow + everything closed for days + no one you know for thousands of miles = you would eat other people, especially those who anny you, too.

This Nordic Spruce Alex helped us pick currently leans pretty far to the left. Like us. Not being from Sweden or Alaska, or skilled in the butchering of trees (or moose), we had a little trouble with the axe. Frantic chopping and machine gun-fast cursing took place cautiously with Alex in the room, so I'm surprised it's still standing--especially after that last communique from the husband of "Let go right now, if you don't want to lose that hand."

That tree tried to kill me twice, once with my tree allergy, heretofore unknown, and then when the "sleeping" spider in the wooden log stand that came with the tree, decided to go walk-about and bare its ugly fangs, then hide for three terrifying hours where it couldn't be seen. My arachnophobia went into overdrive, and I almost had a heart attack--until I splattered it with my boot, a book, a TV remote, a broom, and an orange.

We also have a nativity scene since Alex, this family's only Christian, decided that we needed one. His Little People child's set is in storage in PA, and he loves that Mr Bean dinosaur one so much that we watch it on Youtube every year. My baby wants a nativity? All the stores are closed? Can't drive anywhere, anyway? et Voila! The Star Wars Nativity!

I helped him make the manger, and stuck the foil on to make it sparkly, but he did the rest. Go, Boodle! He chose a matryushka keychain doll for Mary and Yoda for the lead wise man. Of course. A Krakow dragon stands in for the camel. There is no cow. I nixed the Chik-fil-A stuffed one, because it kept falling over and knocking the baby Jesus (a plastic alien from a Lego set---oh, the irony) out of his little pretzel-filled bed.

I like his ornaments and his homemade bird feeder, made out of a painted, upturned clay plant pot, and his glittered candle. And, how half the ornaments he puts on end up in one small cluster, down low where he can see. It's all right in your face when you walk in the door, just the way it should be.

I am saddened, and frightened, by orderly, meticulously themed trees in people's family homes, when they have really small kids still into all the magic. Aren't you? It's tragic that their stuff isn't "good enough" to put on display, and has to be hidden away to make the room "look good." All that arranged perfection seems passive-aggressive and a touch psychotic, to me.

I look askance at people who employ present wrappers and professional tree decorators, too. If you do that, you probably also refuse to hang your kids' artwork on your fridge, or let them bake holiday cookies or pastry with you because it's "too messy" and don;t do finger paints of play doh days with them, either. All of which makes you both crazy AND mean.

Merry Christmas! Vrolijk Kerstfeest! Joyeaux Noel!

6 Months and Counting

2010-11-28T03:12:00.000-08:00

Been feeling down for a long, long, time, and the first clue that things were going south should have been that I just couldn't face writing. Anything.

We moved here to Brussels, Belgium on August 1 and no one but an idiot could believe it's been all bad. True, I've been shocked silly by the prices, taxes, noise, crime, graffiti and dirt, but I've made my home in far worse places than this. This is paradise to lots of people, but even they complain about everything on my ick list, and more. Yes, the coffee (Douwe Eggberts) and chocolate (Leonidas and Neuhaus) are as good as they say, and yes, there are more Western products here (Thanks, Stone Manor and The American Food Store).

But you need to factor in that the national character is best described as dour and picky, plus I'd add being absolutely unable to use a turn signal while driving, to really understand. And then there's the daily, sometimes THRICE daily, bouts of rain.

Facebook posts don't happen to count as writing, nor do grocery and school reminder lists. My best work, lately, has been on the family's daily calendar, which ought to tell you how far down in the dumps most days have found me. Writing was always my way out of a mess, whether of my own or someone else's making. I'm not sure when I decided that it should stop, if it just happened without my noticing, the sky fell in on my head, or what.

I'm slowly discovering that taking time away from the truth is for me worse than facing it head on, though I've never been a real big fan of either thing.

So. Here's to feeling better, writing as therapy, and getting back into the groove. I'm even hoping to get out and about to get a fabulous Atomium picture to use as my new masthead, when it stops raining. IF it ever stops raining. Oh, how I hope that it would simply stop raining!

I have a feeling, like finally getting closets in this absurdly Hobbit-like place, or not falling down the stairs on a weekly basis, my hope may be one more pipedream, gone.

Magical Thinking

2010-04-24T02:24:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't post my London pictures during the official mourning for the Polish dead; I believed that if I did it might bring more bad luck.

I won't cross under a ladder, walk in front of a black cat, and still hold my breath 'til every graveyard, night or day, is passed. Thank you, To Kill a Mockingbird, for that last.

I broke up with a boyfriend who meant a lot to me once, because I believed that if I hurt him right at the beginning, nothing could hurt either one of us as badly again. uh.....whaaaa? Well, it made perfect sense to me at the time. A kind of innoculation against sadness, if you took a bit of the live virus first.

Every brand new car I have ever had was wrecked--one to smithereens and bits--not by me, but by a boyfriend or husband who happened to be driving it. Time for a shout-out to Tony, who wrecked my SUV in Alabama as we were driving away from my sister's place, at Christmas, while still in her driveway for heaven's sake! New rule set in stone for the Pikos Family: NO EATING OF PRINGLES IN A MOVING CAR, EVER, EVER, AGAIN. Long story.

I watched a friend's kitten she just purchased so it would be a surprise for her kids, and while I had it, it got sick and one day before Christmas, it died. It ate an upholstered button off my couch and got some sort of obstruction, apparently. I wasn't home when it did that, to stop it, and no one knew about it until after the children had been presented with said pet, fell in love with it, named it Whiskers, etc.

I used to say stupid things when I took tests, like "I failed," before even sitting down to write, thinking once that was said out loud and was gotten out of the way, a reverse sort of magic would be worked and ensure my grade would be okay. Note: they always were okay, they were always the best, actually, no danger of anything else, and yet...I often find myself wondering if that was ME doing that, or that little wish-curse.

I always thought when it came to this sort of thinking, that if you planned for and imagined the worst, the next thing to happen could only be miles better than that. Talk about your low expectations.

I got out of that habit a long time ago. Okay, just last week. But really have been trying to tell myself I deserve happiness and the good things I earn or that happen, by whatever means, to come my way. Which turns out to be harder, actually, than you might think.

Not sure what this proves about the "Law of Attraction", but Tony is now stuck in the US because of an idiotic Icelandic volcano with an unpronounceable name; my good friend had a miscarriage; another's mom died; a girlfriend is stuck in London having gone there for a surgery consult, instead ending up both with surgery and being stuck there because of that same damned volcano; I broke my cell phone, again, our internet is down and here that is a hugely bug problem; finally, worst of all--my kid and his friend (daughter of said London woman, hanging here with us until mom returns) watched a beautiful, magnificent bird hop into our path, warble sadly and die right in front of our eyes. It took 2 hours to calm them both down plus 1 more for me to stop crying after bravely holding my shit together, for them.

That little black cloud I used to say followed me everywhere? I think it's back.

Tragedy and Tears

2010-04-14T02:51:00.001-07:00

We arrived home from our family trip to England on April 10th, at the same hour the tragic deaths of The President and First Lady of The Republic of Poland were announced. Mariusz, a driver from Alex's school, recognized us at the airport taxi stand and he was the one who broke the news.

But we had no idea what had actually happened, as so many wildly exaggerated rumors were floating around. "The Russians finally did it--they killed our President," or "Turkish terrorists blew up the plane, and that's why the EU shouldn't let Turkey in", being most commonly repeated. It became a mockery of the simple tragedy that we eventually learned had occurred:

While headed to the airport nearest Smolensk, Russia, on their way to the Katyn memorial for official ceremonies there, President Jaroslaw Kaczynski's plane clipped some trees at the end of the tarmac, going down on the runway in heavy fog.

Many influential Poles, with important cultural, historical and political roles to fulfill, were presumed lost in an instant. And while fatalities couldn't be calculated at the time that we first heard, eyewitness accounts were pretty clear: no one on that plane could have survived the fireball which ignited after it fell.

People were crying openly in the streets, as was our cabdriver, who was trying to wipe his eyes, blow his nose, talk to us in broken English and valiantly keep his car on the road.

Alex misunderstood the words, "The President is dead." He has a semi-obsessive thing for Obama; he thought that's who we were talking about. He tried hard to listen through his tears, but of course things still weren't ok, even when he finally understood. How could they be? An important person that a lot of people cared about was gone, forever, and he sensed the shock and fear and disbelieving grief all that day, in the faces of friends we would later see and meet.

Poland was hurting, having lost their leader, and despite Kaczynski being hugely unpopular with a large number of them, her people felt alone, and rudderless and sad. The office of the President was being respected and mourned, if not the actual man.

More sorrow, once we arrived at the house: Alex's doggie friend Max back home, a loveably lazy, sweetheart of a Lab, the only dog Alex could be around for any length of time without screaming and running away, was dead. We piled it on by accidentally reminding him during dinner that Tony was leaving the next day, for a 7 day trip to the States.

A Polish friend came over and the story began to unfold; the heads of the Polish national bank, Navy and Army Chiefs of Staff, and several Members of Parliament had been on the flight. The depth of the pain felt by people we knew, and the true scale of the loss, simply grew and grew.

Feeling badly already, for our friends and for Poland, but also for our son, we felt powerless with no way to help. The crash site was too big and complex, it would take time, lots of time, to know what happened and make any sense of it. The wrangling between the Poles and Russians over who was best qualified, or deserved the right to investigate the crash, started up. Anger mounted, and everything came to a halt.

The Katyn tragedy of 1940, so long covered up, was supposed to be fully aired by this memorial visit, and by Russia's public apology and admission of their wrongdoing. Most people know of the rather reserved general apologies made, for the killings of 20,000 Polish miltary officers and enlisted men of the Polish Reserve Corps; they took place in 1990, and again recently, this year. But not all Poles did, and those who did, did not believe those apologies went far enough. Their anger over the delays in investigating the air crash, steadily grew worse and worse. They saw propaganda or cover-up, or deliberate stalling, in each and every thing.

No one seems able to see any of the events surrounding Katyn clearly, to grieve it and the aftermath of the tragedy then, or now, in a way those who died there deserve.

Truly sad was the disbelief and finger pointing which surrounded the news that it was likely that the Polish pilots disregarded orders to fly to a more distant airport, as their first two attempts at landing took place in weather deemed too dangerous. The working theory was that, exacerbated by the President's or their on-board Commander's need to be seen as in charge on this day of all days, the pilots were too inexperienced to recognize that their third attempt would fail.

So much of Polish history is like this, oftentimes preventable, foreseeable, painful and sad, with no real winner in the end. Even when they win, there's no feeling of triumph, or sense that they've come out ahead. I see more pain in Poland's future, I can't help it. As any Pole will tell you, it's just the way it always is.

Learn more about the 1940 tragedy at Katyn:

See the article at www.cia.gov in the CSI Library pages, titled 'The Katyn Controversy: Stalin's Killing Field,' by Benjamin Fischer

Watch the 2007 Andrzej Wajda film, 'Katyn' (in Polish with English subtitles)

Return on Investment

2010-03-31T10:22:00.001-07:00

Health care coverage for everyone who needs it SHOULD cost more than banging blindly away at sand and camels in Afghanistan and Iraq.

I'd rather pay to keep our kids healthy and walking upright on US soil, than pay snipers to plant someone else's child in a far-off patch of dirt.

ROI, people. ROI.

Mussels in Brussels, Part II

2010-03-18T08:33:00.000-07:00

We're going to Brussels for the next 2 years. The contract's been signed and the ink is dry, so they can't very well take it back now.

Besides the obvious advantages (a bigger expat community and more Volcano Company* employees) they have things I consider equally important: Chinese food! Chocolate chip cookies! Ginger ale!

OH MY GOD. I just thought of something and I can't seem to catch my breath. They have all of this AND normal American electric clothes dryers there?

I love Krakow and I will miss it, but July can't come fast enough.

* a pseudonym-or would that more properly be called an alias or an anonym?

Happy 7th Birthday, Boodle!

2010-02-25T05:40:00.000-08:00

Before you were born, your Grandma Mama Mia bought you a stroller. She asked me what I wanted, I told her, and for the first time in my life she didn't argue, tell me I was wrong or get me something else that she wanted, instead.

I was proud of her, and even prouder of myself for not pointing out that what she could not do for me, she managed to do for you. It was an omen.

That stroller, like you, turned out to be pretty special. You charmed everyone off their feet in your fancy ride; walking down the street or pushing you up the aisle in the store, daddy and I would laugh at how plush and raja-y you looked, tucked up nice and cozy in there. While you bumped along, you were the perfect, happy little Buddha. Because of your undiagnosed GERD, back at home with all that frantic screaming and walking the floors at 3 am, was another story.

Time and syringes full of nasty-tasting medicine helped you grow out of that and with Strolley to help us get through the worst, you never needed that surgery they thought you might.

Your eyes are older and wiser than your years, but your stroller smile always said "brand new baby with no worries, here." I still see that smile sometimes: when you first tasted Polish ice cream, or when you "got" daddy's funniest knock-knock joke. So satisfied and so sure that this is the absolute best thing, ever, I hope you always have reason to show that smile.

Heather-mommy's first nickname for you was Triple A, because your 3 Greek names begin with A, A and A. But your really-real nickname was and always will be, Boodle.

It comes from Boodle Boddlington the Third, Rich English Baby, which we only ever said with horribly fake British accents. This used to make the normal people we knew laugh, and behind our backs say that we were insane. Boodle was something we thought you looked like when you crawled across the floor and rolled alternately, to get where you wanted to be. You looked a bit like an inchworm doing somersaults and we said that was called boodling, and you were the boodler. A boodle.

You don't need a stroller anymore. You haven't boodled in at least 5 years and you can't stay in one place 5 minutes. You hardly ever let us pick you up and hold you, and if you do happen to come sit with one of us and stay still for too long, we know it's because you're sick.

You're not my baby, or anyone's "little" anything, anymore. You're tall, you're gangly, and somewhat articulate, when your mouth isn't stuffed with food. You break into song and dance whenever you hear music that moves you--so I avoid taking you to the food court at the mall. You're very careful and kind with animals and children younger and smaller than you, you're a worry wort like your mama, and REALLY into Star Wars like your dad.

Your coloring truly comes out of left field. Yes, Greeks and Italians aren't SUPPOSED to have fair skinned, blue-eyed blondes. But you're not German and you're not adopted (thanks for asking, random strangers!), and while you may be part angel, you're all mine.

Favorite eats: raw veggies with homemade tzaziki or ranch dip, pizza, spaghetti, pierogi russki, and chicken tikka masala and naan. You like brussels sprouts, crab legs, spinach, broccoli, chorizo sausage and cauliflower, too. Even when you were nursing, you were a gratifyingly good eater and I've always been happy to see you enjoying your food.

Your best friends in the US: Lilly and Calvin. As much fun as a barrel of monkeys, but far less trouble, we all miss them and their family. It's sweet that you remember your very first best friends, Miss Ettie and Miss Bunny, that we moved away from a long, long time ago.

Your imaginary friends, Taggi and Poggo, that you brought with you to Poland? When you met Cora and Rebecca and Paul and Lina, going to ISK, especially since your buddy Will in Grade 0, they seem to have vanished and you never talk about them any more. But if they are out there somewhere, I know they'd want to join me in saying this:

Your goofy breakdances and your little "to do" lists are adorable; so is how you can't ever brush your teeth without using up a tube and a half of paste.

You are the only kid I know to have Jedis in your ears we need to get out with Qtips, and who gets their paws clipped, not their fingernails or hands. Like every kid in the entire universe, you still think the word "butt" is funny. We're working on that.

You can't sleep without your stuffed puppy, Douey, without several pages of at least two books being read, a visit to the bathroom, several adjustments of the blankets and pillows, trips downstairs to tell us you can't sleep or that you're too hot or too cold, and a freshly opened bottle of water next to your bed. We're working on that, too.

You are a super reader and love books as much as legos, and have memorized lots of 3 and 4 syllable words from various encyclopedias on inventions and space and dinosaurs, that you are really into now. You and daddy share Xbox secrets for Mario Kart and Viva Pinata, but you still like to help stir and lick the spoon when mommy makes cake. You don't like sports and physical things, except running in the park with no particular place to go, and floating around in the pool.

Happy Birthday, Boodle. You're a good boy, and the best thing that has ever happened to me. Even though you debate me to death about every cotton-picking little thing, and somehow manage to sound like a herd of elephants joined with an out-of-tune piano when you come running through the door every day after school, mommy can't help but love you more and more, every day.

"Night-night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite, see you in the morning light for breakfast!"

Bedronka!

2010-02-19T08:07:00.001-08:00

"Promocja" here does not mean a real promotional opportunity, nor "nowe maly cena" a reduction in price. That "specialny" offer? Not really all that special. They've borrowed the lingo and talk the talk, but haven't figured out how to actually walk the walk, when it comes to shopping over here.

2-for-1 is even more confusing: you do actually get two items, but 1 is not free, you're paying a little less than twice the price. And at Makro, the Polish Sam's Club, you certainly can buy widgets in bulk, but you pay the same price per pound for 1000 of them as you do for a smaller amount.

So imagine my surprise when we got some fennel seed from a friend and found a hidden bonus: a bedronka, or ladybug, nestled cozily inside. Click on the photo and you should be able to see it, full size.

Added protein, free of charge. That's the first good deal I've gotten here and I plan on keeping it, thank you.

Gun Shots?

2010-02-16T02:20:00.001-08:00

Nope. Just snow and ice from near the skylights and up at the peak of the roof, crashing onto the terrace tiles out back. I bet a few of those just cracked, as some of them did last year.

Sun? It's a good, good thing and I heartily welcome it after its prolonged absence for most of this new year. But that little bit of warm encouragement is also what's creating noises that sound like an avalanche on steroids, plus meteorites whistling around, bringing down the house around my ears.

We emailed the landlord, who is pretty picky about this rented house, when the snow and ice started building up way up there. We have none of our tools here, our ladder's not tall enough and I for one don't relish getting up on this steeply pitched roof. Afraid of heights and a greenstick fracture/broken leg, too, prudence always has been my middle name.

He and his new son-in-law will surely want to know about that "snap" I just heard, which is probably the corner metal downspout breaking free from the stucco or stone, which happened last year, too.

Too bad I'm sick. Or I'd go get a good look for him and let him know for sure.

I've been sick so productivity is down...

2010-02-13T08:03:00.000-08:00

Books I've read recently while lying on my back, contemplating what I've done in the Universe by asking for so much snow and commiserating about my sinuses and their utter failure at being happy, good little air pockets:

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, by Christopher Moore

Irreverent, yes, and very, very funny. It's not disrespectful, just tastefully real. Okay. It's disrespectful of the standard Jesus dogma/story and the people who believe that and take the Bible literally, especially toward the end, but c'mon. What sane woman out there, who is the mother of boys, thought a real little boy called Joshua (who we came to know as Jesus) never ate a lizard or wanted to punch his friends?

Three Cups of Tea, by Greg Mortenson with David Oliver Relin

Yes, Heidi, it did make me want to write a check to Greg Mortenson to help his CAI foundation build another school. But I live in POLAND, remember? They do not have checks here, so I am looking into some kind of electronic transfer arrangement. Oh, and after reading it, I did have three cups of tea--but not the rancid, yak-butter kind he made me sick talking about all the time.

The Bridge on the River Kwai, by Pierre Boule

Amazing how this French author sounds so "British" I had no idea it wasn't a true English classic, 'till I put it down and saw the author's name. Nothing else to see here, move along.

The Road Home, Rose Tremain

Excellent, even had I not moved here and seen the intense desire for home and land, for purpose, most Poles feel. Not sure I've ever read anything she's written; I think she's so good I would remember if I had. I love "her" Lev.

December, Elizabeth Winthrop

Sorry. I liked the author's "Mayflower"-y last name, more than the story of this little girl who one day stops talking and on another day one year hence, for no real reason, simply begins again. I have a thing for the name Winthrop. Oh, let me say it at least three more times: Winthrop, Winthrop, Winthrop. LOVE it. Almost as much as I love saying Boodle Boddlington the Third, Rich English Baby, which is Alex's "other" nickname.

In the Woods, by Tana French

I seem to have liked it more than others in bookclub who've read it, and that's just fine. She does the "little child lost" inner voice very well, and angst and agony as well. Not so sure she nailed the mystery part--the mystery within the more obvious, outer-layer mystery so easily solved, I mean. But I'll read this author again.

A Home at the End of the World, by Michael Cunningham

I imagine that meeting this guy (hey, he was born in Cincinnati, so it could happen; we Ohioans are pretty friendly-like when we meet up IRL) would be a bit like meeting one of his characters. You'd remember him long after he's gone, he'd make you take stock of your life and your hoarded, secret thoughts, then, when you had time to think it over you would never be sure you were glad you had. Unsettling. Perfect.

One Good Turn, Kate Atkinson

Read "Behind the Scenes at the Museum" so thought I'd try this. Not a good idea. There's the car accident witnessed from many POVs, male and female voices attempted fairly well as she takes turns telling their interconnected stories. The "mystery" of the money and the hitman? Not so mysterious, to me, and I HATE knowing who before I'm supposed to. Also? Can we get rid of the Eastern European whore stereotypes now? I did think she told the Archie/dying cat-in-a-sweater part well, and it's a glimpse of what she's capable of, from the book of hers I loved.

By the way, the titles are pink because that's pretty much all I'm doing in honor of tomorrow. I hate Valentine's Day.

Pączki

2010-02-10T11:51:00.000-08:00

Poles know it's liable to get cold and snowy and a bit barren and ugly this time of year, so I think their tasty little donuts are a way of saying "Chin up! Take heart! Eat of these and remember that you want to live!"

If I could talk with a mouth stuffed full of these rose-petal jam ones, I'd agree.

One Really Good Reason to Look Forward to Snow

2010-02-03T11:43:00.000-08:00

I LOVE SNOW. And here's one really awesome reason why:

Snow Cream

4 Cups fresh powdery snow, more or less

Approx 1/2 Cup heavy cream

1/2 Cup granulated sugar

1/2 teaspoon real vanilla extract

Add snow to plastic bowl; pour in 1/2 cup cream, add sugar and stir gently with plastic spoon. Add vanilla extract, stir again. Do not over-stir. Snow Cream should resemble either fluffy ice cream (add more snow to get this consistency) or a firm milk shake (add more cream for this). After the first addition of all ingredients, adjust snow, sugar and cream to your taste.

Mixture is best when eaten right fresh, right away (yum!) but can be frozen in a tightly covered plastic bowl, for up to 3 days.

The secret to the best Snow Cream? Real vanilla extract plus really, really clean, newfallen snow. Powdered sugar vs. granulated? Half and half, or whipping/heavy cream? Either/or, por favor.

To Ohio

2010-01-25T01:28:00.000-08:00

"Absence is not emptiness. It is energy with its own weight and nowhere to go. It's why you always feel what's missing in a photograph, in life, before you see what is actually there". ~ me

We didn't make it back to "my" Ohio this Christmas. My choice and my despair.

So many things have changed there, as they always have when I turn my back on that beautiful place and the faces of the people hurting there.

Bleed with me, by listening to some good people say it better than I can:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-c7ir1K_1Q

Haiti-ing This

2010-01-24T12:57:00.000-08:00

We're back and I'm finally through with the jetlag, so what fresh hell is this?

Haiti, Haiti, I am so very sorry.

Get well soon.

Snow Ho Ho

2009-12-23T19:05:00.000-08:00

Made it to the 'burgh just ahead of that 20" of snow that hit the Midwest and Southeast, so we started the annual oinkfest just a bit early this year.

To date we have eaten at 5 fast food joints, 3 popular restaurants, 1 campus dive, had pizza and Italian and Chinese take-out, plus eaten at the so-called bistro in this Hyatt Place hotel. Some of this food has been barely edible--The O in Oakland being the one junk food place I will endorse--none of it was presented prettily and all of it was expensive, by Krakow standards. Market District salads and soups, fruit and fresh veggies rock, but we're on the other side of town and too far away for that, now.

Oh, how I long for a roasted chicken and avocado salad, with a goat cheese medallion rolled in sunflower seeds sitting way up on top, like any of the Rynek restauraunts can do. And mmmmmm....that cast iron pot of Casserole Lapine, from Szara. Wait, scratch that. I want to order the planked trout, so crispy and cute with rosemary branches baked inside his tummy and the little Langostino lobster riding his back like a jockey, and the wild mushroom soup, from Miod i Malina.

I know it sounds fancy, but it would cost less than this crap we've been "enjoying" and the leftovers could be eaten the next day, instead of having to be used as doorstops.

The Tortoise and the Hare

2009-12-11T06:44:00.001-08:00

At the ISK Winternational Show for the N-3 grades, Boodle played Hare, in The Tortoise and the Hare. He's no Olivier, but he had fun, looked cute and remembered all his lines. He did a great job singing The Feathered Serpent Song for his Spanish class, too.

His tail is a bath puff pinned on to his bum and his ears were made from an old headband of mine, plus some construction paper and glue, with staples and jewelry wire sandwiched in-between. He had to do a costume change for the Spanish portion, plus throw himself down and "fall asleep" on the stage, so we needed something quick to transform and easy to do in the darkened theatre.

Bravo, Boodle! Daddy would have been so proud.

Weird Science

2009-12-07T00:18:00.000-08:00

In trying to keep up with The Big Bang Theory and some jokes my R & D engineer hubby likes to tell, I find myself reading Gaskell's Introduction to Metallurgical Thermodynamics, 2nd Edition.

"Read" is a misnomer here. It's full of math symbols which cannot be understood by normal mortals and anyway, math symbols are a personal pet peeve of mine : they rank number one, ahead of liars and stickers that won't come off glassware. They're the personal playthings of the devil.

In addition to my regular book diet and at holiday time, maybe this is asking too much of me. I have a limited amount of mental capacity in the numbers-related area AND I am also dealing with the Big 3: trying to pack for 3 people, for 3 weeks, for 3 different locations in the US.

I am finished with the Secret Santa/Holiday Market at school, that's true, but there's still the Winternational Show, in which Boodle features as the Hare (of Hare and Tortoise fame), and the IWAK Charity Ball yet to go.

I am a huge BBT fan and an admitted nerd. I love Geeks and have never shied away from a challenge in my life. Okay, so there was that disastrous newsletter and website editor thing I just gave up after only one try...but normally, I just dive into something and carry on. Usually with some degree of success.

But I have my hobbies, hubby has his and never the twain shall meet. Yet I am perfectly willing to slog my way through this brick of a book.

On one condition: If I do, hubby has to knit me a cooter cozy* with his own two hands.

*Thanks for the idea, Dara!

Fat Chance

2009-12-02T08:08:00.001-08:00

Nothing like a little ball gown shopping to really throw you for a loop. I don't care how confident you are: this and trying on bathing suits were designed by demons to give you the uglies.

Harsh fluorescent lighting, salesladies thin as brittle twigs, bad 80s music blaring away, winter white skin and my own personal nightmare, curtained-off dressing rooms instead of ones with real doors.

At Bonarka Centrum Handlowy, Krakow's newest mall, my friend and I checked out every store. Nothing that fit, until Peek & Cloppenburg. P&C is a German department store, a little like my late, beloved Lazarus back home. My European dress size turns out to be a 40-42. This is an XL over here, because all Polish women are both beautiful and tiny and I am not surprised to see that they have exactly 3 dresses in this size.

I'm an hourglass, but my bottom half translates to a US size 6. My top? A freakin' 12! Plus, I'm 43 and I've had a baby. A very nice baby, who has now become a very nice 6 year old, but still. My hips don't lie.

While I was trying on these little filmy puffs of nothing, those hips were whispering "Enough! Stop trying to crush us and just be blissed by our magnificence".

I think what I actually heard was the saleslady on the other side of that damned flapping curtain, saying, "I'm sorry. We don't make that in your size."

I ended up with an emerald green thing which will require major bulwark reinforcement from the Army Corps of Engineers in the upper chestal region--or at the very least, the services of a very talented corset maker.

And Thank God or Whoever's Up There for my friend Gosia, who stepped in when I needed her most. Or I'd probably STILL be stuck in that long, purple, asymmetrical-strap number which tripped me, then gouged out a kidney when the zipper got stuck.

Because I don't know the Polish for "I just trapped my panties in this zipper and wedgied myself bald! Get me an ambulance and some vodka, STAT."

The Treasures of Tyniec

2009-11-24T05:38:00.000-08:00

Friday was "Fall in Love with a Monk Day".

Brother Jarek, who has yet to take his solemn vows, guided our IWAK group around the Tyniec Benedictine Monastery, kissing babies, making us laugh and charming even the curmudgeons among us in English, Polish and Italian. BONUS: he was a cutie, too.

But me, I'm a hard case AND an atheist. I refused to be pulled into his little web of love. Until he sang Gregorian chants in the marble-floored chapel, then told us the truth about a broken engagement, which involved his entering then leaving his vocation once before--and returning after a two-year break. It's obvious he has faith, and it's real. Meeting him and seeing how happy he is there, I was almost willing to believe there is a God. He is a perfect ambassador both for the Order and for Krakow.

The place used to be a literal pile of stones; it's more than a thousand years old and has been pillaged by the Romans, Swedes, Germans and Austrians. Unlike Humpty Dumpty's wall, it has been put back together again under the guidance of its new Abbot, Fr. Zygmiunt Golach---who is 3 years younger than me. Aiy yai yi! He also put the monks' famous recipes in the hands of others, who mass-produce their certified organic goods in annually inspected plots all over Poland. These farmers supply both internet and brick and mortar stores in Poland and Germany.

Produkty Benedyktynskie:

http://www.benedicite.pl/

Pope John Paul II lived just up the street on ulica Benedyktynskie, back in the day. You can bike as he did, up the path running parallel to the Vistula River or like lazy old me, take a chartered taxi-bus with a bunch of friendly women who REALLY like to shop. The 112 bus from Rondo Grunwaldski near the city can get you there in 30 minutes.

It's a peaceful and pretty place and though their motto might be "Pray and Work", when these guys aren't praying OR working, they sure do love to talk!

(Con)Census 2010

2009-11-05T01:02:00.000-08:00

Amateur genealogists know what Louisiana Senator David Vitter-Republican, doesn't, which is that we ask folks if they're US citizens in every census, and old records clearly show we were nebby about this, plus much more.

1930 standard US Census Form:

http://c.mfcreative.com/pdf/trees/charts/1930.pdf

2000 standard short and long forms:

http://www.census.gov/dmd/www/pdf/d61a.pdf

http://www.census.gov/dmd/www/pdf/d02p.pdf

Vitter's pushing Amendment 2644, which makes it federal law to ask the citizenship question, of every person, in every census. He says if California counts all its illegals, mostly from Mexico, then his state will go right on ahead and include the populations of Canada and France.

Louisiana may lose one of its Senate seats due to an allegedly dwindling population. But the state hasn't actually lost numbers--it's gained all kinds of new folks, including illegals, who filled the vacuum Katrina refugees left behind. Vitter loses a great deal by not equally counting ALL his residents.

Is his aim to "expose" the truth about immigration in the US? To use the statistics against someone? I don't know what he wants.

But surely he knows that the census long form (aka American Community Survey), is given to 1 of 6 US households and has always included his question and that laws prohibit use of information collected in a census by any agency, for any purpose, unless identifying information is removed.

So, no matter how much he'd like to, Vitter can't use these forms against anyone. Neither can anyone else: Police departments can't use them to find and arrest illegals, and your employer, business rival, and mother-in-law will just have to find some other way to shame you.

Vitter's crusade smacks of that inane "country first" mantra which means absolutely nothing, yet sounds so good. But it sure doesn't sound like Vitter's making the argument that we should all be counted because everyone counts in this world.

Rogate Ranczo

2009-11-04T04:12:00.000-08:00

Poland is now home, if home is the place where your loves and your books and your clean underwear are, in which you regularly flop down and enjoy all three.

I am getting to know places here as well as I did everyday familiar things back in the States, but I am still learning new and odd things about Poland, every day.

I never knew American country music was as big as it was here, at least in terms of revering its pure sounds, its story-telling structure. But don't worry: all the best bars and clubs still feature electronica and trance.

I have finally figured out the neck-scarf origami and the "dude, or chick?" codes regarding the wearing of capris and handbags. Plus, I've mastered the art of staring back at rude women looking me over, no matter what language their eyes speak, on the buses and trams.

But Rogate Ranzco (Horned Ranch) was another thing I didn't know. It's a miniature Wild West ranch---but I'll qualify that and say it's one envisioned by a madman, like all the best things in life. A roadside attraction near Balice's international airport, it features a children's petting zoo, wooden fort/tower, and several log huts strung together in a crooked-little-man sort of way. A central compound features covered wagons, some rather interesting employees and my favorite: hot mulled red wine, called grzaniec.

IWAK held its annual fall fling for the kids there this year and Gina and Teresa really worked at getting it right for us. We went as a family and even Tony had a blast. Boodle won second prize in the costume contest, while a friend named Jeff and I gave a greedy goat the Heimlich Maneuver because of a wayward carrot. It worked! The goat did not die and all the children were saved from having watched such a horrible sight, though it was touch and go there for a minute.

The DJ wore a rainbow wig and seemed to have a love-hate relationship with all things Michael Jackson. The locals took one look at us in our costumes, jamming out to the crazy mix of kiddie songs and trance and made the international sign for "nuts", twirling their finger in circles in the air next to their heads.

My Busy, Busy Boy

2009-10-28T00:53:00.000-07:00

Boodle is a kid that needs to be busy, every minute of every day.

The other day, desperately tired because I missed lots of sleep while Hubby was away, I read for a bit, then Zzzzzzzzzzz. Hubby's watching NFL football in the den, Boodle's outside where Daddy could see him.

Bliss!

I woke up much too soon, much loud whispering taking place an inch from my head, in its forced quietness somehow louder than a scream.

"I'm bored. I'm sooo bored. I'm not supposed to wake you, so I'm being really, really quiet. Quiet, quiet, quiet, like a little bitty mouse. A mouse, in a house, a mouse house, that's a rhyme, just in time, it's 12:03, look at me!"

My eyes flew open, much yelling ensued, some of it on Boodle's part and Daddy---who missed most of it because his beloved Steelers were losing and his presence was required every second, lest he jinx the game and make them lose-- had to intervene. I do my famous grumple-walk downstairs, which involves slamming my feet, hard, on every step in the staircase, muttering dangerously the whole way. We're used to that here, that's my morning routine.

And behold: I see the evidence of Boodle's "boredom". The entire house, every room, is littered with little projects.

I guess I should be proud. There's a letter thanking Miss Terri back home for some Halloween things; "Blue Prents" laying out the needed steps to create something using his little working tool set; he organized his current favorite DVDs and Xbox games, apparently by copyright date; played Nintendo (Mario Kart); read three books and half-way finished a fourth; sent his foamy Nerf airplane aloft a few times; made a list of his favorite Lego boxed sets, indexing them by catalog number; read the Indiana Jones cereal box with games on the back and tried to copy Harrison Ford's likeness so we (me, I guess) can carve that on our Halloween pumpkin; used his stencil-ruler to practice writing his name; drew a Halloween picture for me and one for daddy and finally, set up all his action figures in a row on his bedroom floor.

And I DO mean all of them, over a hundred, in order by the epsiode of the Star Wars franchise to which they belong.

If that is what you call bored, I guess I won't be napping again in this lifetime.

Building a Mystery

2009-10-26T04:00:00.000-07:00

We're running around like mad, trying to simultaneously shower, eat, carve a pumpkin and make a million calls to the US, when BING! BONG! the doorbell goes off.

We're afraid it's our Polish neighbor, who drinks, a LOT, and sometimes wiggles the handle when we don't come to the door right away. We froze in our tracks: a well-practiced maneuver involving total silence, statue-like posture and patience. This guy has mad waiting skillz.

We were safe, THIS time. Turns out it was his son Robert, who's my age and a curator at one of the city museums. And thankfully, a tee-totaller.

He shows me a 2004 Dziennik Polski news article he copied when it ran, well-loved and handled, with creases and many handwritten notes in the margins. It's about a field behind the old Austrian Fort up the road, and concerns events from December 26, 1944.

The plane was a B-17 Bomber named "Candie"; her Y tail code was #46337, which indicates she may have taken off from Italy with an all-American crew aboard. The mission was to bomb a German munitions factory in Kobierzyn, Poland. They never made it.

The pilot, Harry Filer, brought the Candie to rest on her belly in the snow. The entire crew survived. The Poles believe the plane was hit by anti-aircraft fire from a position somewhere near Fort Borek, or perhaps from Stalag 369, both mere streets away.

The group of men, 4 or 5 in all, had time to set fire to their maps and sensitive documents, to smash the control panels. But not enough time to flee.

A different group of men was hiding in the woods near the Austrian fort; they'd seen the sky lit up with tracers and were there to pull out any surviviors. But they could only sit and watch as the enemy arrived and pulled the airmen from the cockpit. They watched and could do nothing and would like to believe that those they saw led away, survived their German POW camps and made it home at the end of the war.

There is another group, AMIAP, Aircraft Missing in Action Project, which in 2004 began looking for this aircraft's final resting place. It is now believed she was mostly broken up and used as scrap, but that portions of the cockpit were confiscated by the Germans for study. No one knows where those particular pieces of the past may be.

My neighbor's father has connections to the Polish Resistance fighter group based here in osiedle Kliny, which makes his constant drunkenness understandable, perhaps. I think it's his group which is looking to make contact with dependents and survivors of the Candie's crew, though like him, any who remain would be in their late 80s, or early 90s, now.

I contacted the 301st Bombardment Group, whose insignia is an owl above their motto, "Who Fears?" I know the odds are against any one of these men being alive and able to travel, but I am crossing my fingers (or, as the Poles say, "holding my thumbs"). I want to host them here at my home. Help them meet the Polish men who raced toward them in that unplowed field, and have been thinking of them, with hope, all these years.

301st Bombardment Group website:

http://www.301bg.com/

Dziennik Polski News site (the article referenced is dated 24 grudnia 2004)

http://www.dziennik.krakow.pl/

UPDATE!

I found a Lt. Harry O. Filer, listed as a prisoner at the Stalag Luft 1 POW Camp, online:

http://www.merkki.com/

I sent an email to Lt. Filer's grand-daughter, Amy Filer, to see if she can put me in contact with him or his widow or children, or with any of the other crew members from this mission.

Here is a look at Fort Borek, today:

http://www.fortyck.pl/fort_52_borek.htm

Sto Lat! Sto Lat!

2009-10-17T03:19:00.001-07:00

My 43rd birthday. We wrapped things up at about 2 am on Saturday, here at the house. Good friends, good food, good times.

And good God, what a cake! Almond-marzipan-y heaven, on top of a chocolate brownie delight. I think I love you, Kristin!

Boodle behaved, the roasted garlic and crockpot chicken were hits, and I got to see my favorite, fat, little Polish baby, Mikolaj, whose lovely parents came along, too.

My mom sent a peace offering, something called Birthday in a Box (very, very cute) and I received many other lovely gifts.

But the best part of the whole evening was watching my guests have fun, and realizing how lucky I am to have found such friends.

Reading While Showering Is a Bad, Bad, Idea

2009-10-15T23:48:00.000-07:00

Leaving me in charge of the IWAK books prior to the next bookclub meeting, was a great idea. If by "great idea", you mean you wanted to kill me.

Because now, no matter how tired I am, I MUST read every interesting one. And 200+ books take a long, long, time to get thru. I am reading while cooking, riding in taxis and trams, dressing, doing laundry, shoveling snow, grocery shopping, knitting, walking to the bus stop, eating family dinner, and yes, memorably, disastrously, while attempting to wash my hair and shower.

DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS AT HOME

This week, I have accomplished the following. Some of them are retreads; others, first-time favorites:

The White Hotel, by DM Thomas (disturbing and necessary)
Down Under, by Bill Bryson (hilarious and well-researched)
The Member of the Wedding, by Carson McCullers (Southern, honest, tragic)
Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant, by Anne Tyler (wrenching and profound)
The Tipping Point, by Malcolm Gladwell (intriguing)
While I was Gone, by Sue Miller (an Oprah book, and a good one)
Light on Snow, by Anita Shreve (sad, but not sob-cry-snot sad and for that, I am glad)
Digital Fortress, by Dan Brown (I call this tech-ion, which he does about as well as his relig-ish)
The Robber Bride, by Margaret Atwood (BRILLIANT)

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

2009-10-14T03:25:00.000-07:00

You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have, the facts of life. The Facts of Life!

I used to love that silly show called The Facts of Life . Mostly for Jo, because she was tough, rode a motorcycle and cut school, a lot. Like me. And was also wicked smart. Plus, it gave me an excellent opportunity to hate on that horrible Blair, because in real life, of course, I wanted to BE Blair and could never make the grade, whether looks-, money-, or friends-wise.

Back to our good/bad theme. Today it's snowing---and 4 degrees C. Yesterday was rainy, gray and cold. I am hanging onto Fall, hard, and wish Poland would oblige. But just a short while ago, after returning from the US in late August, I was complaining about how freakin' hot it was here, and bemoaned the lack of A/C.

Then the fog came, and while I absolutely love all things "froggy", I did get a bit crotchety that it was all happening too fast. Where the heck did Summer go? Why did Fall have to fall so soon?

I have been informed that I am a bit gloomy at this time of year. Ok, I admit am a HUGE bag of gloomy in Winter. Winter is now here. I must de-gloomify.

So here are a few of my very favorite Polish things, to show that I mean it when I say I am all about the happy. For now.

Lucky Jews

2009-10-08T23:53:00.000-07:00

Just in front of the Szeroka Street memorial in Kazimierz, dedicated to the 65,000 Jews lost in Krakow as a result of internment, execution, starvation, and slave labor during World War II, sits a little souvenir stand run by a father-daughter team. It's new since I last walked through.

"Oh," I said. "More cheesy crap." We all need more plastic souvenirs, right?

I had to maneuver up and behind the sellers to take a picture of the stone behind them and then turned around and saw what was actually being sold on the makeshift shelves, blocking all view of the memorial from the street: the ubiquitous Lucky Jews.

Want to know the meaning of irony, all you Alannis Morisette fans who never quite got it after her horrible song went platinum? Here's your irony, right here.

Most of these were meant to be funny, though some are deliberately dark and big-nosed and hideous; the small ones were formed from what looked like Fimo or Sculpey clay in bright colors. Each holds a Polish penny (1 groszy) in their hands, or tightly grasps a bag of money.

They're commonly given to Poles by other Poles, as a symbol of good fortune and prosperity; you present one to a friend when they open a business, to assure that it becomes profitable, or to a child graduating from college, to ensure that they succeed.

Because, of course, Jews have a talent for making money and they value it above everything else, even decency, keeping it by means fair and foul. Unlike, say, a Polish souvenir seller hawking ugly stereotypes in front of a memorial to Jewish dead.

I am sorry, but to me, these are no different than the "Tunneling to Auschwitz" cheer sung by German soccer fans when the Israeli team takes the field. They are equally anti-Semitic and the fact that no one here, especially HERE in this particular place, sees this? It's sad and it tells me that the average Pole's understanding of this issue is off-kilter, and wrong.

When we first arrived in Krakow, tour guides and Polish friends assured me that all this Anty-Pasy graffiti meant nothing, the line drawn thru the Jewish star was an aberration. It was soccer-related and had nothing to do with real people, they said.

I was depressed and let down, in the same way that I was to find that the Polish children of a friend often shouted out "You Jew!" to their siblings during dinner-table fights, or that Polish parents refuse to name their little girls Rebecca, in case someone mistakes her for the daughter of a Jew.

I thought the Anty-Judyn graffiti I saw our first morning, traveling from the Balice airport out to Skawina, was an error in judgement, that it reflected only one person's mistake. Until I went to the former concentration camp at Podgorze and saw the words "No Kikes," spray-painted in blue on a present-day garden gate.

I have been asked here before, "If you aren't Jewish, I don't see why you dwell on it. You aren't Jewish...are you?" I used to think it would be funny, if instead of the truth I lied and said simply, "Yes." I wondered if I just stood there and said nothing at all, what would happen then and how I might be treated afterward. I never did do it. And I don't think I like myself for the real reason why.

Banned Books Week

2009-10-05T23:57:00.000-07:00

In honor of Banned Books Week, I read the following titles in real life and online; they've all been banned or pulled from library shelves by crazed parents and special interest groups back home:

The first one's a doozy. It's a book about censorship, book banning and book burning--and it was banned in the US, in the state of Mississippi.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

Catch 22 by Joseph Heller

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

Portnoy's Complaint by Philip Roth

Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone, by JK Rowling

No Car Day

2009-09-23T00:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was "No Car Day" in Krakow. I didn't notice overcrowding at the bus or tram stops, and hubby said getting a taxi to Metropolitan for dinner, was as easy as it's always been.

Sławkowska Street was torn up for cobblestone/paver replacement, and a lot of the golf cart tour operators were parked further down the side streets, just off the square. I did notice both Policja and Straz Mieska in bigger numbers than I have ever seen, ticketing drivers for things that are commonplace Polish driving techniques. Driving on the sidewalk and making three lanes from one, come to mind.

The biggest surprise to me was that on my Monday run into town, I discovered one of my favorite places, La Fontaine, now does not open until 6 pm; I'm told another favorite, Manzana in Kazimierz, is no longer serving lunch and dinner everyday.

Aperitif on the Mały Rynek serves a fantastic cheeseburger (for Poland), so I didn't starve, but am saddened that really wonderful places in this beautiful city seem to be having such a difficult time.

Things seemed great when we left for home in July. Looks like I missed the signs that the financial crisis and its fallout hadn't faded away.

Though I did notice LOT had disgusting options for what they optimistically call "food" on their trans-Atlantic flites, Hubby says a more accurate predictor of the economy of this country is that Rooster, the Polish Hooters, is empty almost every night.

I'll go write The Economist and tell them they should have been hip to that first clue.

Reform School, Here We Come

2009-09-21T08:30:00.000-07:00

Boodle threw a rock and broke a window at the school library yesterday. He's 6.

First mistake he made was picking up that rock on the playground. But his biggest mistake? He didn't admit to rock throwing, let alone being the lucky one whose rock hit the bullseye and busted the glass, when asked. All 3 boys involved almost poked each other's eyes out, pointing the finger at their partners in crime.

Dad hears the story first and tells me on the way home. I give Boodle the hairy eyeball until he finally tells me the story, himself.

Version 1.0 sounds suspiciously devoid of detail. I ask him to elaborate.

"I'm trying to remember everything. Sometimes I forget," he said.

"Is that so?" I ask. "Do you remember how to tell the truth?"

And suddenly he's crying and ratting himself out. He admits to the deed, says they all threw rocks but his hit the glass and he's sorry, he didn't mean to hurt the building he wasn't throwing at the windows just the wall. He knows he's in big big trouble and he's really scared now. Will his teacher yell at him??? Will those boys not be his friends any more??? Horror of horrors: Will they take all his library books away???

Two kleenexes full of snot and sobs later, I'm writing an email to the school director, telling her to send the repair bill to me.

Boodle is restricted from all electronic entertainment, desserts and playdates for a week, he wasn't allowed out at recess today and he has to pay mommy and daddy back, from the money he's been saving to buy a Wii.

Just about every boy has a broken window story, but Boodle's didn't turn out the way I'd hoped. I wanted him to be the kind of kid that gathered up his courage and told the truth because it was right, no matter how much trouble he'd get in.

We learned he doesn't have that in him, yet, and the other thing we know? Our kid has crappy aim.

Snopes

2009-09-19T11:42:00.000-07:00

I've taken time to school you, all you birthers, godless US currency complainers, and Muslim stamp-ers.

I hunted down the rumor and sent a link to Snopes.com and a debunker email to all the people on your original forward list. I could have spent that time reading real emails, and finally finding out what in the hell an Oprah-berry is. Determining whether or not Extenz is a product I wish to try.

Please use Snopes.com before you hit "send" for this irrational glop. Please?

It's free. It's fun. It's fantastic. And it will keep you from looking like a paranoid freak.

Welcome to the Suck

2009-09-11T05:06:00.000-07:00

Today is September 11th. Taking time to remember the sacrifice of thousands of people at terrorists' hands, should be my priority as an American today.

It's only been 8 years. Some victims of the attacks were younger than that.

But welcome to the suck. Joe Wilson, you are a cretin. Thanks for disrespecting the President, and creating a distraction which bumped September 11th down the list of most watched and commented on news, at yahoo and msn. Looks like you're the winner at CNN and youtube, too.

Please take a minute to watch the coverage and listen to the speeches which honor the fallen. The passengers on the planes, the first responders, those working in the World Trade Center towers, and at The Pentagon.

My mind will mostly be occupied by thoughts of those on Flight 93, who came to rest in a field in my home state of Pennsylvania, in a little place called Shanksville.

Sheldon

2009-09-10T11:23:00.000-07:00

Old nickname: Webster

New nickname: Sheldon

Reaction: I love The Big Bang Theory so much, I do not even care.

Sheldons of the world, unite!

Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness

2009-09-06T05:43:00.000-07:00

We don't have Labor Day as a benchmark for Fall. Over here, the transition into the new season starts with the famous Krakow fog. It's the Keats-ean vision of mist, and the black current vines fruiting fit his poem, To Autumn, too.

Chicken chili's in the crockpot we borrowed from our Polish friends and American football's on, on N. The wee hours of the morning were "hog the blankets-steal the fire from your hubby's backside" cold, to me.

School's been in for Boodle for a week, and every morning when the taxi bus arrives, I'm in my jacket or long sleeves.

This is going to be the last Fall in Poland for all of us, and as much complaining as I do about living here sometimes, I bet this is one of the things I end up missing most, when we leave.

Got to Keep on Workin', 9-to-5

2009-09-04T03:24:00.000-07:00

The first real interview I've had since before I gave birth took place at 10:30 am, Krakow time.

I had a checklist for all the ob-gyns I previewed, before choosing the one who'd get the honor of pulling a baby out of my hoohaw, but that isn't the kind of interview I mean.

Nervous, elated, determined, today I was early and on my game. The only thing left to do now, is wait.

I never really had to sit for too many interviews, so I can't claim I was ever any good at this.

I got a job because of a picnic, once, because the man doing the hiring liked the way I talked to and helped his daughters, when they spilled their pop everywhere. Turns out, he was the director of the clinic at which I already had an appointment to be seen.

Twice, I was hired by people who I met while I was working other jobs, perfect strangers who approached me, I hit it off with and who needed a "me". One job became mine, because I was there. Literally. The regional manager spotted me walking through the building, and hired me because I lived on-site.

Just before Boodle, who recently turned 6, I taught English in the States, but that doesn't really count. When GPLC set up training for me as a literacy volunteer, it was because I called them up after seeing one of their ads on the side of a bus. They preselected the clients, sent them to meet me and later on, word of mouth brought people in.

Private tutoring followed, which is its own special reward, and it wasn't a "real" job, either. It was hard work and it was fun, but you set your own schedule, charged what you wanted, and pretty much if you showed up, you were hired.

I don't know if this firm will want me. Or if they do, how long they expect this gig to last.

But it was awesome to realize that I haven't forgotten EVERYTHING I used to know, from the time before I was known only as "mom".

UPDATE: I got the job! The managing director and upper level management at Enion Energy need conversational English courses and a brush-up on their grammar. Perfect for me! I'm thrilled.

UPDATE II: My agency--a one-woman start up--wouldn't sponsor proper working papers. I have a legal stay visa, but wouldn't be working legally in Poland without them. I had to turn it down. Now, I am not thrilled.

Westerplatte and World War II

2009-09-01T02:16:00.000-07:00

Boodle started school today and while that's a very big deal for us, there were other things going on in Poland, too.

The 70th anniversary of the start of WWII at Westerplatte, Poland, was memorialized in Gdansk today. Remembrance ceremonies tend to be all day affairs here, and I should have been more on top of this, especially considering that Auschwitz (Oswiecim) is nearby. Podgorze concentration camp and Schindler's Factory are within walking distance, and Stalag 369 is literally a stone's throw away.

I regret to say I had forgotten this date, until I caught some video and news about it on CNN:

http://edition.cnn.com/video/#/video/world/2009/09/01/newton.poland.wwII.gdansk.cnn

http://edition.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/Music/08/27/orchestra.peace.krakow/index.html

I am truly sorry for that forgetting, Poland. You deserved better than that.

Masthead photo credit: William Wrona

Wild Eyed Bibliomaniac**

2009-08-29T10:05:00.000-07:00

I read a lot while we were away and this is a sampling of my 6 week reading list:

Goodbye, Columbus (and other stories), Philip Roth
Skeleton Man, Tony Hillerman
How to Listen So Your Kids will Talk, Talk So Your Kids Will Listen, Faber & Mazlish
The Year of Living Biblically, A J Jacobs
Mockingbird, Charles J Shields
Mrs. Dalloway*, Virginia Woolf
Disgrace*, J M Coetzee
The Man in the Brown Suit*, Agatha Christie
Gods Behaving Badly, Marie Philips
Under the Banner of Heaven: a Story of Violent Faith, Jon Krakauer
The Pale Horse*, Agatha Christie
To the Lighthouse*, Virginia Woolf
One for the Money, Janet Evanovich
The Host, Stephanie Meyers
Twilight, Stephanie Meyers
Philosophy of Religion*, Rene Descartes
One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest, Ken Kesey
Oahspe: A Kosmon Bible, 1912 Edition
The Age of Reason*, Thomas Paine
Audrey: Her Real Story, Alexander Walker
The Articles of Confederation and Perpetual Union
The Constitution of the United States of America*
A History of Atheism in Britain: from Hobbes to Russell, David Berman

One deserves special mention, because it made me snortle:

The Zombie Survival Guide, Max Brooks

And finally, the unequivocal, pure and simple, unadulterated crap:

Chasing Harry Winston, Lauren Weisberger
Rules for Wives, by Andrews, Small and Dale
The 3 Twilight Sequels, Stephanie Meyers (henceforth known as Crap, Cubed)

* = retreads
**=tm, Half Price Books

Karma is a Bitch

2009-08-27T02:04:00.000-07:00

I should have known better than to make fun of my boobs. Less than a month later, I'd have a mammo, two ultrasounds, an MRI and a biopsy, plus more strangers fondling them than I've had lovers. All's well, now, and I do get to keep them, but jeez. Can't a girl have ANY fun?

Our tour of America wasn't only of my hospital, though just to keep things interesting, my niece's fiance did end up there and my mother-in-law is still in her nursing home, which is a kind of a hospital, I guess.

The good stuff:

We spent time at the Pullmans' X 2, Snyders', Knowltons' and Stewarts', visiting with the Leeches and the Winters, too. I played croquet with a former champion (Hi, Susan!) and lost, of course. Saw Pittsburgh lab rats and Champagne coworkers, too. When you have a mostly sucky family, friends are your only substitute. I am so grateful to all of them.

Alex lost 3 teeth, in 2 different states and 3 different hotel rooms. And he finally let me take him to the deep end of the pool--on my back, screaming pretty much the whole way--see pool incident, below. But still. My baby is growing up and that's a wild, wonderful thing to see.

FINALLY got to see The National Aviary with my niece and her fiance. Living in Pittsburgh for 12 years, it takes visiting from Poland to get me there. The sea eagles were frightening, the penguins divine.

Signs and books in English. Frozen chocolate yogurt. Twizzlers--in flavors even I didn't know they had. Red Robin (Yum!). Taj Mahal and apple pie. Yard sales and flea markets. Sweet corn, country music and pick-up trucks. July 4th and backyard BBQs. Smiling policemen. Polite, gentle doctors. Air conditioning!!!

We saw a woodchuck and some baby rabbits in a hotel parking lot, watched them play together until we talked too loud and scared them away. Fed up with all the moving, unpacking and getting used to strange beds, sitting in those rocking chairs together and watching that was better than any attraction, or zoo.

The bad:

We actually do not have insurance coverage in Poland, no matter what the company says. We pay for everything up front, including bribes, then must fill out claim forms to try and get reimbursement at the end. Crap.

My mother almost let my kid drown when she left him alone at the pool with a 9 and 13 year old. They wanted to dunk him, and she and they knew he couldn't swim. She left for a "very important reason", I suspect to smoke a cigarette. 1 of only 3 reasons why she and I are no longer talking after this trip.

I forgot how fat and unkempt so many Americans are. They go out to eat in public in clothes I'd be ashamed of cleaning my toilet in, and so many more women have overinflated, way fake boobs. A ten-fold increase in fatness and fakeness from when we moved over here. So depressing.

I missed my high school reunion. AGAIN. I missed the 10th because I was working/in school; the 20th, because Boodle was sick. And now the 25th, because of work for Tony/my hospital stuff. I regret that and hope they don't think I don't like them. I DO.

First, Do No Harm

2009-07-22T13:20:00.000-07:00

TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY. I am tired, from all the thinking. And the writing. And then having to think again.

But people, you forced me into it.

Book burnings? That's what you do with all your spare time? In a tanked economy, where in some states, 10% of our people are out of work and in general, 30% of our kids are overweight and/or medically obese? Where between 2 and 3 in 10 of those kids--OUR kids--are being emotionally, physically or sexually abused?

You don't like a book's author or its content. So, under the guise of "helping" us do the "right" and "best" thing, you do the Nazi thing and advocate book burnings. Or the removal and condemnation of people opposed to you, on the library board?

Some of you wahoos involved in this mess want to sue and say you were irreparably harmed because a book----which you admit is a book you don't think anyone should read, but you just HAD to read it to see what it said--contained something you disliked, about lewd or homosexual sex?

We're nuts. Maybe we should lose all our Constitutional rights until we know what they're for. We can't handle them. We don't know what true liberty is. Freedom isn't free, but it isn't telling others what to think, do or read.

West Bend, Wisconsin made America a laughing stock, thanks to people like these. People who believe mind control and parenting other people's kids without their permission is a right, good thing.

People too muddled in their own minds to realize that the debate's already lost, because they've lost everyone elses's respect.

Sans Pants = Gamer Savant?

2009-07-22T06:32:00.001-07:00

Do you play Xbox better in your underwear? Is that a gamer's rule, the less clothing you have on, the fewer Lego blocks you go through? Sans pants = gamer savant?

I asked my Lego Star Wars-playing son about this 5 minutes ago and he didn't know any of the answers, either. And, because we believe the empirical evidence when it comes to such things in this family, I made him pause the game and go put on some clothes.

Just because we're living out of suitcases in different states, gallivanting all over creation in different cars, does NOT mean the lowering of your mama's standards, I told him.

Then I had to add, after stepping into the hallway for my newspaper: Son, save the running around in your underwear for where it's considered polite and tasteful, which is, apparently, the hallway of this Hyatt Place hotel.

Yes. Yes, I do.

2009-07-20T10:56:00.001-07:00

I should be used to this by now: little kids--even strange ones--vying to sit in my lap so they can snuggle up to my boobs.

They're big, but, except to little ones with weaning dreams running through their heads, not necessarily beautiful anymore. They're 42-1/2 just like me, and have undergone pregnancy, then nursing for 11 months--and now that I've lost some weight, they have lost the pride that goeth before their (inevitable) fall.

Because they've always been disproportionate to my body, my girls LOVE underwires, halters and wrap dresses, and I do my best to try to minimize their size in other ways, whenever I can. Deep V-necks, dark colored tops/lighter bottoms, no wide belts, turtle or cowl necks, ladies, big hair to balance things out a bit; now you know ALL my secrets.

My little friend Nate recently honed in on these babies, when we were trying out a measuring tape; other little ones tend to hold on for dear life and root around, even if it's been a year since breastfeeding for them came to an end. I usually laugh, because, come on! They're there, they're food and those babies aren't fools.

I'm pretty sure these are the only things I posess naturally that ever turned a man's head. Because being able to trounce everyone present in any trivia pub game, no matter how drunk I am, is something you have to see in action to appreciate. You just can't glance at me and tell.

So, yes. Yes, I do know, random drunk-slash-homeless guy, who thought he was the first to say so. I DO know I have a very nice rack.

Where's MY Wienermobile?

2009-07-19T07:32:00.000-07:00

When the Oscar Mayer icon crashed into a Southern Wisconsin home the other day, I mentally congratulated this family. They're the unwitting recipients of a funny story they can drink free on, probably for the rest of their lives.

Most people don't have top-shelf goofy stuff happen, nor do they want to, but I have dreamed of such things for years.

Oh, I've had weird. Some was really funny, with just a hint of white trash, perfect for retelling at dinner parties and as cocktail party sound-bytes.

Alex's tooth fairy money being mistaken for a tip, taken by the hotel maid? Funny. That cockroach I showered with in a Chicago Embassy Suites years ago, which landed in my shampoo-filled hair, that had to be removed by a disbelieving maintenance man? Odd. But these things barely rate a mention, if you've had a giant hot dog on wheels crash into your deck.

I am now obsessed with having something of this caliber happen to me. Because not even burying a friend's mother's cat we found in the road, only to later discover her pet was alive and well, isn't quite up to scratch.

Me? Yeah, I've had some strange things happen to me.

But...(whine)...I want Wienermobile Weird!

It's a Small World, Part 2

2009-07-16T09:24:00.000-07:00

The wife of Tony's co-worker (codename: Mrs. Sno) took us to Jarling's Custard Cup and an Urbana kiddie park, which Alex rated two thumbs up + toes.

In case you didn't know it, that's as high as his ratings go.

We're tooling around, driving past Japan House, The Arboretum, ogling the peacock-shaped planting bed near the railroad tracks, hotel bound--when I do another double-take.

I SWEAR I recognize the sister of a man I dated and who I met maybe twice, more than20 years ago. But did my eyes deceive me, is my memory off and anyway, what the heck would she be doing here?

Free wireless internet, I love you! I'm not nuts, it probably was her.

How small this world is, how small and wonderfully weird!

It's a Small World, After All

2009-07-14T08:29:00.000-07:00

Driving thru the stripmall parking lots in Champaign, Illinois, we see two well-dressed thin guys walking, when everyone else is cruising along on 4 wheels.

We were going pretty fast when we passed, but I SWEAR I know one of them. No way, hubby says, surely they'd have cars and be using them, here.

I make him go back after a brief argument about who has the better eyesight between us--I win, because I do and my rationale is better, too: Who else but a European would wear a dress shirt, skinny jeans and dress shoes to go walking in a city without sidewalks, on a Sunday at 7 p.m.?

Though they did not take us up on our offer of a ride, the global VP of Finance for Flow Control and another Belgian, a co-worker/friend, thought it was awful nice.

When You Wish Upon a Star

2009-07-10T08:44:00.000-07:00

I think I never gave myself enough credit, for surviving so much chaos and crap. I always kept pushing, to conform and try and fit in.

Wasn't I supposed to want what everyone wants? To succeed, prosper, procreate and win?

Despite my best efforts at living a simple, anonymous, quiet life, all of that and more made their way in.

I should have listened to the me I knew best.

Anyone else want to run away, move to a really small town, open an antique/coffee/book store, forget what other people think and live on love, hope and diner pie?

United States of Aggravation

2009-07-09T09:14:00.000-07:00

I love Ohio and PA and AAA's having a blast. Hubby's getting his work done and it's been fun reconnecting with people genuinely happy to be with us.

But I have always wanted what I can't have and Krakow is calling my name.

Equilibrium

2009-06-26T02:46:00.000-07:00

May and June taught me I gotta get me some of that.

I Can Be Your Hero, Baby

2009-04-30T01:02:00.000-07:00

I'm not the hero type and I failed saint school long ago, but if I was made of magic I'd buy books in every language and give a boxful--plus a teacher to help them read them--to every kid on Earth.

I'm still thinking about what to do about all the drugs and druggies, but all the guns would Poof! turn into toys and food.

Politicians would have lie detectors implanted in their foreheads and lobbyists would too.

Cows would fart emissions-free gasoline, live dolphins would be considered great indoor pets and the room-sized aquariums and pens to keep them in would be absolutely free.

My home state of Ohio would get 2 feet of snow on Christmas Day. It would last for a week, then that'd be the end of Winter each year.

And, last but not least, Poland would get a chocolate chip factory and Clive Owen would be required to become my personal pirate.

Spinning Sex

2009-04-17T09:54:00.000-07:00

When you want to watch a movie on satellite TV here in Poland, you can turn to your handy-dandy Cyfra + (or N) guide. It comes in the mail weekly, and it's about the size of those glossy magazine inserts in the Sunday papers back home.

I can read enough Polish now to know what most things are, if I figure out one or two words. It's like winning the lottery when they put pictures beside the descriptions, and I often do an impromptu little happy dance to celebrate that, if I'm alone in the house.

But I had a little trouble the other day, because the movie Gone, Baby, Gone is listed as Where Are you, Amanda? If you have never read the book, you're probably saying "Who the hell is Amanda?", right about now.

Knocked Up was called Accident, or maybe it was Fell Into. I forget. That one was tough because I couldn't get the root word right, got frustrated and threw my Polish-English dictionary across the room, where it hit the wall behind this very tall, very wide shelf thingy and then disappeared. Said thingy was too big and heavy for me to move, so I was on my own at that point. I was standing in the middle of the living room at 10 o'clock at night, going "Crash"? Is it "Crash"? Or maybe they mean that older drug one, "Traffic"? I NEED TO KNOW, WHAT THE HELL CAN IT BE?!

Tonight we're going to watch a little something called Spinning Sex, better known and loved by most of the rest of the world as Dirty Dancing.

It's been a long time since I laughed so hard, pop sprayed out my nose.

Thanks, Poland!

World Pillow Fight Day

2009-04-06T05:58:00.000-07:00

We weren't in on what the cool kids know, which is that Saturday, April 4th was declared World Pillow Fight Day.

At 4 pm in the center of the Rynek, hundreds of young people in small groups appeared from every direction, carrying pillows and wearing "colors".

At first we thought "Flash Mob", then "Some kind of weird protest", what with all the chanting and banners and marching all around.

There was a lot of laughing and no one appeared drunk--at least no more than usual for this city, at that time of day.

I got a few shots of the aftermath and spoke to participants from one side, the ones sporting green t-shirts which said AGH, which is a college of engineering and technical sciences in Krakow. They said their side won, clearly, though I had the distinct impression that the Jagiellonian side claimed that victory for themselves.

Nicest "fight" I've ever witnessed. You can't hurt anyone with your weapon and if you get tired in the middle of things, you can lay it down and take a nap with it, too.

http://www.pillowfightday.com/

Mean People Suck

2009-04-03T09:30:00.000-07:00

When did being a beautiful bitch become a substitute for being intelligent, accomplished, helpful, and nice?

And what is up with all of these bitch-loving men?

Who ARE these mean people? Where do they all come from?

Worst of all:

Why, instead of getting out there doing something about it, am I sitting here writing this?

Reading Spree. Whee!

2009-04-01T23:12:00.000-07:00

In Bookratt's world, a friend had a baby and 3 days later lost his dad. Hubby went away on business for 12 days and Boodle got his first loose tooth. I started driving in the 2 mile radius I feel comfortable in over here, since I can actually see the pothole-strewn road under my wheels now that the snow's gone. I wrote an extremely emo letter I will never send and my nephew, Jake, turned nine. I also read a ton of books. These are a few of them.

The Reader, by Bernhard Schlink
Having seen the movie and wondered about Kate Winslett's interpretation of Hanna Schmitz, an SS guard who hides her past from her coworkers and lover, thought I'd read this and resolve my concerns. Didn't happen, because she played it true. I also kept thinking, now here's a scene that'd be great in a film, which was jarring, and I'm glad the movie the words morphed into was even better than what I imagined. I crushed on Ralph Fiennes' earnest yearning and Kate was worth watching, as she always is. Her performance wasn't Oscar worthy, but I haven't received any invitations to join AMPAS lately, so what do I know?

The book was originally published in Switzerland, I believe in German, and perhaps something got lost in translation. Maybe not, and the translator was faithful to the writer's voice. In that case, the book on its own doesn't work for me, as I can't reconcile the dispassionate text, the affectless tone, to a boy's first encounter with sex, a lover twice his age, the heady arrogance and sense of posession a man of any age displays when he has a woman he desires always on his mind, and in his bed. I wasn't looking for erotica, but a whiff of that and Michael's sorrow for his lost innocence and youth should have been waiting to greet me in those pages and because it wasn't, I can say, yes, read this, but please see the movie, too.

The Innocent, by Ian McEwan
A retread, I first came across this in the IWAK book club last Fall. Took it out again, after having reread McEwan's Atonement, trying to see if I could find out what he's doing with language in Atonement, that is missing in some of his other works. Can't put my finger on it, but I still feel that lack. This one's about The Cold War warriors, in post-World War II Berlin, and one man who isn't what he seems, and the aftermath f his betrayals. I like this better than some of Le Carre's similar books on the same theme, mainly because of McEwan's ability to write better dialogue. Not perfect maybe, but worth a second reading for its sense of place and time, at which McEwan excells.

P.D. James Marathon
In quick succession, I wolfed down 8 of 10 books hubby got me through ebay and had sent over from the States. He's smart, that man. He knows if I'm reading, he's free to watch sports on N.

I like P.D. James, especially her chilling Children of Men. Her mysteries, though, are the heart of her fame, and are meatier than the ones by my beach-read favorite, Agatha Christie. The 70s and 80s settings in some of these seem cheesy and odd now, and lack the charm of Christie's 20s and 30s fluff, but James is better at plotting and dialogue and you never feel hoodwinked when you put her books down at the end

Adam Dalgliesh vs. Cordelia Gray? I'd say it's a draw between the two detectives, except I think I'd need to have sex with Dalgliesh and read his poetry if I were a fictional character in one of these books, so I guess he wins.

Titles Read: Unnatural Causes, The Black Tower, An Unsuitable Job for a Woman, Death of an Expert Witness, Original Sin, Cover Her Face, Devices and Desires, Shroud for a Nightingale.

Do-Overs

2009-03-24T13:22:00.000-07:00

I don't have a bucket list, but if there were do-overs for some of the major turning points in my life, I would want plenty of those. Ground rules are that anything good that resulted from an alternative real-life action stays with the do-overer, and likewise, any do-overee.

Agreed? Go!

Letting my older sister feed my younger sister a mudpie, filled with dog poop and pebbles.

Taking that nickel, when I was 5 years old.

Not going to Prom because I didn't have nice enough clothes.

The Sears Tower, EΨE Fraternity and Flying Tomato Pizzeria Incidents. We can all agree Amy's futon probably deserves one, too.

I'd rethink the smoking, from age 12 to 35.

Not returning the favor, when Lisa Davis broke my jaw.

That whole Youngstown, Ohio thing.

Marrying late/having just one child.

Hitting "Reply All" that one time.

Skipping graduate school.

Not remailing that letter, in 1991.

Saying no to so many good things, because I was afraid.

Saying "I'm sorry" all the time, for things I'm not responsible for.

Not saying "I'm sorry", for all the things I was.

Bookratt Learns to Cook

2009-03-20T00:12:00.000-07:00

Bookratt + kitchen = disaster. Unless it's cakes or cookies or something sweet. I have enough interest in the outcome of the proceedings to want to do a decent job and so always manage to make something pretty much edible, then.

But plain cooking, or what hubby calls "food a man can eat", has always eluded me.

Once, I set a pan of eggs to boil on the stove, started reading a book while I waited, fell asleep upstairs and woke to find the fire department in my house and my neighbors (who called them) in there, too.

I had a hard time explaining to family and friends why we needed a new stove. And a new kitchen ceiling.

Did you know that eggs cooked so long the water evaporates, explode and catch on fire? And that they launch themselves around the room, like rockets, when they do?

So, hubby was a bit surprised I accepted when Renata, the sweet Polish lady who helps us with the house, offered to teach me to make pierogi. Boodle's favorite kind, pierogi russki, with potato, onion and white cheese filling.

It only cost about 15 zloty, and at current rates, that's less than $5.00. We made something like 75 total. It took 4.5 hours, and all of that is spent standing up, over a stove or a manual food grinder. It's not complicated, it's just "fussy" and you are never idle. There's lots to do, and in a certain order; chopping, prepping, and many, little, baby steps, that lead up to the big finish.

So, would I do it again? Yes----but the reason would have to involve someone I knew and liked well. If I say no, it's because I'm just not that into you.

Next time you're at the festival, in Youngstown, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Rochester, out back of the Russian, Polish, Byzantine or whatever, and you see a little old pierogi lady, the roly-poly kind, with the cat-eye glasses and the off-kilter hairnet?

Don't just tip her. You owe her a big hug, for all the love she threw in for free.

One Night in Bangkok

2009-03-03T08:30:00.000-08:00

Hubby broke out the cheapie travel chess set Boodle got for Christmas this year.

He had this really bright idea(!) for me to be his opponent. He seems to have forgotten the complete disaster I was at Magic: The Gathering, or hearts.

I cannot do strategy. I'm only good at things that involve a lot of words, like Trivial Pursuit, or essay tests.

Once the baby-steps lessons began, we both bailed. I did enjoy reading the booklet on Prince Obolensky that came in the box, though.

Watching from the sidelines, Boodle became interested in playing. He seems to be able to remember the rules for each piece (daddy helps sometimes), and that he needs to 'see' the board a few moves ahead.

Pretty good for a little guy, whose previous forays into gaming involved Chutes and Ladders and the junior versions of Monopoly and Sorry!

He received a little carved wooden chess set from his friend, Makayla, at his birthday party Sunday. I've never talked about his chess games, because I wasn't sure if the interest would last, so it was a nice surprise.

You can also play checkers with this set. I do love saying Kiiiiing Me! at the top of my lungs and I like to say it in a foreign accent of my very own invention. I don't really like the game itself, just the "king me" part and I try and get to that as fast and as often as possible. Sometimes, I cheat.

Maybe I can convince Boodle to take that game up now, too. It would be nice to pass on my adorkable behavior really early, so he's ready to take over when I get too old to do it anymore.

I Cannot Live My Life Without Books*

2009-02-23T05:30:00.001-08:00

Even when they p.o. me, knock me down and KO me, stir up emotions I'd rather not feel, books are always my best friends.

This week's reads happened to do all of the above, and I am still glad I made their aquaintance.

Canal Dreams, by Ian Banks
Normally, I'd highly recommend this guy, but if this is your first by him? Nope. Its weird quotient is just not big enough, which might turn you away from reading The Wasp Factory, which is altogether more readable, believable(!) and fun. If you dig genre horror, that is. I like strong female characters, but had some trouble here: Hisaka Onada, a cello player from Japan who's afraid to fly, turns agent provocateur after getting stuck in The Panama Canal, while on her way around the planet on her first world tour. In short order, her new (married) French boyfriend and all her fellow passengers are murdered by revolutionary Panamanians, led by a rogue American code-named Jefe, she gets raped, she gets angry, she blows everyone up. Oh, hell...just forget this one.

Revolutionary Road, by Richard Yates
For all the hype this engendered when it hit the big screen back home, I would have thought this novel would have a lot more substance. I know what this one was aiming for, but it's been done, far better, in The Hours, before. Overdone and preachy, when you get right down to it, there just isn't anything to this novel's message. I'm hoping to see the movie, because Kate Winslett stars in it, but I sure hope that's more engaging than this.

The World Split Open: How the Modern Women's Movement Changed America, by Ruth Rosen
I have a dual minor, in Women's Studies and History, so I should have already had more than a passing acquaintance with everything in here, but you know? It's good when you can admit you know just how much there is you don't know. If the personal is political and the political is perverse, this should do the trick for those of us who were too young to know what was going on, when the first wave of post-WWII feminism hit. An eye opener.

Twilight, by Stephenie Meyer
Sorry, girlfriends, this one bites it. Oh, ouch. I just amused myself more with that bit of punnery, than I did while reading this book. How I wish this could have lived up to all the adoration. Who couldn't use an intelligent, erotic, Vampire thriller? I guess I'll just have to keep waiting, 'til someone actually writes one.

The Secret Pilgrim, by John Le Carre
Like this writer and his long running character, George Smiley? You'll enjoy this fictional summing up of Cold War theory and action, and an apology, of sorts, written after the Berlin Wall comes down. While I like his Smiley's People much better, I wouldn't kick this one out of bed for eating crackers.

Child 44, by Tom Rob Smith
I appreciate the scope of what this guy was trying to achieve, and how he tried to capture the mood of a bygone era, in this case, Communist Russia. I know he tried, and he tried hard, and lots of people think this is aces. I don't. It's supposed to be a thriller, based (loosely) on the Andrei Chikotilo murders, and though I had not heard that, I guessed the killer right off the bat. I was disappointed, not glad, when I did. I wouldn't read it again, at least not anytime soon, and I'd like to also say this to Mr. Smith: Do you not know what an editor is for?

* a quote by Thomas Jefferson, 3rd President of The United States of America

Drunk and Disorderly

2009-02-21T04:02:00.000-08:00

It's been a week and 2 days and I should be over it by now. I'm not sleeping well, am avoiding the area and bus stops in general and I'm reluctant even to leave home by myself.

I met up with a friend in Kazimierz Thursday and that was the very first time I ventured out. She's wonderful and the MexiPole food we enjoyed was worth the sticking-lump fear I kept feeling in my throat, as I thought about taking the tram.

Drunks are commonplace here, everyone admits that stereotype is real, but everyone also tells you they're harmless, they're not armed, they won't hurt you, but they may ask for change for another drink.

I grew up with a violent, raging alcoholic in my home, and I should have known better than to believe that. A drunk is a drunk in any language, and all drunks are desperate 'till they get their next drink. If you want to stay in one piece, you learn to read the signs.

What shocks me isn't that my husband was attacked by a drunk, but when and where it occurred.

You learn to expect certain violences, the small, petty mean ones, grand and horrifying alike, in a major American city. You watch your back at the mall at night, really any place after dark, and grow eyes in the back of your head. You hesitate, then avoid altogether the deserted streets and parking lots, when leaving office buildings in certain parts of town. You lock your doors, keep your bike inside, ALWAYS pull your window shades, and if you can afford to feed it, you keep a large dog. You definitely keep an aluminum baseball bat nearby when home, preferably one at both front and back doors.

I lived in neighborhoods when I was small where to walk down the street at night, as a woman, was considered foolish. Any danger you faced if you did it was your own damn fault. Summer curfews for the under-16s were commonplace, to keep kids in groups from bashing people and cars on the street. My high school crush, Joe-Joe, was shot and killed in a bar when I was seventeen.

But I still can't wrap my head around this. He wasn't alone. It was 6 pm, right near a busy bus stop, just 2 blocks from where I sit. I take my kid to that playground every day after school when the weather's good, walking near it, alone, all the time.

Our friend who speaks Polish called the police for us, and this what they said: Yes, you can come in to make a report, we will try and make time for you, and when you do, please bring an official, certified translator with you. Plan on being here 3-4 hours. We won't send someone out to you, or take a report over the phone. We won't send someone to the area where the crime occured to look for these men, either--obviously, they are already gone. Your case will be closed in 7 days. If you do go to a doctor, bring the papers to us afterwards as proof of injury, we will file them away.

Everyone we know, Polish or other, told us there was very little violent crime in Krakow. This type of thing in this neighborhod is unknown. You should be wary of soccer hooligans near the stadiums after big games, during rare anti-American demonstrations, and being pickpocketed, sure, there's that to worry about---Krakow is a tourist city, after all---but this other thing? Nie, never, no.

Watching Polish TV news, I used to feel smugly reassured of the certainty of my family's safety. No crime reporting = no crime. Tak?

But a funny thing happened when I started telling our story to other expats. People opened up, in some cases sharing for the first time, the details of crimes which have made an impact on them. Even in Wola, considered high-class for here and where most expats choose to live, Polish drunks are walking into homes, begging change. Purses are stolen from front hallways while dinner parties take place in adjacent rooms. Children are being elbowed and pushed down and chased off playgrounds by rougher, older kids, right near their homes.

Some tell of walking into their backyard, to find strange men on their terrace looking in; coming home from the corner grocery to find doors jimmied open, car windows smashed in, behind locked garden gates. Not too far from here, last year, a family woke up in the morning to discover their passports and all other identity documents gone. This year that has happened to others, more times than I can count. ID theft? Maybe. Used for illegal immigration dodges? Probably. What worries me is what I don't know enough to be worried about-- them being used by terrorists, or child trafikkers. We are close to Turkey and Ukraine, and Russia. It happens.

It could have been much worse, I know that from experience. There's more violence in lots more places back home, if you look at the overall numbers. We're a nation of over 300 million, there's lots of crime. I shouldn't give in to foolish fears.

It's just that the whole reason you study hard, make hard choices, be and do who and what you are, is so that kind of thing need not touch you anymore, not if you are careful about where you live, how you live. That's magical thinking, living in La La Land, I know, but it is what it is and I need more time, 'til I'm over it and feel I can deal.

Books to Read When You're Snowed In

2009-02-18T04:38:00.000-08:00

Eucalyptus, by Murray Bail

If you've read recent posts, you know I hate Valentine's Day. But I don't hate love and if you don't either, please read this. A botanical love story set in Australia, I devoured it in one sitting. Beautiful.

House of Day, House of Night, by Olga Tokarczuk

First published in Poland in 1998, it has remained a bestseller there ever since. I read the English translation (by Antonia Lloyd-Jones) and am almost willing to believe that I could learn Polish, just to read this in the original language. About Silesia and its tug-of-war history, it completely captures the Polish way of thinking about land and coming home, and ways of owning and being owned by your past.

The Crossing, by Cormac McCarthy

This man's face should be in the dictionary next to the word 'writer'. He makes me NOT want to read his other work, because doing so means there's an end to the pleasure of discovering it. If I can just not pick up and read that next one, well...there will always be something to look forward to, won't there? Someone please clone him. Please?

Travels with Charley: In Search of America, by John Steinbeck

I hadn't reread this travel memoir in so long, I'd almost forgotten how good it was. Steinbeck, in the company of his pet dog, Charley, a poodle, sets out to rediscover America and they both get just a bit more than they bargained for. Written before I was born, there are some things, sadly, that still haven't changed about "the land of the free" I call home.

Tuesday, February 14, 1989

2009-02-14T06:44:00.000-08:00

I love lovers and sad old love songs, but I hate Valentine's Day.

Flowers are good things, right? As long as they're not the hothouse kind, I say, bring 'em on.

Chocolate--in any form--is nirvana to me. And those chalky candy hearts with the funny sayings on them? I used to like those, too.

This day and me? We should get along just fine.

I'm a huge fan of love letters, too and like most women, I've kept every one I've ever gotten. Most people can't write them well, but if you are ever lucky enough to get one from someone who truly loves you, it will be beautiful, forever, to you. So, love letters? Check.

People in love? Adorable. Especially the guys. There's a certain sheep-face they get when they're young enough to believe this may never happen for them again, that's just too cute for words.

So what's the ish with the dish, fish?

This hate is a 20-year habit, one I haven't been able to kick. Ignoring it, "forgetting" it, sleeping through it never worked. I once cut the day out of the calendar so I wouldn't have to face that it had arrived. Read Freud much? No? Sometimes a valentine isn't just a valentine.

Tried overdosing on the holiday, too. Thought if I stared it in the face, I could stand up to everything. My mantra became "face your fear." I threw parties, wearing red head to toe, and sent cute cards to every friend I knew. I wanted to own the day, make it mine, take it back.

I never found my way.

Can someone please wake me up when this day's over? I think I'm becoming allergic to the color red.

Sure-Fire Ways to Make Me Cry

2009-02-11T04:39:00.000-08:00

1. Make me watch The English Patient. Or Grave of the Fireflies (Hotaru no Haka).

2. Tell me a story about a sick child, the death of an animal, or the end of an honest to goodness, real-life love affair.

3. Play any of the following songs:

"Don't Pull Your Love" by Hamilton, Joe Frank and Reynolds

"I Can't Get to You From Here" by Michael Johnson

"Auld Lang Syne" by Dan Fogelberg

4. Let me read any of the following books:

The Giving Tree, by Shell Silverstein

Childhood's End, by Arthur C. Clarke

Where the Red Fern Grows, by Wilson Rawls

I know these things. I know how long the echoing sobs can last. And yet, I somehow found myself in close proximity to nearly everything on this list, all in the same week.

Someone needs to give my husband a medal, just for putting up with me.

Steeler Love Knows No Boundaries

2009-02-02T03:28:00.000-08:00

90 year old grannies getting Steeler tattoos and astronauts unfurling their Terrible Towels in space?

You never had a chance, Arizona.

Sia Furler

2009-01-29T01:12:00.000-08:00

She's amazing and I'm still stunned. Please give a listen:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CDDW5zwu6yE

Read, People, Read!

2009-01-26T02:31:00.000-08:00

Here's what I've been up to lately:

The God Delusion, by Richard Dawkins
Dawkins is the author of another of my favorites, The Selfish Gene, and he's lots smarter than me. I like smart. He can be a bit arrogant when he speaks at conferences, or when he's playing up to the media, but he knows what he's doing as an author. The subject matter is a perfect fit with what I've been feeling and thinking and I'm glad I finally got around to reading this one.

The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference, by Malcolm Gladwell
He wrote another bestseller called Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, and I like both. This one reminds me a bit of Freakonomics, by Levitt and Dubner, which also made me think.

The Sporting News and Sports Illustrated
Look, I'm not a sports nut and I usually only watch Olympic stuff, but these issues did have some interesting articles on the Steelers-Cardinals game. My husband loves the Steelers, and I love him. So what if I slummed a bit and read some stuff I normally never would? I could talk to him about his favorite team and it didn't hurt one bit.

Stalin's Ghost, by Martin Cruz Smith
I love this guy's older book, Gorky Park. Wolves Eat Dogs is quite good, too, as was Red Square. This one isn't my favorite, but I love his lead detective, Arkady Renko, so I'm willing to overlook that.

The Overlook, by Michael Connelly
This guy's a pro at police procedurals and he writes the L.A. experience well. His characters speak believeable dialogue and his plots aren't too bad, either. A retread, I had this one in the States and am glad I read it again. Lost Light, another one of his, is a favorite.

Skeleton Crew, by Stephen King
I've read this story collection many, many times, and there're only a few bad ones in the bunch. Classic Stephen King, much better than any of his newer work. Favorites are The Mist, Word Processor of the Gods, and Mrs Todd's Shortcut. Not as good are Paranoid (a poem, and a self-consciously bad one, too) and the two 'laundry' stories near the end.

Thank You, Senator Pell

2009-01-25T00:45:00.000-08:00

When I went to college, it took me a long time get my degree. I worked fulltime and went to class at night, moved to a new town and a new school mid-stream, and ended up graduating about 7 years after I began my first class.

In between there was a heartbreaking breakup with one man, an ill-advised and disastrous engagement and breakup with another, family chaos, personal illness, loneliness, hunger and an awful lot of hard work.

If it hadn't been for a guy I'd never heard of, called Claiborne Pell, I don't think I would have made it. Jobs typing transcripts and cleaning people's toilets didn't pay too much back then.

By all accounts, the Rhode Island man who died recently at the ripe old age of 90, was more than a philanthropist and lawmaker, he was a curmudgeon. That's a thing closer to my heart than nerds, and nerds, as everyone who knows me knows, are my favorite kind of people.

His obituary, in January 16th's The Week , had a lot of good things to say about him. He was involved in many worthwhile causes his entire life, some of which even now have positive effects on people worldwide.

His participation in the conference that helped draft the UN Charter tells me something about his beliefs and hopes for the future, but his sponsorship of the grant program that bears his name, tells me even more.

Pell Grants made higher education possible for low-income Americans whose parents couldn't afford to help them. Kids who, regardless of grade point average, couldn't afford to help themselves.

Those grants meant the money I made from working went toward food, rent, books and clothes, and I could keep my rusted out beater going long enough to drive to jobs on weekends, too.

Thank you, Senator Pell, from me and the 54 million others you gave a second chance to.

What?!

2009-01-22T02:44:00.000-08:00

Our new President had to retake his oath of office, because of one tiny error in the proceedings: a word was spoken out of its usual order.

So, we're told, "just to be safe", he's doing it again.

One word's messed up, and he has to retake it, to protect him from people who would say he isn't the lawful President? We're worried about something like that happening, his Presidency challenged over a mere word? Really?

If that's the case, I will not be sleeping soundly for the next few days.

Unless someone out there can guaran-damn-tee me that Bush won't get a do-over to fix the unholy mess he left us in.

The Best and Worst of Inaugural 2009

2009-01-20T09:34:00.000-08:00

Best speaker (who was not Obama): Benediction, given by Rev. Joseph Lowery

Worst reading of a poem on national TV: An Original Work, by Elizabeth Alexander

She gave such a stilted delivery of her own work, a more-than-decent poem, so there's no excuse for that awful performance. I had to look away, but was eerily drawn back to the badness, time and again. A train wreck!

Only time I left the room: I purposefully timed my toilet breaks to coincide with Pastor Rick Warren's speech.

Moment of Iffy Ettiquette: Biden taking pictures from the reviewing stand, for the Obama's eldest daughter.

While the begining bars of our national anthem played loudly, and the singing had begun, it took him a minute to give her back her camera, put his gloves back on and then get into position with his hand over his heart. Hey, Biden! Pay attention!

Best moment of all: Watching that helicoptor at the end of it all, whisking away Shrub, forever.

Obama-rama begins!

2009-01-19T23:34:00.000-08:00

I've been looking forward to this day, or one very much like it, since Shrub came into office in the year 2000.

That it happens to be a day so long in coming, and so full of possibilities for so many, just makes it that much sweeter.

I'm not leaving the house, lest I miss any scrap of coverage any of the stations over here plan to show. I don't have slingbox or AFN, and my N service is pretty limited, but CNN and BBC will have what I need.

Facebook has a way to watch (send in your RSVP to participate and comment, in real time, via a partnership arrangement with CNN).

For some, Youtube will have what you need, but good luck with that! Youtube often informs me, just like CBS, NBC and CBS, do too, that we can't see what we want because Poland isn't allowed to receive that particular stream/video.

I can get the raunchiest--FREE--porn over here after 10 o'clock, but I can't watch "spaghetti cat"? Ok, that's a bad comparison. We all know that really good porn outweighs just about everything else in the known universe.

Except seeing the first African American being sworn in as President of the United States of America.

Happy Dance

2009-01-18T23:41:00.000-08:00

Pittsburgh's going to the Super Bowl!

In celebration, here's a little Polamalu action for you. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=se8ABHcq8g4&feature=related

What to Read and How to Read It

2009-01-18T05:01:00.000-08:00

Not a command, that's the title of a set of antique books my sister and her husband gave me a few years back for Christmas. They were little beauties, with matching block-printed paper covers and little black and white pen and ink drawings, which alone were worth the price of the set.

I collect books both old and new, and love them, and once swooned over the binding and marbled endpapers of a book I'd never even heard of, at The University of Pittsburgh.

Right there and then, I wished I'd never been taught right from wrong. I wanted to put on my 'sneaky feet', as Boodle says, and creep on out of there with my new best friend.

This week, I reread some classics which made me think fondly of those things.

Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine:
My 3 issues, a Christmas present from my mom, were from the inaugural year, 1977. I'd read them when they came out (I was 11) and back then, they were considered kind of gauche, especially for girls.

These days? Like most good things that aren't really appreciated until they've come and gone, they are now hot items for collectors. My issues are from 1977, but do not include issue no. 1 and sadly, none are in mint condition.

Also read this week:

The Star Wars series:
Star Wars by George Lucas, Return of the Jedi*, by James Kahn and The Empire Strikes Back, by Donald Glut.

Not bad, but not the best sci-fi I've read, and I used to be an obsessed fan, so do have some basis for comparison. They are based on George Lucas's original stories, but are apparently novelizations of the movies and did not start as stand-alone novels themselves. Star Wars is the best of this lot.

A slew of Agatha Christie titles, which included The Body in the Library, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, The Mirror Cracked, Hallowe'en Party:

Christie fans love her humor, and rightly so. I'm a huge fan, and have even read her Mary Westmacott novels several times, though I am usually no fan of romances and most forms of 'women's fiction'. She's not even as a writer, sometimes she's too showy, and some of her most popular work I consider to be her worst writing (ie: Murder on the Orient Express), but she's definitely queen of the beach reads. Her stuff is also perfect for transAtlantic plane rides and Sunday afternoon naps. You never feel guilty when you drop off in the middle and when you wake up, you're able to jump right back in and enjoy them.

Within the last 3 weeks I was also getting reaquainted with The Bible, The Q'uran, The Book of Mormon and The Torah.

I haven't had an epiphany and I wasn't looking for solace. I was simply out of all other English literature I could easily get my hands on, at the time.

*My 5 year old informs me that Return was once called 'Revenge", but that Lucas changed the title because he felt that Jedis would never engage in revenge. And why is that? As I now know after reading these, it's because revenge is a form of anger, which was fledgling Jedi Annikan Skywalker's fatal flaw.

What Women Want

2009-01-16T00:53:00.000-08:00

That was the refrain of the 70s era, post-Feminist male: What the hell do you women WANT?

The real issue, of course, and perhaps the single biggest detriment to the passage of The ERA Amendment--besides The Mormons meddling, unfairly, in the fight--was this unasked question of theirs: What will I need to give up, for you to get it?

Some of them were perfectly willing to give, just a little, if it shut their women up. But very few--I'd say none, actually--were willing to give 'til it hurt. They'd give 'til it hurt some other guy, but if it inconvenienced them? No freakin' way.

Some of us, as young lasses looking over our mothers' shoulders, either took what our mothers taught us and ran with it, about how to get and do what we wanted, and to still have a family, and a man, and a life we could love, or learn to--or we didn't.

I was one of those who didn't. I don't know why.

I do know I've never been asked in any relationship I've ever had what I liked, what I needed or what I wanted. Unless we were in bed and that was pertinent at the time.

I am stunned when I read that. It's my own life and I've been living it for awhile now, so how come I never noticed that before?

I have often been told what I should do, or what I should want or feel. How, if I would just go along with someone else's plan, it would all work out in the end.

Reality check? It never did.

I have been told what the matter with me is, when I won't accept what does not work for me. I've been told to "make the most of it", when I'm left with the least of things.

I know I'm partly to blame. And I'm working on that.

I have a big mouth and a big mind. The former is overworked, but the latter has been incognito for a long, long, time.

Change?

Change is good.

Second Hand Rose

2009-01-14T23:31:00.000-08:00

I like flea markets and swap meets and used bookstores. I have even, when in West Palm Beach, Bexley and Fox Chapel, engaged in a little dumpster diving on my own.

When I lived in Columbus, there was a little place up from my Broadmeadows apartment in Worthington, called MarEd consignment. Marjean and her husband (Ed, of course) were great to me and I always found awesome stuff there. A Coach belt once, before Coach was a household name. Leather briefcases, purses, really nice collectible costume jewelry and my favorite find: snakeskin loafers. Yes, snakeskin. All one color, dark brown, leather soles. This was 1989. Snakeskin was ok, then.

But as my sister and I were talking the other day, she said something about replacing her old mattress and being disappointed. The new one was too soft, too flat, too something.

I told her we're thinking of replacing the mattress in our master bedroom here, too, because the Polish landlords have an older UK model in there, and the guestroom has an IKEA one--newer, but still not half the man my older, pillow-top Sealy in the US was.

And she said ewwwwwww! You're sleeping on someone else's mattress? In a rented house? You don't know who's been there, doing what!

I'm a married woman in my 40s, so I assured her that I had figured out the what already. The who didn't bother me, either. It's a nice house, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice couple as owners.

We use their dishes and their microwave. They're used. And we use their washer and dryer, and oven. The house is 6 years old, everything in it is.

My wedding rings are "used". They were my grandmother's, from 1938. My best china back home was used--it was from an estate sale, years ago. So were a few bronzes and some pottery that I loved. And a lot of my furniture came from auctions and house sales, and many pieces were given to me by relatives. About half my library there was made up of old sets, from old houses. I have always loved old things.

So I asked her--you moved into an older home, didn't you? Yes, she said.

My next question: You use their toilets, don't you?

Total silence from her end of the phone.

If I know my sister, she's out getting bids on all-new bathroom fixtures, as we speak.

Insomnia and Me

2009-01-13T04:54:00.000-08:00

Arrived back home from the States with a sick kid, an avalanche of dirty laundry and a roaring case of insomnia.

After hauling Boodle to the doctor's in a blizzard on about 1 hour's sleep, we thought we'd medicate him and he'd go down soft and easy.

Have you ever met Boodle?

Boodle was hopping up and down all night.

First time in about 20 years I've wanted a drink AND a cigarette at 3 am. Didn't let myself have either one, in case you're wondering.

What I did have at that hour, when my husband woke up and found me, I'm not tellin'.

All I want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth

2008-12-10T08:50:00.000-08:00

I have several more teeth than are anatomically necessary. They're perfectly healthy, so no one ever wanted to pull them and I ended up with a Pennsyltucky smile.

Snaggletooth, front and center. Shadows, caused by overlapping, look like missing teeth. And protruders ain't pretty.

Braces were recommended when I was a kid. Early extraction of the molars they call wisdom teeth, too.

When I was 20, all 4 of those wisdom teeth were finally yanked under general anesthesia. Holy hell, does dry socket hurt. But the braces never happened.

I quit smoking the day I found out I was expecting Boodle and never looked back--unlike the umpty-eleven other times I'd tried to quit. Knowing he was coming made it fairly easy.

Having a baby? Awesome! Yellow teeth? Not so much.

I don't want a white so bright you can see me smiling from the moon. I don't need a movie-star perfect smile.

I just want to be a better me.

What I Read On My Thanksgiving Vacation

2008-11-30T05:03:00.000-08:00

The Trumpeter of Krakow, by Eric P. Kelly.
Never heard of it. Now glad I read it, if only for the thrill of reading about streets I have walked here and things I have seen. Reads a little like a romance, or an early historical fiction, but is acceptable. A Newbery Medal book, it is intended, I think, for young adults. And it shows.

The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath (writing as Victoria Lucas, her pseudonym)
A retread, I never fail to be both depressed and delighted by this one. And I am always full of sorrow that, unlike Bell Jar's Esther Greenwood, Plath did kill herself, though many years after her own confinement in a mental ward. Her poetry's stunning, but this, too, is necessary reading.

Behind the Scenes at the Museum, by Kate Atkinson
Brilliant. Simply brilliant. I must read more of her stuff. Her ability to inhabit her characters and to reproduce their thoughts so beautifully, is amazing. Spanning over a hundred years in one family's evolution, she lets us know them as well as we know ourselves. Some of the internal dialogue suspiciously resembled my own at about age 8. How did she DO that? Please read this book.

Fiction 100, edited by James H. Pickering
Shares many authors and stories with the old Norton Anthology of Short Fiction, which I had 25 years ago. Some stories were new to me and I loved re-reading some old favorites. This book and the new Norton cost $200 US, each, in paperback over here, so I was glad a friend lent it to me. I spent two nights in heaven. Thanks, Elysa!

A Charmed Life: Growing Up in MacBeth's Castle, by Liza Campbell
Non-fiction, it's the autobiography of Liza Campbell, whose drunken oaf of a father was the last thane of Cawdor Castle, near Inverness, Scotland. Surprisingly upbeat in places, it was equally depressing and self-indulgent, in others. She's not a pitch-perfect writer, but she is entertaining and you will want to finish the book. Maybe, like me, you'll finish by wanting to take a trip see Cawdor, too.

Salt Rain, by Sarah Armstrong
Good God, THIS is what people pay to publish and other people pay to read? Thank god for book club, where we get to take as many books free as we want. This was terrible. Again with the bad porn, the horrible dialogue. The best thing about it is the lush cover photograph. I expected an outback adventure and an enlightening experience. What I got were stilted sex scenes, and oddly alienating characters. I actually threw this one on the floor at one point before picking it up and trying again. Please, don't read this book.

Negotiating with the Dead, by Margaret Atwood
Love her fiction and essays and wholeheartedly recommend her work to others all the time. But this how-to book on writing is just no good. Her other book, Writing with Intent, on the same subject, is so much better. And so is Stephen King's similar book, On Writing.

First to Die, By James Patterson
Trash.

Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro
Treasure. Many years ago in bio-ethics, we had a philosophy professor who predicted the coming of events Ishiguro relates with such clarity, in this fictional tale. Both forced me to think about the meaning of what life, and individuality and freedom were, at their very essence. Cloning and gene therapy and stem cell transplants from unknowing donors. What does it all mean? This book has a similar theme to Gattica, but this book is much, much better than that film--and is less science fiction than truth.

Full

2008-11-27T13:20:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving Day this year was Mexican food for lunch and pizza for dinner, with Polish pumpkin pie on the side.

The little matter of the tire boot incident? Went like this:

Straz Miejska: Obama?

Dana and me: Gobama!

Straz Miejska: No ticket, goodbye!

Dana and me: Happy Thanksgiving!

Straz: Happy Thank You!

Well wishers emailed from all over the planet and the Vonage lines were humming. We're missing home, but are happy, truly, to be here with our new friends.

We're grateful the Mumbai debacle, while bad, was no worse. It seemed like it would get so much worse. I am thankful so many made it.

We're happy our friends found out they are having a girl and in the same week, got the news that his father, taken off his respirator, is breathing on his own.

My 92 year-old grandfather, still sharp as a tack and healthy, too, enjoyed one more turkey dinner with his own teeth and his family.

Everyone's here at home, safe and warm.

My life is full.

Gobble gobble gobble!

The Google Queen (tm)

2008-11-17T07:06:00.000-08:00

I have always been The Google Queen(tm) in this family, buying all our Christmas presents online, obsessing over Overstock, ebay and Ruby Lane finds. Posting pictures, sending epic emails.

Emails. Right.

In one particularly devastating incident, I received a blow-off email from a friend all because I accidentally emailed the wrong person and things snowballed from there. Laura/Laurie sure do look alike when you're in a hurry, don't they?

And then there was that whole crazy cat people-declaw thing. Frightening!

I used my superpowers for evil, looking up old boyfriends (hi JBM!) and the net worth of work rivals, and I cruised classmates.com to see who got fat. Uh, oh, looks like it was just me. I looked up other people's homes online, too. When Zillow came out, I did a happy dance. No more searching the old-style county grids and platts for that on my own.

But I also used them for good, by volunteering my time performing 1000s of hours worth of census and family history searches for complete strangers, transcribing 1000s of genealogy records for online databases, expanding my role as a volunteer literacy tutor by correcting papers, applications and letters online for my students, writing online reviews and bbs and newsletter articles, and generally helping out wherever I could.

CNN. BBC. TIME. THE ONION. THE WASHINGTON POST. SNL. YOUTUBE. SNOPES. DOOCE. I'm their biggest fangirl.

So why was Craig's List Missed Connections not thrilling me the way it used to?

And then I realized. I wasn't experiencing internet fatigue. I hadn't suddenly grown a conscience or decided Facebook was for 12 year olds.

It gets dark at flipping 3:30 in the afternoon these days. The sun's blasting at me starting at what feels like 4 am every morning. I feel tired in the morning and worn out at night. My brain keeps playing tricks on me, such as convincing me it is perfectly acceptable to think pitch black is the perfect color for an after-school, backyard soccer game.

The time changed, my schedule changed, my sleep-life cycle changed. Time to synch 'em up right.

Now that that is cleared up, back to my Facebook I go. See you there!

Funny Food and Other Strange Stuff

2008-11-11T01:35:00.000-08:00

Deciphering food packages, figuring out metric measurements (without the internet and any cookbooks in a language I could actually read) and just generally being whacked out over the sudden change from US to Polish living, made shopping and cooking a bit of an adventure when we first arrived.

Some of the stuff that made me laugh--and snort, as I am embarassingly wont to do when REALLY amused--follows:

Having to ask for a half-kilo of cheese translates to asking for poo kilo. Pół, actually, but what difference does it make? It sounds exactly the same and there I am, standing in a supermarket asking a girl I have never met before, to give me poo.

I am in Kazimierz alone, taking pictures, early in the morning before all the shops open. I get lost. I have no map. I speak no Polish. I ask a passerby for the way to X Street, and describe what is on it. But because I can't remember the name, and they don't speak much English, we get nowhere. I suddenly remember that the word for poo and the name of the street I need is the same. Kupa (the actual name of the street) is the same as the word poo, to us.

I had to draw a cartoon dog taking a cartoon poo, in my handy dandy notebook, for them to get what I was after. And there I am, once again, asking a complete stranger where to find poo.

The word syn is pronounced like "sin", but is the word for son. So, when introducing your child, you are saying what sounds like "Hi, here's my sin."

The word byc is pronounced like bitch, and means "to be". I once mixed up a Polish sentence by starting out saying the equivalent of "the byc is there" and pointing at my Polish teacher. When I realized what I had done, I broke down laughing. My poor Polish teacher, concerned only with my grammatical error, took a while to understand why I was so hysterical.

The word for God is bog, pronounced like "bug".

And then there was this:

Dr. Lou

2008-11-09T02:30:00.000-08:00

Who needs psychiatry, when Dr. Lou speaks the truth?

Witness these recent gems from ESPN:

"You can't tell people about your problems. 90% won't care and the other 10% will be glad you got 'em."

"If what you did yesterday looks big to you, then you haven't done much today."

http://awfulannouncing.blogspot.com/2008/11/so-youre-doctor-whats-that-all-about.html

Added bonus, for me? The Mark Wahlberg cameo.

Move over, Dr. Phil.

Curmudgeon Speaks

2008-11-08T04:33:00.000-08:00

Books I have read this week, one or two of which seem to have jumped into my hands against my will:

The Russian Concubine: first time with this writer and I think she should just stop. Kate Furnivall, just stop already.

Guns, Germs and Steel: a retread, I read it when it came out and am enjoying Jared Diamond's writing again.

Burning Bright: second time for this author, and while the first time wasn't so bad, THIS was just crap. An open comment to Tracy Chevalier: make your sex scenes much better or there will be no earthly reason for anyone to ever read you.

My Sister, My Love: by Joyce Carol Oates, I expected much more from this. But I guess We Were The Mulvaneys and The Year of Magical Thinking will never, ever, happen again for her.

The Death of Grass: hubby gave me this 1956 UK paperback edition for my birthday recently, and he had to get it on ebay as it's near impossible to find these days as a good, clean copy with a tight binding. Still gives me chills.

Know Thine Enemy

2008-11-06T00:18:00.000-08:00

Handy information to know, when confronted with those who vow to fight against Obama because they believe he is Godless, or a Muslim, or a Socialist, or Satan:

"Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and the authorities that exist are appointed by God. Therefore whoever resists the authority resists the ordinance of God, and those who resist will bring judgment on themselves."-------Romans 13: 1-2

For use with those who state that they will stop paying their taxes, so they won't have to support a Socialist States of America under Obama:

"And Jesus said unto them, Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's. And they marvelled greatly at him."-------Mark 12:17

For those who question your patriotism and worthiness because you voted for Obama:

"Am I therefore become your enemy, because I tell you the truth?"------Galations 4:16

And for those of our own, gloating and lording it over the other party, an admonishment:

"Do not rejoice when your enemy stumbles, and do not let your heart be glad."---Proverbs 24:17

Tough Choices

2008-10-20T00:20:00.000-07:00

Life is all about choices. Some easy, some hard, but choices rule us all.

Wear this or that shirt, look cool or like dirt. Eat this or eat that, stay slim or get fat.

A: Should I go back to school and get my masters? B: Can I physically risk having another child? Will my cancer come back and if it does, can I still choose to do both A and B?

But for me, and for my child's future, I cannot conceive of any other choice than a vote for Obama. Having McCain in the White House, the mere thought of it, makes me physically ill. How's that for a gut check, Shrub?

Colin Powell endorsed Obama on Sunday. I (and I must be the only white person over here who thought otherwise) did not think he would. All white people do not think alike, or all women, so why would a Black man endorse another--just because he is Black? That sort of thinking, to me, is racist. No matter what color the thinker happens to be.

T is flying to the US for a conference and will vote there. I am taking the absentee route.

Some of our expat friends here refuse to do that, saying that their vote doesn't count, or that in their Red or Blue state, their vote simply won't matter.

One friend said her husband tells her how to vote and she does it--that it isn't worth the hassle to do otherwise, and anyway, if she votes one way and he votes another, their votes cancel each other out and become meaningless.

Another, a male, said since it's becoming a fulltime job to read up on these guys, to be able to pick the right one, it's overwhelming and isn't worth the time or trouble.

Statistics and the 21st Century aside, I am not even going there.

EVERY vote matters. I have been encouraging the Donkey and Elephant supporters in my immediate circle for months to be informed. To be counted.

Scuttlebutt over here seems to be that when Obama gets elected, he won't make it alive to inauguration day in January. I am sure he is very aware of that portion of the populace who'd like to see him accomplish two historical events in one go: being elected as the first Black President and becoming the first Black President to be assassinated. But he has chosen to move forward and take that chance.

Choices. They're complicated.

FWIW: the only thing in this universe that could possibly make me consider voting for someone other than Obama would be if Colin Powell himself ran against him.

Gadget Mama

2008-10-13T00:09:00.000-07:00

Gadgets and tools are beloved by all Americans. I would dare to go so far as to say that in addition to the American automobile and appliances, gadgets are what made us great, in the post-war era our grams and gramps knew.

Did we invent them all? No, we did not. But did we embrace them, and take them to heart, instilling in our children the love of all things plastic, truly making them "ours", in the end? Yes. Yes, we did.

In our own generation, we were each personally responsible for feeding an entire village, somewhere in the developing world, by consuming our share of Ginsu knives and Pocket Fisherman, Ding-Kings, Topsy-Tails, Corkscrew/Screwdriver/Divot Removers, Never-ending Laundry Balls and the like.

Where would I be without my Tupperware orange peeler/sectioner/zester? My Christmas tree waterer? The seatbelt cutter/window smasher thingy? My Kacha-Kacha knitting row counter?

So, in order for us all to do our part, in stimulating the American economy--got to have some sort of plan for that, don't we?--here are the gadgets I most miss today. Some of which I caved on on and ordered online this morning. Some not. Can you guess which ones?

The Gadget List

The Jean-a-ma-Jig
A plastic jig piece, for hemming jeans by machine. It really does help you "jump the hump!".

Ugly Brown Plastic Wedges
Those freebie, brown plastic pan scrapers with the perfect curve to them, for scraping out pans and not harming Teflon, by Pampered Chef and/or Williams Sonoma.

Goo Gone
Technically not a gadget, it's an aid or a tool. But as tools are technically part of the gadget universe, neener, neener on you.

The Rabbit
No, not the sex toy. The bottle opener. Either way, a surefire pants remover. Did you hear that, BP in PA?

My chain and wristlet skein holder
Again, not a sex toy. But it IS a totally cool gadget and perfect for tram-and taxi-knitting--or crocheting while simultaneously walking around the dom, talking on the phone.

The Salad Spinner
Even W should know what this is. His dad famously bought the mate, the Shooter, when he marveled at the untold magic of grocery store check-out scanners, a few years ago.

The Downy Ball
The drawer-style auto-loaders on the front load washers here just plain suck. I've tried more than two machines in the year we've been here, so it ain't just me. My front loader and drawer thingy at home was A-ok, and I just can't figure out why when you pour the stuff in here, it always ends up in the wash water before it's time.

3M Command Adhesive Picture Hangers
I sure do love me some Command Silver. Heavy duty hunks of practicality in a package smaller than your hand. Mmmmmm. Gotta get me some of those. Especially since my Hercules Hooks won't work on solid Polish masonry and stucco walls.

Citrus Express
Come on. Tell the truth. It didn't make YOU want to pick up the phone at 2 am and get one of these babies, the minute you first saw it on Mango TV?

Why call yourself Bookratt, if you won't talk about books?

2008-09-15T09:46:00.000-07:00

Um, ok, fanboy. First, get your head out of your butt. Then calm down.

Books are so much a part of my life, I forget that other people sometimes don't read much. Or at all. When I talk about books at myspace or at home, what I usually hear is this: zzzzzzzz

My nickname is Bookratt. Hence the name of the blog. It's my blog and I can use my superpowers for good, if I want to.

But, since you asked me to tell you what I've read lately and in such a nice way, too-- this is for you.

What I've read this week (my week starts on Saturday):

The Week
US News and World Report
Time
Entertainment Weekly
Sports Illustrated (I love the editorials)

Bully for Brontosaurus
No Country for Old Men
Certainty
Gone, Baby, Gone (in Spanish---but v.e.r.y s.l.o.w.l.y.)

The mags were last week's issues, sent over with our personal mail by hubby's receptionist in the States; the books are retreads. I often reread books from my own library.

I also took the time to start a knitted scarf for my son, and am trying to add his name in garter stitch lettering at the one end. As I taught myself to knit from a book, and am using a book to find out how to make said scarf, I am including that book in this week's tally thus far:

Very Easy Knits: Very Easy, Very Vogue

Ground Control to Major Tom

2008-09-09T03:18:00.000-07:00

No internet--or barely any, unless borrowed or stolen--and so I will be incommunicado for at least ten to fifteen more days, and I quote:

"There are many procedurals. It is not impossible that you will again have the internet connection to your home THIS YEAR. Hahahahaha, I am telling to you the joke, you see? Oh, but you do NOT see? But of course you do not, your American education has hardly prepared you for--madam, please, how can you attend to me with that gun in your hand and that look in your eye. Really, it is most...unfortunate. Madam, madam, please...just one moment. I am off the schedule for the day at this time and so must attend elsewhere. Madam? Please stop sobbing in this way. It ruins the environment for others."

I can deal with no English satellite stations except NASN (hubby's fave and for SOME reason, already hooked up when we arrived at the new abode). I can even do moderately well without the Vonage phone being hooked back up and no way to jabber my head off at my unsympathetic relatives--or, at least, to those still speaking to me.

But really, people, I ask you. No internet? Flipping hell!

I should get hazard pay for this.

McCain and Able

2008-08-28T00:14:00.000-07:00

I am frightened.

No, not by the rather odd Polish man standing at my gate, asking for God knows what this time.

I had a very bad dream last night. And then I woke up and found my dream was true, after all.

An elderly, cranky, MEAN man, a disloyal man, who has no true ideals nor values, was running for President of the United States and finding favor in many quarters.

His own friends once called him McNasty. He cheats and lies. And when it counted most, he betrayed his country and his fellow soldiers.

His ex-wife is afraid to speak out against him. His new wife, after she married him, became a drunk and an addict.

An old friend to scandal---I remember my parents had friends who lost nearly everything in the S&L fiasco---McNasty remembers his part in that, too. Just ask Neil Bush. Or Charles Keating, who benfited by McCain's disgrace.

McCain wants to be president at age 71--older, even, than when that fluff-tart, Reagan, took office--and HE had Alzheimers while he bumbled and fumbled his way thru his presidency.

I thought the worst was over, when dog-abusing, dead-dunking Mitt Romney dropped out.

Saints preserve us, I think we're headed for real trouble in this country. And I ain't just whistling Dixie.

Michelle Pfeiffer and Me

2008-08-25T02:18:00.000-07:00

Michelle Pfeiffer and I, unbeknownst to me, have something in common. She has all the beauty and talent, of course, and a famous husband.

I have a husband and, while he's beloved by many, he isn't famous--unless you happen to run in certain Magic The Gathering game playing circles. Or are on Xbox 360 Live.

I am certainly NOT beautiful. Cute? On a good day, when the light's just right, maybe. My son thinks I'm pretty and that's good enough for me.

Talented, I can do. If, that is, you count making edible castles out of brownies and cupcakes and creating kid-sized Lego robots--from a few of the blocks, some crepe paper and a pipe cleaner--as talents.

No. What Michelle and I share (I can call her Michelle, now that I know this) is a fairly unusual former occupation and I cannot believe I never knew this, Google queen that I am.

We were both optometric technicians, back in the day. She did her stint before she became a Vons grocery check out girl, before she starred in Hollywood Knights and Grease 2. I did mine off and on for years, at colleges and in private offices, until one day I ran from the exam room, screeching and flapping my arms, at the billionth hearing of "which is better, one or two?".

Just kidding. I was fired. By my fiancee'.

That's not true, either.

I probably don't have enough insurance to cover me for telling the truth, so I'll skip any retelling of the story and just say this: my life and career options started looking better right away. And I could finally see my way clear to begin living a real life again, after that.

Rose-colored glasses optional, when reading the above.

50 Things You Don't Know About Me

2008-08-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

Heard of "100 Things You don't Know About Me"? I have a five year old and an active My Space page, and my time's limited. PRIORITIES, people.

Here goes:

1. I love puns and the people who wield them

2. Both my first and middle name are male

3. Neither my mother nor my father remembers why they gave me those names

4. I haven't spoken to my father since 1988

5. In 1988, I broke up with the man I thought was my life

6. In 2001, I married the man who actually was

7. I was a nude model for artists in life drawing classes, for many years

8. I love hedgehogs

9. My nickname in high school was Webster, like the dictionary

10. I covet the Oxford Unabridged Dictionary and already have a place set aside to receive it, should I ever be so lucky to own one*

11. I am lactose intolerant

12. I do not care that I am lactose intolerant, when it comes to cheese and ice cream and fettucini alfredo

13. I love books more than chocolate

14. I love chocolate more than life

15. I am not kidding about #13 and #14

16. I have met Robert Redford and Garth Brooks and wasn't too impressed by either one

17. My mother dated a Blue Angel and a CIA agent

18. I didn't like either one of them, either

19. I have had 2 stepmothers, but I have met only one

20. I have been married once

21. I attended 3 high schools

22. I attended 2 colleges

23. I have moved 27 times in my life

24. I hated each and every one of those moves

25. I suck at learning languages

26. I just started Polish lessons, so cross your fingers

27. I taught myself to read at age 3

28. I entered college at age 26

29. I have been a housecleaner, an ophthalmic tech, a pharmacy tech, a property manager, an ESL tutor, a bookseller, a writer and a mom

30. Hard as it is, I like being a mom best

31. Sad love songs, stories and movies are my favorites

32. I am somewhat depressed all of the time, probably due to #31

33. I am depressed about #32

34. I am extremely loyal

35. Many ex-friends and lovers have not been

36. I have never been in prison--but I have been arrested

37. It was a false arrest, they thought I was someone else

38. That "someone else" was my sister

39. She has been to jail

40. I don't talk to that sister

41. I have another sister

42. She is pretty much perfect

43. When I was pregnant, they told me my son could have Downs Syndrome

44. He doesn't and I feel guilty that I am happy about that

45. I don't like the way I look

46. I look at myself a lot

47. I find more flaws every day

48. I keep a notebook where I write them down

49. I hate that notebook

50. I hate my flaws more

*It runs to 20 or more volumes now, so "one" isn't really all that accurate, but you get my drift

Make New Friends, But Keep the Old

2008-08-19T00:26:00.000-07:00

Remember that girl scout song? I learned it at summer camp, between 4th and 5th grade, same year I got to swing on a vine over a river, somewhere in truly gorgeous Southern Ohio, for the first time. Oh, and my parents got divorced, too. Pretty memorable year all the way around.

Chaperones at girl scout camp then tended to be girls from your home state aged about 16 to 18, and too busy making out with their own boyfriends off in the woods somewhere, to worry about what you were up to back at the campfire.

The one who was supposed to sleep in with us every night, and handle the homesick, or just plain sick girls, was often "in the latrines" off and on at odd hours throughout the night. You'd go to look for her and she would have just vanished. Come to think of it, she was the nicest and prettiest of the older girls. And she was foreign, too--Swedish I think. Kind of a celebrity to us corn fed Midwestern town girls.

I was an idiot. I thought SHE got homesick and went to find another chaperone to commiserate with.

It wasn't until I was about 21 (hand to God) and truly in love with the first boyfriend in my life you could actually call a man, that I got why in the hell she'd sneak off in the middle of the night, deserting the girls sniffling in their bunks, risking everything, just to go see some stupid boy.

Make new friends, but keep the old
One is silver and the other's gold
A circle's round with no end
That's how long we'll be friends

Across the land, across the sea
Friends forever we will always be

Wherever in the world you are now, pretty little Swedish girl, I hope you are truly happy. And still sneaking off into the woods to meet a boy who can thrill you like that.

Happy Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary Day!

2008-08-15T07:42:00.000-07:00

I've only had half an eye turned toward the Olympics this year, and as a former competitive swimmer, I usually get into watching the summer games.

I'm lukewarm on synchronized swimming and diving--as with rhythm gymnastics and ice dancing, I tend to believe they're a grown-up's version of a dance recital more than sports--but I do love the diving and races.

We're moving to a new place in a week, and Boodle starts kindergarden in two, so we've been concentrating on things closer to home lately. Occasionally, Hubby would pop his head in to tell me Phelps was up to 5! No, 6! gold medals, and I'd nod and go on about my business.

Today though, we're all home because it's another Polish religious holiday. I heard the Polish national anthem blaring from the other room, and ran in just in time to see Tomasz Majewski receive his gold medal in the men's shot put.

The gold medal count for this country now stands at one. It might have been two, had the Poles not been so gallant during the men's team epee. Fair play ruled the day and with honor intact, the Poles drew silver in that event.

Go Poland!

This Is What They Say Who Are Broken Off From Love

2008-08-14T01:30:00.000-07:00

A poem I memorized in college has to stand in for the words I cannot say. I normally cannot stand rhyming poems, even ones in slant rhyme. But being disinherited, and receiving that news in an email from a third party, is its own kind of Blitz, I think.

This is what they say, who were broken off from love:
However long we were loved, it was not enough.

We were afraid of the broad, big policeman,
of lions and tigers, the dark hall and the moon.

Father went, and nothing was ever the same,
when mother did not come back, we made up a war game.

My cat was sitting in the doorway when the plane went over
my cat saw mother cry.
Furry tears, fire fell, wall went down,
Did my cat see mother die?

Mother is gone and my cat sits here coughing.
I cough and sit.
I am nobody's nothing.

However long they loved us, it was not enough.
We have to be strong, to know what they did and then,
our people are saved in time, our house built again.

You do not know, who have a sister and brother,
your doll is your child.

My doll is my mother.

However strong we are, it is not strong enough.

I want to grow up. To come back to love.

From The Children's Elegy
by Muriel Rukeyser

This House Guarded By Killer Dustballs

2008-08-05T11:48:00.000-07:00

I LOATHE cleaning.

I used to have a cross stitched framed picture of a house, that I made myself, with the above sentiment on it. I had it hanging in the entryway of the townhouse I shared with two guys when I worked and lived in Ohio. It got a lot of laughs, although our actual filth did not.

But one day, I left it on the passenger seat of my car--I think I took it off the wall to bring in and show someone at work--and forgot about it.

That night, my car windows were all smashed in and my stereo (Alpine) and speakers (Blaupunkt) were stolen. They smashed up my framed picture, too.

They probably had a big ol' redneck laugh when they read it--if they could read at all--but they did have the courtesy to leave it behind.

That was about 17 years ago or so, and I have no idea what happened to that poor picture after that. I think I salvaged and hid it in my underwear drawer, intending to reframe it. But then I moved again. And again and again and again.

I'd love to find it, or the pattern again. My dustballs need representin' over here.

Slant Rant

2008-07-28T02:48:00.000-07:00

Americans, for all their cultural charms, have a problem with race. But if you believe Americans are the most insensitive people on Earth, or the most inclined to be prejudiced, you haven't seen the current TV ads running over here in Poland. Or traveled in Japan.

You rarely see black, "ethnic" or non-white people in any ads, whether they come from Italy, Germany, France or Poland. There are rare exceptions--the Gillette ads featuring Tiger Woods play over and over again over here, a token gesture.

It's Pleasantville, Polish style, on the little screen.

They seem to mostly use German ads, where the people are very..um..Aryan..and dub them in Polish. Which makes no sense, given the history between the two countries.

What genius, in a multicultural society, in a diversified work group in some powerhouse Manhattan, London, Parisian or Berlin agency, decided that it was ok to ignore half the makeup of the EU when selling their products to the other half?

I know. They ignored the rightness or wrongness of it, and just decided it meant more bucks--which is, after all, in their job description. They are making these atrocities to order, to their client's taste. And they are handsomely rewarded for it.

The client is serving them up to a populace hungry for products and the people buying the products want to see folks who look just like themselves, consuming them.

But people, if you haven't seen the new McDonald's ads for some kind of oriental shrimp, with people pulling their eyelids slanty, and crossing their eyes, kung-fu fighting while chowing down to da-da-da-da-da, dahn dahn dahn! chopsticks music in the background, you haven't lived.

I have never laughed so hard, albeit guiltily, except for maybe the time I saw the bandolier-laden, pistola gripping, grim faced Hispanic man on the can of refried beans in the BOMI deli.

Cruel to be Kind

2008-06-16T06:40:00.000-07:00

What with Shrub for a President, I can honestly see where Europeans get the idea that we're all a bunch of idiots, with shit for brains.

Poles unknowingly say things which are out of line to my face, in front of others, and truly, have NO IDEA that these things are perhaps best left unsaid. To me, or anyone else, really. But the hits keep on coming, from all sides of the EU team.

I myself have said a number of things--to non-Poles--about some of the strange Polish things we've seen here. I typically run anything that feels funky past a Polish lady married to a Frenchman, first, to guage the reaction she has about it. If it bothers her and she feels free to say so, then I feel free to be weirded out by it!

I tend to be pretty critical of America, myself--when we act like asses, I don't try to say it's justified. I'm a patriot and revert to defense mode when attacked, but I am fair. I say so, when we're not perfect.

We make a lot of stupid mistakes, culturally, globally. We need to try harder at making a go of our multicultural society back home. Get serious and really try to eradicate the crime-drug-gun trifecta. And maybe do some rethinking of the healthcare and public transport systems--that'd be appreciated, too.

I refer people who ask about the crime back home to the UN and WHO stats (google "nationmaster" or go to nationmaster dot com, and see for yourself), which show that per capita, we are NOT the most dangerous country in the world, and do not have the most rapes, or gun crimes, or kidnappings, etc.

China--which seems to have decided NOT to answer the surveys--is the world's most populous country, and were it to be included in the stats, would probably really throw those numbers for a loop. The agencies who collect these figures say they know they don't show the whole picture, the due to some countries in which crime reporting is simply not done, or where the authorities falsify them, or do not allow monitoring or scrutiny of those records and reporting procedures.

A particular problem seems to be countries where conflict and war keep them from paying attention to these crimes, when they're so busy dealing with ethnic cleansing and genocide. Go figure.

If you're curious, see here:

http://www.nationmaster.com/graph/cri_mur_percap-crime-murders-per-capita

Rapes, per capita: US is #9
Assaults, per capita: US is #6
Drug Offences: US #4 overall, by the total number of offences reported (no per capita data collected)
Murders, per capita: US is #24
Murders by Firearm, per capita: US is #8
Burglaries, per capita: US is #17
Car thefts, per capita: US is #9
Fraud, per capita: US is #18
Embezzlement, per capita: US is #30

Nie mowie po Polsku*

2008-05-09T05:30:00.000-07:00

For me, learning enough vocabulary in Polish to get my meaning across is not the hardest part of living here--it's the pronunciation of the double consonants, often made up of strings of z's and c's that gets me, every time.

I found the Rosetta Stone Polish I cd set to be helpful in understanding basics, but also love the contributions from the poster named Magauchsein at Youtube. Quick and dirty, not meant to be real teaching units, just basic simple pronunciation guides for the true beginner. The British Council website has some short audio files for beginners, too--as well as pages on beginner Latvian, Lithuanian, Finnish, etc.

I have unfortunately discovered the Polish yellow pages in English, Cracow-Life.com (I'll get back to that apparent spelling error in a future post), The Krakow Post free newspaper and the English language version of the online cultural guide to the city of Krakow, too. All of which are conspiring to keep me from hiring a tutor and learning the Polish language properly.

Well that, and the fact that when I try to speak Polish in public, everyone in the vicinity seems horrified, takes pity on me and starts speaking the little bit of English they know, just to get me to shut up.

I made the mistake of believing that the online, English-language message board called Polish Forums would be helpful to me in the language department. My bad.

I was so distracted by the lively discussions there that I lost sight of my original goal of reading the lessons section exclusively. Many were fun to participate in; some authentic Polish recipes were shared, genealogy assistance provided, cultural exchanges were mounted on a scale Bush and Tusk seem not able to comprehend.

But my temper got the best of me a few times, probably because ignorance and racism are pet peeves, and I suddenly found myself responding to people posting there that in real life, I'd ignore. Or in some cases, try to have committed.

The people over there can be very helpful when they want to be and I have ferreted out quite a good bit of useful information about Poland and my new hometown over the past few months, so it's not all bad.

But I did have to institute some new rules about when I am allowed to read the latest posts:

1. Do not read the threads which begin with "Go home, foreigners!" or the like, when there is no chocolate in the house. Chocolate is my salve of choice for wounded pride and works pretty good for troll bites, too.

2. I must religiously check my pulse rate and temperature, both before and after visiting. This is to ensure that I am not having a stroke, brought about by holding in my anger--or worse, expressing it--at the behavior of some of the worst offenders.

Other than that, it's a good site to get to know. Really.

Know thine enemy and all that.

* I do not speak Polish

We Know How to Bring the Crazy

2008-05-06T10:16:00.000-07:00

Attention, Americans in Krakow:

Do NOT tip 20%. Or accept that you will face the wrath of angry co-eaters, who will admonish you for "showing off" or "being ridiculous and ruining it for the rest of us".

Learn to like espresso and Turkish coffee. "Y(our) coffee is tasteless, like most things American".

Learn the following phrase. Practice speaking it aloud in a forceful, yet polite, way: No, I do not know anyone at the consulate, to help speed up your VISA application so you can go to the US. Sorry.

Keep up with home state news outlets, so that you, too, can debunk the "Americans are rioting in Sam's Club over rice" rumors, and the "Americans are getting into bunkers with their weapons because of the imminent collapse of the US government" rumors in one go.

Ask a Brit what "fancy dress" means, BEFORE you plan to attend an evening event in a hotel.

Don't bother asking for the directions to the nearest McDonald's: it's awful here and costs an arm and a leg. AND THEY DON"T HAVE PANCAKES FOR BREAKFAST. They do not have "our" pancakes in Poland, period.

Either wear your wedding rings on your right hand, or deal with the stares when they see you speaking English, with your child in tow.

Shovel your sidewalk the minute a snowflake falls, or learn how to say to the Straz Miejska, in Polish,"I am sorry, I did not know it was against the law to have snow on the walkway during a blizzard, and if you promise not to put those cuffs on me, I will lick the sidewalk clean with my tongue--- just as soon as you leave."

Be prepared! The local police are required to come to see you, unannounced, shortly after you move in. While you panic and shout at your spouse for the THIRD time, apparently unheard, to just go get the passports already, they will eat your cookies, drink your coffee and ask the following questions--IN POLISH:

a) Are you handling explosives in the home?

b) Do you plan to overthrow the Polish government anytime soon, and if so, how?

c) Are you legally married? Can you prove it? You are? Then why is your last name different than his? Is this your son? Then why is his last name different than yours? Can you prove it?

Have your Polish speaking landlord on speed-dial, and all your papers in order, for just such an eventuality.

If you bring your comfy mattress or your American clothes dryer here, learn to ignore the "Americans are lazy and soft" comments. Just keep your mouth shut, grin like an idiot, and revel in the fluffy softness of your ill-gotten gains.

Don't talk to Polish men playing with their children in the park, unless they are your husband. Just don't talk to Polish men, period, if you are alone in public and have not been introduced.

Do not try to take cookies or food to your new neighbors when you move into your new home. Trust me on this one.

Where's the Beef?

2008-04-24T23:52:00.000-07:00

Dave Thomas is Kaiser Roll-ing in His Grave

Some guy named Nelson Peltz just bought out Wendy's International, which was started by the loveable huggabear that was Dave Thomas, back in my old hometown. Yep, that's right--we were the first people EVER to taste the frozen heaven that was Frosty.

"Some guy" happens to own Arby's already and apparently, he has twice tried to visit this sacrilege upon Wendy's before. But that was back in the day, when the mighty Dave Thomas was still alive to defend the company he named for his daughter, Wendy.

So, this Peltz is apparently the kind of guy that couldn't do it properly the first two times. He couldn't get the backing and funding he needed to do it, to... get it up, so to speak.

I cannot illustrate for you the utter awfulness of what this man has done. If I was back in the states, I'd be picketing Arby's with groups of likeminded people, all of us carrying signs that say "WHERE'S THE BEEF, NELSON?"

New Money, Old Money

2008-03-18T06:53:00.000-07:00

The most I ever thought I'd have to say about this subject is that new money picks its nose from bad manners, whereas old money does so because it itches.

But today, I have been gobsmacked by an even poorer display of bad taste.

Seen the new $5.00 bill?

http://blogs.moneycentral.msn.com/smartspending/archive/2008/03/17/new-fiver-debuts-with-a-huge-purple-5.aspx

What in God's name are they doing in America these days?

Besides thinking up funny colors to slap on our devalued money, I mean.

Chorizo is a Beautiful Thing

2008-03-09T05:34:00.000-07:00

Despite my well known aversion to orange food-- particularly that which is fake-orange-dusted and/or enhanced (cheesy poufs , barbecue flavored potato chips and the like)--Polish eggs have won me over.

They are quite tasty and make excellent omelets, with or without the addition of kabanosy or kielbasa, herbs, mushrooms, whatever-you-got-in-the-fridge.

Chicken shit splats all over the shells aside, the eggs are truly awesome and like much of the Polish food we've encountered, are quite cheap.

I hemmed and hawed a bit before digging in the very first time, because the yolks are a brilliant day-glo orange before cooking.

But to say that I was surprised at their freshness, knowing they came from Carrefour, our local hypermarket, is an understatement. They still smelled of chicken ass when cracked, and tasted like a summer day.

The sausage added to the scrambled eggs in the pic was hand-carried back to Poland by Hubby. He bought it in Miranda, Spain while he was on a business trip and all I can say is, chorizo is a beautiful thing.

Book Porn

2008-02-26T05:53:00.000-08:00

Bibliophiles, Beware!

There is no Polish Amazon.com.

I almost fainted when I found that out. Amazon is my lover, it's my "fix", since I quit smoking. I live for lightning deals and brake for fabulous Friday sales with free shipping. I get all my sex toys there, for God's sake!

The nearest version is Amazon.de (de=deutsch = Germany). They and Amazon.uk do deliver books here, but for outrageously expensive rates.

For Valentines' Day, Hubby got some me chocolate and also, because he values his sanity, paid a $24 US shipping fee, for 3 mass market paperbacks from the UK-- and a $12 US shipping fee for same, from Germany--which is just 4 hours away.

Bookratt is now searching for change in the cushions of her extremely uncomfortable Polish couch, for her next trip to the bookstore.

Krakow has Empik, Interbook, Massolit and a few other places, for books in English. I've bought used books in Skawina and new books at Galeria Krakowska. Hubby's co-worker, C, has to guard his bookshelf when I'm around.

But Bookratt devours books. And begs, borrows and steals them from other expats and weeps uncontrollably when she has to finish them, even the fauxmance ones, the ones she despises, with heaving breasts on the front, that she normally spits on.

Hubby has offered, during many a 4 a.m. sob spell, to kill me quietly and throw me into the Wisla.

Book Club, which I am now attending via a womens group called IWAK, helps some. You can take 4-5 books away each time, pay 20 zloty ($8 US) into the book kitty, and you get some nice eats from a nice lady to boot. But Book Club is only once per month and while I did take 5 books last time, do not wish to appear greedy.

Bookratt does not care about BEING greedy where books are concerned, but she does not wish to appear so, to perfect strangers.

But next month? Book Club better watch out. The drooling that Bookratt plans to do, as she loves all over the book porn splayed before her, may be more than the next hostess can handle.