Christmas Eve

We are trying to figure out what to do with our night. We spent our day shoveling, listening to carols and in wonder at the snow. Another foot has fallen since Sunday's foot and a half and the city has shut itself down.

We went for a snowy walk earlier, and built a magnificent looking Snow Lady holding a baby. Not related to Christ at all, mind you. Perhaps we were just missing our own mothers.

Sipping eggnog, warm by the fire, but missing home.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Recession Foods: Comfort for your Wallet and your Belly

(also posted here)

In many ways I have been lucky during this economic melt down. In order to lose money, you had to have had some money to lose. Though I may have quit my job just as things started to really get bad in the US, the few dollars I had in my bank account are more are less still there. (OK, much less than more)

Lucky for me I've spent the last few months rent free, relying on loved ones for a warm bed in exchange for my engaging, graceful, hilarious, fun and humble company and dog walking skills.

I enjoy an excellent meal out as much as the next girl. Fancy, filling, frilly foods with local ingredients will lure me to any restaurant in the most dangerous part of town. Due to my lack of income though, I've made an honest attempt in the last few months in steering clear of meals that may break the bank.

Here are some tips I've learned along the way.

1. Get cooking. Easy for me to say, as I've grown up helping in my mother's kitchen. Many people are scared off at the idea of putting a meal together from scratch, but in reality it is much simpler, and much more fun than you think. Investing in a basic cookbook like How to Cook Everything or Better Homes and Garden's New Cook Book will get you on your way. These both have recipes covering the classics with simple, easy to follow instructions as well as food terms, ratios and substitution information if you get stuck. There are also numerous online websites with videos and Q+A sections. Before you know it you will have a full on relationship with epicurious.com and you won't be missing those dinners out quite so much.

2. Buy recession friendly foods. Pasta, rice, canned goods, potatoes and frozen pizza dough all can be filling base ingredients for inexpensive dishes. Now is a good time to learn how to cook your grandmother's famous macaroni and cheese or that three bean chili your tried at your crazy uncle's house last year. Make your own spaghetti sauce with canned tomatoes and your own hummus with a can of chickpeas. Once you know how easy it is to make your own, you'll never go back to spending over five dollars on something that cost you 99 cents to make.

3. Host a potluck. In troubled times, nothing is better than having a supportive community. Not only will you get a fridge full of leftovers, (even if you try to send them off with food, I guarantee you will have enough left behind to feed you for a week) but you will also have time to connect with people that are going through similar situations. Make sure you ask each participant to bring a specific course (you don't want 15 lbs of pasta salad in your fridge) and to bring a few copies of their recipe to share. With friends and family around, I am sure by the end of the night the economic crisis will not seem so bad.

4. Eat your veggies. Don't skimp on the important things when prices are going up. Most people don't eat enough fruits and vegetables anyway, but with added costs you may feel the need to cut back. Instead take a look at what you are spending your money on that does not add nutritional value to your day. Processed, pre-packaged foods are expensive and often offer little nutritional value. Put your dollars towards healthful foods and you will come out of this recession feeling healthy and maybe even dropping a few pounds.

5. Treat yourself. (And do it locally!) Don't forget to take yourself out once in a while. Not only will it make things feel not quite as desperate, but it will also maintain the community that you call home. Whether it is the multi-generation owned Italian joint where you first held your husband's hand, or the falafel stand that got you through your late night undergrad binges, be sure to choose for the people behind the counters as well as for the food, and in a few months they will still be there to thank you

And now I am sharing my favorite soup recipe. Use it, share it, eat it, sell it. I don't care, as long as you enjoy it.


Squash-Ginger Soup

1 large butternut squash
2 yellow onions
3 cloved garlic, chopped
3 potatoes
2 cooking apples (mac's work best)
2 tablespoons fresh grated ginger
1.5 tablespoons fresh chopped rosemary
crushed red pepper (to taste)
salt and pepper (to taste)
4 cups water, or veggie stock (will be saltier)
1-2 cups milk, apple cider, or OJ*

1. Cut squash in half and roast in oven for 45 mins or until soft and skin easily is removed.

2. While squash is roasting, sautee onions in a tablespoon of butter in large pot until translucent. Add garlic and cook for a few more minutes.

3. Peel and cube potatoes and apples and add to onion mixture. Add ginger and rosemary and stir to keep from burning.

4. Add 2 cups of water and let simmer on medium heat until potatoes and apples soften.

5. When squash is soft, remove skin and seeds and cube. Add to potato mixture. Add the rest of the liquids and seasonings and simmer for half an hour or so.

6. Add soup to food processor or blender and blend until smooth.

* I used some cream and OJ and it turned out really well. There are multiple ways to adjust the recipe though. I believe I used to add carrots as well which enhanced the color. I probably used more than two tablespoons of ginger because I really like ginger, but it does have a lot of heat to it. I sprinkled with some Parmesan cheese, and YUM! Parsley garnish would probably taste good too.

Back to work

So my first partial week back in the partial workforce is over. Phew! I'm exhausted! Well, maybe not. Actually I am really enjoying having some purpose to my day. Even if it is only for five hours of the day and for minimum wage. And interning for a news type organization means that I am, as a result, much more in tune with what is actually going on in the world. And mostly, as you may know, what is going on is not good. The US has surpassed its lowest employment rates in 34 years, (whew! glad I'm not there!), there are wars being threatened on almost every continent, there is a global energy crisis, cholera outbreaks, HIV epidemics, not enough clean water etc. But I am learning other things too. (Like how to suck up my pride?) And it seems an appropriate time for me to be reading The Grapes of Wrath. I am keeping in mind that it is not just my situation that seems dour, that in fact, people have gone through similar and much worse situations before, and prevailed. I just need to surround myself with happy people, and so the story goes, I will be happy too.

Eric

Every day, at random hours of the day, there is a man who will call to someone in a third floor apartment across the street, at the top of his lungs "Eric! Eric! Eric!" until he is heard.

On this street, with nighttime neighbors whose professions are questionable at best, one may wonder at the inconspicuousness of this "Romeo".

Will work for food.

Here I am, back in Vancouver, with visa in hand and a desperate willingness to find work. I'd forgotten how difficult, and disheartening it is to look for jobs. The economy doesn't help. As the temp agency said “There really isn't much out there. Companies aren't hiring full time employees and aren't offering benefits. Everyone is waiting to see what happens...” meanwhile, I am waiting to hear back from someone, anyone! I've also realized that I've dug myself into a hole these last few blissful years. I am more than qualified for cafe positions here in the city, of which there are many, but what about trying something new? I am no longer a recent graduate, entirely moldable and naive. I have skills and experience doing a variety of things, but nothing that translates all that well to a resume.

While perfecting a rosetta in hot milk is no small feat, most offices don't appreciate a decent cup of coffee when it spills on their lap.(Speaking of excellent coffee, one of the many toys Bryan bought while I was gone was a new Capresso Burr Grinder. The thing rocks! It makes the most satisfying grinding noise, not that obnoxious, heart pumping high pitched whir. The conical topper means beans don't get stuck and you don't have to shake the living hell out of it to prevent the motor from over heating. We make French press coffee, so the grind is large, but the espresso grind looked fine and consistent. There really are few things better than having fresh coffee in the morning.) So I find myself applying for anything I think I am remotely capable of. Urology reception, perhaps? Starbucks manager? Janitor? OK, so I didn't apply for any of those, but I did think about it, and this fact is depressing and causes all sorts of “what am I doing with my life?” mini panic attacks.

And I've had serious bouts of homesickness. Thanksgiving in Canada was a strange experience. Vancouver does not feel like a different country. But for the subtle annoying differences (you can't watch The Office online, or download music from iTunes, and I get charged each time I use my credit card, a thing I am doing quite frequently) the city just doesn't feel foreign. I spent Thanksgivings in Italy and New Zealand, and each time I missed home, but the reason for missing it was more obvious.

The good news though, is that I got an internship! Back to square one for me, but it is in an interesting environment with good seeming people. I won't make much money but I will get some experience that may open doors for me in a few months. And Bryan is being supportive and understanding as usual and he hasn't asked me to leave just yet.

But for all you folks back home, envious of my moments of freedom, be thankful for your paychecks, and save them up for a trip out west. I miss you.

Riding the waves...

It has been a week now, since that long yearned for day arrived and many Americans prayers were answered in the nomination of Barack Obama as our next leader. I chose to celebrate at a local theater in the Denver Highlands. The Oriental, host of open mic nights, drama troupes, community fundraisers and local music opened its doors on election night, complete with giant CNN projection screen, fighting candidates with foam heads, daring burlesque dancers in political regalia (And one who swung in a hoop hanging from the ceiling, perhaps representing the underprivileged voices who feel trapped in an endless circle, never quite able to get their feet firmly planted on solid ground... or maybe not. Her name was Midnight Martini after all.) and screaming fans. It was most certainly the most exciting election night I have experienced, in the past watching the television alone while my fingernails mysteriously grew stubbier.

We all know that this election was different. I received phone calls, text messages and emails from my friends in Boston, Milan, Vancouver, Sydney, and Wellington, New Zealand. This was not just an American triumph, but one cheered for around the world. And though the initial exhilaration is subsiding, we are nonetheless anxious and hopeful for things to come. Especially for things like the appointment of the new Obama dog.

My blissful Denver days are coming to an end soon. I've read many books and have started a new pile. Tomorrow I head to Santa Fe to visit my mom, who is there for a weekend conference. I can't wait to check out a new corner of the country and experience the real southwest. On Tuesday I fly to Vancouver where Bryan and I scramble to pull together the paperwork required for me to move to Canada with a valid work visa.

The weekend after I arrive we have to drive to Seattle find a notary and a post office, and hopefully a few of our friends that we haven't seen in years. We are even going to spend some time enjoying the city! So far my visits have been to and from the airport, and included an egg and cheese muffin and a glass of wine (Separate meals, of course.) Perhaps we will glimpse the space needle in daylight and shop the public market for lunch. The whole weekend leads up to a life defining moment (I've been lacking drama lately) when I cross the border and ask the border officials to please, PLEASE give me a work visa. I will be armed with paperwork and good intentions. (As well as a vicious pit bull (sans lipstick) if things don't go my way.)

I am anxious, what someone very dear to me once told me was merely “alternating waves of hope and despair.” I am comforted whenever I remember this. And though the I have a fifty fifty chance of a wave of despair, somehow the wave of hope always seems to have a bigger swell.

Enough nautical talk though. Life will be changing again soon, as I remind all of my friends who dread it, change is good. And if not good, interesting at the very least.

The Hope Disease

It is difficult not to feel the buzz in the air. Tomorrow's election will surely be the most important in my lifetime, and it is exciting to ride the wave of hope and fear we are all feeling. I am proud of the direction this country is leaning for the first time in my adult life. I've realized that hope is the most contagious disease there is.

After the last election, it was difficult to feel anything other than despair. I remember going to work the next day, in an office of mostly liberal minded world travelers in Cambridge, Massachusetts, perhaps one of the bluest cities in the country. The office chatter was dulled. The faces morose. There were no jokes told at the water cooler or email gossip shared. I remember calling my mom on the phone from the office. She offered her usual optimism, “We'll get through this, Karen. We survived Reagan, didn't we?” But even her voice did not hold its usual assurance. The state of disbelief was slow to lift.

And after countless damages to our reputation in the world, our economy, our safety and peace, those of us who are here are now ready. Not only does the majority of our country now support Obama but more importantly, I believe, is that the majority of the world supports us in our support of him.

I'm planning on heading to Canada regardless of the election results, but for the first time I am hoping my passport will give me pride, rather than embarrassment, as I cross the borderline.

Friends of Friends, or The Kindness of Neighbors

As I am furiously scrubbing away at Laura and Andy's kitchen this morning, there appeared a heavy knocking on their front door. I swing the door open and a gentleman is standing excitedly with two bottles of wine in his hands,

"Laura! We've brought you some...Oh! You're not Laura! Shit!(sorry!)"

We both laughed and and I muttered something of "it happens a lot, we apparently look alike," and he proceeded to hand over the two bottles, a thank you for the honey they had received, chivalrously offering any assistance that I may need while the happy couple is away.

What kindly neighbors, I thought to myself, back to scrubbing in the kitchen, wondering if the scenario would play out as easily in Boston. Not ten minutes later there is another knock on the door and the same gentleman is there, with another bottle of wine in hand.

"It didn't seem fair that your sister is enjoying the Italian sunshine. You deserve a fine bottle of Italian Red!" After thanking him profusely we parted ways, and I still am quite in awe. Bringing a bottle of wine to a neighbor is an excellent kindness, but bringing a bottle of wine to a perfect stranger is quite another thing indeed.

This example is an addition to the growing kindness pile which has been stacking steadily since leaving the East Coast. Yesterday I was hosted in Boulder by the best "friend of a friend" a girl could ask for. I'd met Harvest just once, briefly last summer but had exchanged enough information to have a contact out west. After getting in touch, she invited me to enjoy not only her company, but Dalia's as well, another "friend of a friend" who was in town for a few days. Hosting two friends-once-removed in one weekend may be a lot for some people, but not for Harvest. It was the perfect night of kindred spirits wonderful conversation and most excellent food.

The Dog Days of Denver

There are few better ways to wake up than to surprised laughter as your hear the thump thump thump and POUNCE, of a dog in your bed. As excited to wake me as a child on Christmas morning, Jack's slobbery snout nuzzles me into my first few moments of alertness. And we are laughing.

A good start to any day.

Jack and I have been enjoying each other's company immensely since Laura and Andy left on Friday for their extremely delayed Italian Honeymoon. The dog has got personality. I am sure that I have never laughed so much at another animal, and certainly have laughed more with him than with some people I know. He is quirky and silly and seems to have it in his mind that it is his purpose to entertain me.

And a good thing, too! I don't know anyone here in Denver and am reluctant to try too hard to make acquaintances that I will shortly be leaving once again. I am seasoned at alone-time though. Travels, and pet sitting and my personality are fairly well suited to the solitary life. Still, I wouldn't mind a friend to go to dinner with now and again. I'm getting tired of cooking for myself, but can't seem to justify spending the money on a dinner out without someone to share with.

Denver is growing on me, though. The people are friendly. The food is good. There is a healthy, green vibe. And though “no one comes to Denver because it is really sexy” according to my sister, I can certainly appreciate the appeal. We are close enough to mountains for hiking. There are lakes to walk around and fields to play in. And if you are into winter sports, well, there are few better places in the US. (This being said, I am not into winter sports, in fact hate winter, but would surly be converted were I to stay.)

And happily, I've rediscovered my love for sitting in coffee houses. Working in coffee houses can have the unfortunate effect of leading one to avoid them in their off-hours. I am learning to resist the urges to head behind the counter and make my own coffee (better than they can, of course) and bus other people's tables. I am no longer judging customers when they don't tip. I don't care if they are abusing their wi-fi privileges. I laugh if the barista scowls at me. It feels good to be an anonymous face during the morning rush.

I am currently writing this from the most “1369” like Coffee House that I've found nearby. Though it doesn't really compare, I can appreciate their efforts, at the very least.

The Okanagan Wine Weekend o' Fun

We all know what Canadians are good at. Hockey. Skiing. Saying 'eh?' at the end their sentences.
When you think of good wine though, your mind likely does not jump directly to British Columbia. Italy, Spain, Chile? California, Australia, Argentina? Not too long ago I too would have grouped Canada into the fine wine producing nations such as Antarctica and Ireland. No longer, my friends.

But what would travel be without growth? Without crossing cultural boundaries and breaking down those hard stone barriers in our minds and hearts? You can learn lessons from a book or website, a friend or television screen, but the lessons of true value are the ones we learn ourselves. And so, in a mission of self improvement, a triumphant quest for knowledge, I traveled to the distinguished vineyards of the Okanagan.

We left late afternoon on Friday with a 5 hour drive ahead of us, just two hungry people and foul mouthed dog. Vancouver is superb at many things, but easing traffic is not one of them. Local rumors attribute this to environmentally friendly city planners who want more people to live in the city than to commute. There are bike lanes and pedestrian controlled lights. An efficient bus and subway system, and easily walkable streets. But attempting to get out of the city on any of its major routes has been a nightmare. Eventually we broke free of the bumpers in front and behind of us and were zooming through the blackness the likes of which I've only seen in New Zealand, listening to NPR Food Podcasts and singing whatever songs came clumsily through the intermittent radio. We arrived at our hotel in Kewlona late and not long after were sound asleep, anxious to get an early start on the next day's wineventures.

After a tasty breakfast burrito at the charmingly named “Greatful Fed” restaurant, we were on our way to our first vineyard, Quail's Gate. Being a wine tasting novice, I was pleasantly surprised to realize that yes, they just give you wine. For free. And if you want to try a bit more it is a mere dollar!The wine was tasty, though the tasting room and gift shop were crowded and noisy. I felt slightly uneasy at first gulp, not sure of tasting etiquette or required interaction with the wine pourer. But I relaxed soon enough, and found it an interesting challenge to try to actually taste those notes of nutmeg and hints of pomegranate.

Next in line was Mission Hill Vineyards. A beautiful, hill top estate, complete with church, green patio pavilion, lush amphitheater and slightly snobbish air. The view of Lake Okanagan was spectacular though, and the wine better than the one before. We both adored the 2005 Shiraz, but had a hard time enjoying the smoky tobacco notes of the bolder Syrah.

(Do I sound like a connoisseur, yet? Not to worry, there are more.)

Onward we drove to the Naramata Bench Vineyards in Penticton. The vineyards here were much more our pace. They were small, family owned and not over crowded. There was one to two pourers in each place, all with an intense knowledge and pride in their offerings. We visited Stonehill Estates which had an excellent port, Mistral Estates, whose Chardonnay I really enjoyed (I am not a Chardonnay drinker,) and Spiller Estates, which not only had tasty fruit wines, but also an ice cream stand too cute to pass up.

As we gathered our bearings, ate our ice cream and played with the local dog we were able to really look around us and take in the absolutely incredible scenery. Though the skies had been threatening all day, they had yet to unleash even a sprinkle. The clouds were dark and dramatic allowing sun rays to filter through in reluctant and fierce golden slivers. The vineyards shook in the wind and shone in the sun and the grapes jingled as gems. What a beautiful place, this wine land!

After our break we drove farther up the hill to Laughing Stock Vineyard where a former stock market couple sold it all to live their dream of owning a vineyard. We sampled some of the best wines of the day where all proceeds from the two dollar tasting went to charity. (Is this tax deductible?)

We attended one final vineyard, which was a highlight of the day, at the colorful, fun and beautiful Elephant Valley Vineyards. This, like Spiller Estates was a fruit winery, and the one which sold me on the idea of fruit wine. Not being into sweet wines myself, I was quite pleased to taste the tangy pear and slightly bitter- sour apricot wines. But without a doubt, their cherry port was too good to pass up. We bought a bottle and some chocolate to have for our dessert.

All in all, it was an exquisite day; my first wine tasting experience, my first trip to the spectacular innards of British Columbia, my first appreciation for the wines of Canada.

And when Bryan asked if I wanted to go to one more vineyard at the end of the day, I muttered,

“No, I think I am kind of wine-d out.”

It was indeed, a day of firsts.

The flying of time...

My trip to our friendly Northern neighbor is coming to a close. The last several weeks have passed so quickly and happily that I barely noticed the slipping of September into October. And now here I am with just three days left to enjoy.

How does one jobless lady find time passing so quickly, you ask? I've stayed relatively busy, and amused in my daytime alone hours. I'm half heartedly finishing up a TEFL course, which is so badly designed and written it is embarrassing. I paid for it though, so am determined to plow through. At least I will earn a certificate, if not actual knowledge. I've been reading. I've been going on long walks and cooking and mostly really enjoying being unemployed for a while.

But I know this time will have to draw to a close shortly. I've decided to try to find a job here in Vancouver which poses multiple problems, the biggest being the issue of the work permit. From various accounts I've heard the process is not entirely an easy one, with a large cost and a necessary written job offer to take back to the States to even apply. And still, nothing is guaranteed until I physically cross the border line. Here's hoping the Canadians like me as much as I like them!

Bryan and I have had so many fun experiences here so far. We've tried many, though not enough, of the wonderful restaurants this city has to offer. We've seen beautiful waterfalls and amazing coasts. We rode ferries and had picnics in parks. We've cooked for friends and had friends cook for us. We've found good coffee houses and good people. We've drank too many bottles of good BC wine.

Speaking of which...

What better way to end my month of Vancouver bliss than by going to a wine festival? Tonight we are heading to Kelowna, BC to the Okanagan Fall Wine Festival. I can't wait to see a new part of this province and try some tasty wines along the way!

Monday I fly out and I am so looking forward to my time in Denver with my sister and her quirky husband and most adorable dog. I feel so sure that I've made the right decision in coming out here and exploring things with Bryan and feel so blessed to have time to spend with my sister. How encouraging to follow my gut and have it not steer me down a potholed, muddy path.

Life, it is good.

Oh so civil.

Though I feared I may have to stay in Canada due to the fact that I was skipping out on my civil duties in NH, I was thankfully excused from service.

I may just stay anyways.

Beautiful British Columbia*

It has been almost a week now in Vancouver, and so far I have nary a complaint. Sure, not having a job or much responsibility helps. Sure, having a fantastic, cute tour guide and slobbery dog-friend helps too. But I think if I look past these obvious attractions, I still find a city and area I am really quite fond of.

Out on the town Friday evening with Bryan's coworkers, his boss offered us his home on a small island located in Howe Sound, not far from Vancouver for the rest of the weekend. Gambier Island has one general store and a lot of natural beauty. After two ferry rides, Bryan, Moose and I arrived in New Brighton in search of an old Suburban with keys in the ignition and rear brakes that “may or may not work, depending on if Eli fixed them” to bring us to our destination. A vintage Airstream. Th King of RV's.


Ours was decked out in kid-friendly colorfulness. Science magazine pages tiled the floor, crayons were a strew, books crowded over shelves, dishes piled in cabinets and children's drawings adorned the walls. The in-doors was great, but the land was the adventure. Their lot is a virtual child paradise, complete with zip line, fire pit, pond, trampoline, tree swing and of course, thousands of bugs and fairies.


We explored for the area and then set to the task of starting the fire. After a few minutes of a damp start we soon had a blazing inferno** that lasted long into the night. We brought food to cook on the Airstream stove but chose instead to keep the company of the wilderness with a bag of potato chips and marshmallows to roast for dinner and dessert. How infrequent and precious these outdoor moments have become in the last few years! I was blissed out reminiscing about New Zealand and my days of campervan living, and realized again how much I long for a closer relationship to nature. After hours of conversation and contemplation we went to bed and I had one of the best nights sleep that I can recall... cuddled in piles of blankets with a gentle forest buzz in my ears and the smell of fire smoke in my hair.


We woke early the next morning (well, Bryan woke very early and saw the sunrise. I, like I said, was sleeping soundly.) We each walked down to the dock, and saw otters playing in the morning mist. These were beautiful alone-moments in a beautiful place.

We left the island rather early on Sunday. Buying out the entire IKEA Vancouver store on Saturday morning, we had unmade furniture waiting for our skilled assembly. We spent the rest of the day on Sunday working on making this beautiful loft space into a beautiful home space. We now have a couch to relax on! And space to chop on! And a table to eat on, and curtains to peak through and chairs to sit on! We are getting to a very homey, lovely space and I feel very privileged to be a contributor to design process.

Today Bryan flew to Toronto for a meeting of the creative computer minds. I toiled the day away wandering, cooking, eating, reading and taking myself to see the movie Vickie Christina Barcelona**. Tomorrow my dear friend Teresa visits for a few days for further Vancouver adventures.

Now I will retire to a book, some good music, a great dog and glass of wine and the pizza that I just made using a new pizza dough recipe and a completely foreign convection oven.


*BC license plate motto
**Slight exaggeration
** I loved this movie! I really appreciated Vickie and Christina's relationship and their non judgmental friendship. And I really appreciated that Javier Borden is pretty damn sexy.

Vancouver!

Greetings from the West Coast! I'm drinking my coffee and looking out of Bryan's enormous new loft windows at a crane building one of many new apartment buildings going up, a beautiful blue sky, littered rooftops and apartments sporting the beloved red and white maple leafed flags of this neighborly country to the North. Below the street is pretty quiet, but later this evening there will be a healthy mix of bums, business folk, hipsters and dogs walking towards their respective homes. This is day two in Vancouver and so far I like what I see.

The loft is in Gastown, apparently on the line between total sketchiness ("zombietown") and the toursity niceness of Canada Place and Water Street, lined with souvineer shops, Persian rug stores and overpriced restaurants. Within a few blocks we have the excellent shopping and eating area on Granville and numerous sushi stops on Robson. It is jokingly easy to find my way around here, after dealing with the disorganization of Boston streets for so long.

There is already a growing list of restaurants I must experience while I am here. I'm trying to think frugally, but this is a girl who likes to eat good food, and good found seems abundant! Yesterday, Mozilla kindly treated me to lunch at a very chic lunch at Salt Tasting Room, a place I hope to return to more than once. Cheese, bread, dips, wine. This is what I live for!

So far I've met Bryan's funny coworkers and his adorably sweet friend Emilee, the self proclaimed "unofficial welcome wagon". If they are any indication of the kind of people in Vancouver, I think it is safe to say this is a pretty cool place.

Moose is very good company while Bryan is at work and seems to like his new digs and new bone.

Now it is time for some more exploring!

So you want to leave the country?

Sorry, you've got Jury Duty.

Being the everywhere girl that I am, I've never really bothered to change my "permanent" address, to each of the many places I have lived since my high school graduation nearly ten years ago. Credit card bills, loan notices, bank statements... everything I don't want to read anyway, gets sent to a shiny white mail box on a rural street in NH.

I've been getting away with a NH driver's license, NH voter registration, and NH plates when I had my car, which also meant NH insurance. All this taking advantage of the Granite State caught up to me, when yesterday, after I returned from renewing my NH driver's license, I was summoned to jury duty in Barnstable, NH on October 6.

I immediately returned the juror questionnaire along with mandatory excusal letter so as to avoid "serious penalties" and hope that the NH judiciary system will, for a time, buy my lies.

I just hope civic karma does not come back to bite me in the ass.

Paper Delivery

One of the many lovely things about returning to home is the morning paper delivery. It is a treat to be able to wake up, make coffee and read the paper (even if it is mostly bad news) with a dog at my feet.
If ever I am in one place long enough to really call it home, I will have the paper delivered to my door each day.

The New Blog Title

*Credit goes entirely to one Michael Giancarlo Pacchione.

My greatest idea yet.

Introducing the S'mOreo.
Double the Chocolate.
Double the Gooey White Stuff.
Quadruple the fun.

The last Monday...

I really will do anything to avoid packing. Now that the first wave is over, sent messily in boxes with my folks more than a week ago, I have lost all motivation to sort and toss, sort and toss. “My head is much more organized than my apartment.” I told my dad, trying to offer us both some type of reassurance, about what, I'm not quite sure. Truth be told, my head is not really as organized as I would like it to be either.

It's Monday now, and my last Monday living in this area that has been my home for the past two years. The difference in leaving this time around is that I feel like I am leaving a community that, though has it's share of problems, is nonetheless one that has adopted me with open arms. Cambridge is home to some of the smartest, most artistic, insane and talented individuals in the country, living side by side, getting in each other's ways, complaining about the same small and large things. A bubble, some may say, but an interesting bubble made of some weird chemical compound and painted with organic African paints.

The wanderer's dilemma is this; we love community, the connections, the smiles on the street and unexpected friendships, but we can't stay for long because we know that there are other communities to be welcomed into or shaken from, other bonds to form and break. Maybe we are merely greedy, wantingneedingwanting more of this life-stuff.



What I know is this: I will miss my friends. My dearest Julie and Meg, the only people in the world I can and do say everything to. The only people who can and do tell it to me like it is. The memories of too many laughs to count, at each other and at ourselves. I will miss my parents being 45 minutes away, helping me when I need help and enjoying sunny Sundays in the city. And my unexpected relationships with pilots and addicts and artists and poets and math genius's and multi-billionaire-philosophers. I will miss the Cantab. I will miss my apartment. I will miss 1369. I will miss the best hugger I have known. I will miss my proximity to the ocean. I will miss making Julie pizza and reading my book in Davis Square. I will miss the street performers and the free music. I will miss the rosemary truffle fries and the double iced soy lattes.

I will not miss serving people. There are as many bad things to say about the Cambridge/Boston community as there are good. For all their crazy genius the majority have trouble understanding that there is a human being, who may or may not be smarter/kinder/more creative/more evolved than you are, so perhaps they just may be due a small moment of politeness and respect. The burn out is inevitable in any service job. Serving people coffee may be one of the easier in the realm, but regardless, you've worn me down. Get off your cell phones and smile at me. I will probably smile back. Go a step further and say hello, I will probably say hello back. Stop demanding free wi-fi and complaining about the price of tea. Stop acting like I am a moron because I am behind a counter and Old Men, stop thinking I want to sleep with you because I am polite.

There are countless things to enjoy and annoy in this and every area. I am looking fondly back on the last two years and find little regret and mostly good memories. I am also quite happy to have made a choice for a change, and though I have no idea where I will be in a year, I am hopeful that I will be in a good place with good people.

The countdown begins...

So I unfortunately was not gone long enough to experience the shock of readjustment, but now I am faced with the fact that I am moving out of my apartment and leaving this shiny green Eastern Coast in a mere few weeks. Proud to admit that I based this decision almost entirely on gut instinct (with a little heart guidance as well) I am quickly understanding that neither gut nor heart help me in the more practical matters, such as getting rid of furniture (dining room table, anyone?) cleaning out my closet (high heeled brown boots, anyone?) or most importantly, budgeting just how I may be able to afford a few months sans income.

The Trip

Alas, we are back on American soil. The plus side of this being we are now brushing our teeth with good ol' American tap water. And I am sure there are other positive things too, I just am having trouble thinking of them. Indeed, ending our far too short trip in a tropical jungle wonderland is making it hard to embrace this gray Somerville morning... but let me start at the beginning.


After the disappointing two day flight delay, we flew Friday morning to Fort Lauderdale on the extremely budget Spirit Airlines flight. ( A moment to offer this advice to anyone who is interested in any slight amount of comfort on a flight, Don't Fly Spirit.) Arriving at lunchtime with ten hours until our leg to San Pedro Sula, Julie and I took a cab to the beach and enjoyed an extremely pleasant layover, reading, jumping in warm Floridian waves and drinking the most enormous margaritas I have ever seen. ( Another note, In Fort Lauderdale when they offer a “2 for 1 Margarita Special” it may well mean that one costs $17 and both will be larger than your head.)


Alas, what seemed like days later we boarded our flight to Honduras and endured a long 2+ hour trip with what may have possibly been the most annoying little girl in the world kicking the seat behind me. It was the middle of the night in San Pedro Sula when we arrived and found a taxi to take us to the hotel where we had booked our room... for two days prior. Driving through slums, littered streets, homeless people and shady characters on every street corner, we each wondered what we had gotten ourselves into. We pulled up to the Hotel Marina 1, on a dark and filthy street to see it unlit and barred. Our taxi driver knocked on the door until at last a night guard appeared. The man told him there were no rooms available. Our driver, puzzled, asked us if we had made a reservation. We answered, in broken, tired and nervous Spanish, we had, but it was for Wednesday night, realizing the gravity of our assumption of “I'm sure there will be rooms.” Taking pity on us, our poor driver drove us to all of the shady budget hotels he knew of, eventually after three or four unsuccessful attempts finding us a room. This was no Marriott. This was a “let's not tell our mothers we slept here” sort of place.

We survived, without bed bugs or finding dirty needles and awoke early excited to start this new day off right after a shaky beginning. We walked to the bus station , hoping to find seats on a 9:50 am bus to Copan Ruinas. Alas, the bus station was no longer the bus station but was an abandoned building with the fading signs of what once had been a bus station. Luckily for us, another taxi driver cruising past explained to our confused faces that the station had moved and would we like a ride? Trusting that this man was not up to anything funny, we taxied our way to the terminal, some 15 minutes away. Arriving we were told our desired bus was full and we would have to wait until 2:30. Another day ruined? No! Seeing our disappointment she offered that we could wait to see if any seats became available. Luckily for us, they did. Things were looking up!
Arriving in Copan Ruinas after a , scenic, air conditioned three hour trip we found a charming hotel up a steep cobblestoned hill. We wandered around the colorful, dusty streets, had a delicious meal a couple of cerveza and were officially vacationing! The mountains, the greenery, the smells, the people, the buildings, the children! This was the Central America that I had been waiting for.



The next day we walked down a pleasant shady path towards the ruins at Copan.
After going through the unassuming park entrance we were greeted by several of the Macaws that enjoy a leisurely life flitting amidst the remains of the thousands of years old Mayan civilizations. Hiring a capable guide, we explored the park, quite more substantial than I had expected and extremely well preserved. What a thing to be walking where thousands and thousands of years ago Mayan children played, priests divined and human sacrifices were beheaded!


Enjoying another cool night in town, we departed early the next day for La Ceiba. Arriving in the evening to our less-than-nice and more-than-cheap hotel. After settling in, we diligently went in search of food having only eaten the Frito's and cokes given to us on our bus ride. Unfortunately, La Ceiba does not appear to be the culinary capital of Honduras. Nor do they appear to be very health conscious. Our options were limited to Pizza Hut, Wendy's, Dunkin' Donuts, Papa Gino's or Popeye's. We chose the least offensive and shared a greasy pie at the Pizza Hut closest to our hotel door. La Ceiba itself was pretty unappetizing as well, dirty streets, glaring men, unkempt and unattractive, we chose the solace of our hotel room and ended our night watching TV.

Happy to leave, we boarded the ferry in La Ceiba heading to Roatan and beachy bliss.
After an invigorating hour and a half ride over crystal Caribbean waters we landed on Roatan, staying in the tropical and internationally flaired beach town at the West End.
Our hotel was directly across the street from the warmest, clearest water I have ever seen. We swam, we read, we drank beers on the beach and watched magnificent sunsets. We took a beginner dive course and went down to 30 feet, seeing amazing coral, tropical fish, eels and color. If only we had a few more days! We both vowed to return to get further dive certifications, one of the cheapest places in the world to do so. (PADI basic certification is only $250!) We kayaked and explored, even coming across a giant tarantula that will haunt my dreams for rest of my life. We met some charming Swiss men and enjoyed dinners talking about travel and life and love.


At last we left Roatan to end our trip in the jungles near La Ceiba bordering the Pico Bonito National Park. This was truly paradise, deep in the forest, surrounded only by the sounds of tree frogs, cicadas and exotic birds. We ate amazing food, for amazingly cheap prices and relaxed at the well designed and well groomed jungle lodge, anxiously awaiting our white water rafting trip the next morning.


I admit, I was disappointed when we drove up towards the lodge along the Rio Condregal. The water seemed low, and there were not many rapids that I could discern. Expecting a leisurely boat ride then, I was greatly impressed with how exciting and somewhat technical the river actually was! Our long tour went past some of the most beautiful untouched tropical scenery that I have ever seen. We rafted in level 2- 4 rapids, with one extremely fun and scary 8 meter drop called “the Ziplock”. We jumped off of high cliffs into the rolling river below, and overall had a perfectly amazing time. It was an excellent way to end a trip, but also extremely difficult to muster any sort of desire to leave.

It was very nearly a perfect trip. A good combination of adventure, relaxation, and culture. Getting around was much easier than I had expected, and I found the Honduran people extremely kind and patient with our mediocre traveller's Spanish. Julie and I (I think anyway!) travelled quite well together, enjoying good talks as well as happy silences. We are already looking forward to planning our next trip to Guatemala...