Stop!

and smell the flowers.
My munchkin did yesterday... Photo courtesy of my SO, who was there to witness this. I... was working. Sigh.

Thanks!

Yes, dears, I have something to be thankful for. The kind folks at nieuws.be have been kind enough to name me their blogger of the week. I don't know why this honour has befallen me, but yours truly is naturally very flattered, blushing and giggly that they chose, MOI! Cue my Miss Piggy moment.

I suspect that I should be quaffing champagne (no Bolli or Veuve, we only believe in prosecco, remember) but given that I already imbibed too much of the damn stuff yesterday during our equivalent of A Sex and the City chat session and followed it up with a Chardonnay and a Viognier, you will forgive me for stating the obvious: my body needs a few days to recover from all this alcohol in its present state. Oh, and I also lost my voice in the process because we talked so much. Subjects covered included your parents having sex (the horror, the horror), falling in love with married men, domestic bliss, lesbians who drool over men, Louboutins, the benchmark for really high heels, etc.

And yes, we are still Neanderthinning, ladies and gentlemen. We even went so far as to serve our lady guests a Neanderthinian salad yesterday, albeit it that we compromised with some Turkish bread on the side. The salad of mixed greens and stir-fried prawns went down a treat and we did splurge on dessert: grilled pineapple and a hot dark chocolate sauce courtesy of the ever lovely Nigella Lawson.

I feel like boring you with some inane drivel about my favourite mascara tonight, but I'll spare you the details. Instead I would like to remind you to switch off the light on Saturday for earth hour, or if you choose for a grand power outage of the European grid as we all switch on our lights again.

On a final note, dears, I feel love! I hope you do too. Now take me back to my nice little padded cell ;-) And, oh, one of our guests brought the chocolates pictured above. In this house we firmly believe in Marcolini and Green and Black's. Nevertheless, these must be eaten. How could one let any chocolate go to waste?

Things...

Things that made me really go weak in the knees recently
- A story written by a 10-year old about a volcano that fell in love
- the munchkin who came home with her face painted as a “princess cat”
- a kiss on my forehead from my SO, followed by a lopsided smile
- the week of sun, which felt like summer, with a hint of spring thrown in for good measure
- our photo album of Iceland, even though we looked a little butch then
- Gregorian chants
- The smell of our first Meyer lemon from our own lemon tree

Things that drove me mad recently
- my new hair
- my old hair
- The fact that certain people expect you to gloss over everything, and I mean everything.
- my search for red shoes, no! purple shoes, no! black shoes, no! No shoes!
- The fact that the old router is playing up again; and that my provider thinks it’s normal to shut off the Internet at 3 am for an hour (hello?! People do work at night, you know?)

Things that made me stop in my tracks recently
- The fact that my mother knows how to repair zippers so I no longer have to carry around 3 girls skirts in my purse while searching for a seamstress
- The fact that I won a purse organizer for having the messiest purse evah! (remember the photographic evidence?)
- My mirror image
- Chris and Fresco’s sequel to the events in the supermarket parking lot

Things I really, really want
- A trip to London
- A trip to Iceland
- my old hair
- a pair of red shoes, no! purple shoes, no! black shoes
- a starbucks mug that says London on it (did you hear me, Fresco?)
- a cheese sandwich?

More randomness

1. I've become addicted to the vanilla lattes at Barsserie Nero.
2. They have a hotspot there too, so now I think that I might make it my other office.
3. Office means that I actually have work, unlike some of my colleagues, who don't... If you say the word recession fast, do you think that it will go away?
4. I didn't get red shoes, so I won't be clicking my heels anytime soon.
5. Today I managed to anger at least one person (you know who you are...).
6. I'm completely uninterested in food lately. I'll eat it but I can't bear to think about it.
7. I am gearing up for the Paleo way of life as from next week. But I'm not aspiring to Art de Vany's bod. I think that's my father-in-law's goal in life. He goes to the gym three (that's 3!!!, people) times a day. So: don't attack me about my carbon footprint or you will unleash the animal in me.
8. The L Word is finally behind us. Can we put this train wreck to rest now? Let's face it: who cares about who killed Jenny? It's just as depressing as this effin' weather.
9. We have a babysitter. It's only taken us 4.5 years. Testing her on Thursday. Wonder if she comes with a money back guarantee?
10. My SO is a member of the White House press corps for the day. Shout out and a thank you to Joe Biden for bringing this about.
11. I got so smashed on Cointreaupolitans this past Saturday that I passed out at 10 pm.
12. I missed the school shindig because I feel asleep on the sofa. Woke around 1 a.m. only to realize that the party was ending at 2 a.m. Couldn't really be bovvered...
13. I have decided that I will abstain from giving any relationship advice for the rest of my life.
14. I am soooo tired; but hey, that's not exactly breaking news, innit?

What a soup...

Apologies but I've been busy and frankly, when I read other blogs, I felt that my own efforts paled somewhat in comparison. But on to the reason why...

The past 1.5 months have been strange, as our little family had to readjust to a full working rhythm again, with my SO working full-time again, travelling again, and being flat out tired. The recession is taking its toll on family and friends worldwide, and here in Belgium, the first signs are being felt. I am still working, at a good pace, but I have to say that the uncertainty of it all weighs down my heart and makes me downright anxious at times. Some people believe that we haven't seen the worst of it yet; others say that this will be worse than the 1930s depression. Yet others seem to think that all will be fine.

At this point, I don't really know what to think, so I am basically doing what I do best. Pretending that nothing is happening and going about my affairs as usual. Which is why I haven't really blogged, as there was nothing to tell. Why should I bore you with such banalities as the fact

• that I was extraordinarily moved by a large gnarly oak in the park this afternoon;
  
• that I marvel at the words and explanations uttered by my four-year old whose personality is developing at a hallucinating pace;
  
• the fact that head lice still thrive in this day and age and nobody seems to have found a way of eradicating them (not in this household thankfully, or you would have had an angry post about excessive loads of laundry and the stench of tea tree oil instead);
  
• that water from a Brita filter tastes vastly better than tap water but not as good as Evian;
  
• that soup can be so nourishing and that I have been feeding friends and neighbours with it over the past weeks and that they have come back begging for more;
• that children can forge allegiances and break them in a nanosecond;
  
• that my munchkin can watch a play about saying goodbye and death, and turn to me, after the grandmother dies, and say "but who will kiss her awake, mummy";
• that pink sparkling wine can be such fun to drink;
• that my mother is travelling to Kenia on her own next month and I am worried;
  
• that people can be so accepting of our little family;
  
• that I can actually get a whole PTA to move their asses and restructure themselves in less than one week;
  

... and the list goes on...

But as you can see, all very boring stuff.

Just pondering whether I should leave you with a soup recipe.

But no, that too would be utterly banal.

Family, friends, food

Good food is best enjoyed in the presence of good company. This old adage rings all too true after a wonderful weekend of birthday celebrations for my other half.

With the hunting season in full swing, we all flocked to my mother's to enjoy her take on guinea fowl, which she roasts in the oven and serves with stewed Brussels endives (with that bit of mother magic known as a spoonful of sugar), potato croquettes and of course her infamous grape sauce. That sauce conjures Proustian memories, because for as long as I can remember autumn, I remember this particular dish.

November is also a particularly poignant month for our family, as we commemorate the death of my father, on my other half's birthday. Last Sunday, it will be exactly 11 years ago since he died.

I was in the US at the time, visiting with my future in-laws. After my father woke us to wish my SO a happy birthday, we had gone out for the Washington Post, the New York Times, mulled cider and some fresh pains au chocolat from the local farm stand. It was a cold, grey day and we only had an evening dinner date, so we retreated back to the comfort of the warm bed.

At 11 am my sister rang to say something was horribly wrong and that she was on her way to the house. I rang my mother, who at that time was standing in the street, flagging the ambulance down. By then my father had already died from a massive coronary, but it would take me one more hour to find out as he was only declared dead on arrival at the hospital. It was left to the doctor in the emergency room to break the news to me by phone on remote Cape Cod, as my mother returned home to sleep alone in the marital bed for the first time in 28 years, accompanied by her parents and my sister.

I remember the primal howl that erupted from somewhere deep inside of me; I remember sitting in the shower with the cold water pounding on my face and body in hopes that I would wake up from this nightmare. I remember throwing roses into the ocean that afternoon. Above all, I remember my last visit with him in the morgue, as he lay there tan and peaceful.

Over the next days, family members from all over the world convened to bid him goodbye. We cooked, we ate, we dined out. After the funeral, we had a wake and again we ate. That Sunday, we had a last meal together before everyone, including my other half, left for their respective homes. I do not remember much of the meals themselves, but I do remember the ebb and flow of conversation, the memories shared, the warmth of a family together.

That same Sunday afternoon, after putting my exhausted mother to bed, my sister and I fell asleep on the couches in the living room. At 5:03 p.m. I woke up to the chime of a doorbell. I staggered to the door half asleep, only to find nobody there. I realized, in that same moment, that it was the moment my father must have died, exactly one week ago, on the same sofa on which I had been sleeping... and I wept, for I felt terribly alone in that instant.

Time has passed since, and over the past eleven years, I have implemented a scorched earth policy. I prefer not to look back, not to reflect on the past, but instead to move ahead. The second part of our weekend was spent with friends, over food, during a brunch, and even this evening, we dined with friends.

And yet, deep down, among the friends, the family, and over the food, one can never quite shake that feeling of being quite alone.



For my father...

Knock, knock, knockin' on history's door

Whichever way you slice it, this is an election of firsts: first woman to run for president, first woman vice-president who is dumber than a post, oldest president in office, and... breath-takingly, first black president in office.

So as we all turn our eyes to the United (swing) States tonight and wait with bated breath to see whether Americans will really put their vote where their mouth is, I just want to express my fervent hope that the candidate of the day will indeed be Barack Obama.

Finally, the reign of shrub comes to an end. Will tomorrow dawn on hope?

PS You may have noted that I am somewhat more assiduous than usual about updating this blog. It's all in the spirit of nablopomo.

The importance of rituals...

I am a strong believer in the handing down of rituals and so this morning, as the munchkin struggled with her boiled egg, or rather with the yolk, I suggested that we cut her toast into "soldiers". Oh, the sparkle in her eye and the joy with which she wolfed them down. And the warm fuzzy glow of a maternal heart... Memories recaptured of an era bygone.

Let them eat cake...

No, dear readers, I'm not having a Colombine, Comtesse de la Vache moment, although I did have some cake myself this morning and it was baked by my own little frogspawn.


Moist, dark, and chocolatey; a truly sybaritic experience.

But back to more elementary matters: I was actually thinking of those mor(m)ons, who are financing the campaign in favour of Proposition 8, in California. And of Sarah Palin, and her Halloween sidekick. And of the CEO's of banks, who command excessively high golden parachutes for squandering people's money. And the list goes on.

So, in my humble defence, today I paypalled some moolah to a dear blogging friend, Vikki, to further the cause of the "No to Prop 8" campaign, so they can hopefully reach their target and tell those idiots to back down. I thought about Hillary Rodham Clinton wistfully and wished she was still in the running for the US Presidential election. And I thanked my lucky stars that I don't need my savings for another twenty-five years.

As the wine slowly oozed into my beleaguered system, my mind turned to more beauteous things. Like...



Kate Walsh, for example. Hummunah, hummunah. Not much I can add to that, but hey, at least I did manage a blog post on top of all my other tasks. Now, next on the list: World peace! Or maybe not.

Turning over a new leaf

I realise that I have been somewhat indolent lately when it came to updating this blog. Should I blame the credit crunch? Maybe. As a self-employed person, one's income is never far from one's mind and there were a few days last week where I feared the worst. Since then, my prospects and, as a result, my outlook have changed for the positive. I reinvented myself somewhere around 2001 and I am sure that I will be able to do so again, should the need arise. I have no shares to worry about, my pension fund will be sitting in the same position for the next 30 years at least; we bought our house for a rather low amount at a very low interest rate and it will remain the same until it is paid off, while it can only go up in value. In that sense, I am luckier than most, as evidenced from a mail that we received earlier this week, where a family member spoke of losing "mucho dinero".

At the same time, I was trying to concentrate on our nuclear family. My significant other is only six days away from her next run-in with the surgeon's scalpel, which, admittedly, does give rise for some concern.

So, instead of overwhelming you with my solicitude, I shall instead bore you to tears with the more mundane aspects of my existence on days when inspiration is far, far away, even though I am wearing my best red GAP Inspi(RED) T-shirt...

In recent weeks, I have been taking a long good hard look at myself in the mirror. A few stray grey hairs here and there, which I tend to yank out with a vengeance whenever the light catches them; on the whole not too many wrinkles; a cleavage, which my new Trinny and Susannah BFFs told me was just begging for a push-up bra to be revealed in all its glory (gulp); and alas a body, which could shed some ballast. There is a good reason for this. I have been suffering from lower back pain off and on since 1999. Gaining a pound or two means distorting the delicate balance between my vertebrae and such has been the case in recent weeks. I cannot afford to be laid up for a month.

So I shall focus on eating healthier; I do concede that I will have to make concessions as regards richness, but not taste; and all must be pretty.



Today's effort included mixed greens, smoked duck, a pomegranate, and some raspberry/pomegranate juice.

Followed by a good cuppa.


Life should always be so fabulous.

Weekend shots

Weekends should be reserved for photo blogs as one doesn't really have the time to post anything else. Today I headed to Ostend, the former pearl in the crown of Belgium's seaside, to pick up our new side table (Eileen Gray's E 1027 if you must know). I was agreeably surprised to see how it had changed; all the Leopoldian architecture is still very much present, but generally in a better state than I remembered. The munchkin, of course, enjoyed the scenery, the stone critters, and the sea. Still not very satisfied with the new haircut, but it will take some time and a lot of straightening agent to make my peace with it. Oh, did I mention we saw an organ grinder?

Some impressions*:





*taken with my phone, so the quality is so-so.

Autumn...

The gathering season is here. We harvest the squashes, find chestnuts and hazelnuts, gather blankets and sweaters around ourselves. Hot chocolate becomes the evening drink of choice, soon to be followed by mulled cider, as we wait for our neighbours to bring us some freshly made from Normandy after the weekend.

Time to enjoy the brief burst of colour, before everything turns yellow and dies. Time to reflect on the year past and to prepare for the dark season.

Our munchkin is a little gatherer; I have to empty her pockets before I put anything in the laundry. It goes without saying that she is in her element. We use the pickings to create little arrangements around the house such as this one in the kitchen. The photo in the background is part of our 'wall of fame', which includes photos of relatives, friends, who are never far from our hearts. My father. The small B&W photo to the right is the younger man, at the end of his teens on a beach in Egypt. The left-hand photo was taken the year before he died. Eleven years this autumn. My daughter found the heart-shaped rock in the street...

The end of an era in childhood

The munchkin has dumped the stabilisers and can now bike independently. All in one afternoon.
My little girl is growing in front of me.

Only a few more weeks and she will be four!

Just to reminisce: this was the past.

Reunion - Class of '88

During my holidays I received a mail from one of my former classmates during secondary school. Apparently, a reunion is in the making for the class of '88 (yes, that is how ancient I am). Now, last time they convened this merry fest, I was out in hospital having some ill-functioning valve in my body tucked back and so I missed out on the event of the year.

This time around, there should not be any complications. Except... that I don't want to go.
I have not seen most of these people since my university days and even then, I made sure to beeline them as much as I could. Over the past days I have googled them, searched on Facebook, and LinkedIn and not a single one even seems to feature on the InterWeb.

I have this awful vision of a bunch of desperate housewives, all contentedly living out their quiet existence. Now, don't get me wrong, there is nothing amiss with that. In fact, I am pretty much that myself, working from home. I just wonder how they will deal with the lesbian, with child and partner.

See, over the years, I have come to realise that you meet people in life, which stick with you. As you get older, it becomes harder to shake them off. They are like comfortable shoes, you slip into these friendships easily, and you love them dearly for making it that easy. They are like a cushion, a comfort zone, a hot chocolate on a cold winter's day. So why excavate memories from teenage years, where in fact you were not at all happy, but rather confused? Why meet these people, that you did not really like all that much back then and with whom you have a rather tenuous connection? Will you like them any better now?

I am hesitant to answer all these questions, and the invitation itself. But an answer is requested...

Random reflections on the Barajas disaster

Yesterday morning we flew into and out of Madrid Barajas on that precise runway. I remember reflecting at the time on the line of taxis past the fence and on how close they were to the runway. I also thought that our runway was really far from the airport terminal itself.

This evening I have seen rows of ambulances lined along that same fence in press photos. Helicopters had to be called in to extinguish this flying fire bomb. A handful of survivors is left to tell the tale and pick up the thread of the rest of their lives.

I always marvel that a metal bird, which doesn't actually physically move like a bird, can remain in the air. My brother-in-law, who designs airplanes for a living, always laughs at me when I make this comment.

My SO always makes me book seats near the emergency exits. The survivors are said to have been in rows 14 and 17... near the emergency exits.

Poor survivors, poor dead, and poor relatives left behind.

Another year sped by...

At 1830hrs tomorrow evening, I will set another steap nearer to the barrier known as the big 4-0. Yes, I'm officially on my way to middle age proper.

And yes, that is the cake that was presented to me this evening, although I have doodled a little with the colours. I also have my first age spot on my right hand, but I'll just keep that to myself.

And I now am also on Flickr. Should you wish to be added to my friends, to view more private photos, drop me a line.

Operation eliminate overload

Two days to go till ETD and this is what my life feels like:

Growing up together...

It's been a tough two weeks on mother and daughter. Our mite had just finished school at the end of June, only to be tossed straight into hospital for ear surgery. Then, nary a week later, thanks to her two working mums, the poor kid was sent to day camp.

As the days went by, mothers and daughter became increasingly unhappy with the situation, with the mite begging, nay, even clinging to our legs, dragging on the floor, as we walked towards the exit, to stay home with us.

And so the days of doubt started: every party around the breakfast table dreaded that inevitable move towards the upstairs for bath and clothes and then of course bike or car to ... camp. It started to give me headaches. I couldn't sleep for worry; the munchkin started to get black circles under her eyes. I was contemplating telling all my customers to go stuff themselves for two months. Then I would routinely run into other mothers with a guilt-ridden conscience on playdates, who were having an equally bad time of it. We started to question ourselves. We started to think of ourselves as those bad mommies. I had nightmares about emotional scarring and being told 14 years from now, during a row, that it was all my fault for sending her to day camp when she was 3.5.

And then today came: last day at music camp. A performance. A smiling star of the show, entertaining a crowd of a 100 or so parents, together with her old and new friends. And then the discovery that the camp actually keeps a photo blog. And my mini WonderWoman actually seemed to be having fun. In fact, I was dumbfounded by the discovery. As I tried to put two and two together, I asked myself whence this sudden onset of separation anxiety? Whence the Oscar-meriting performances of abandoned child of the year?

Regardless, it has been a draining two weeks. And because we are true masochists, we are subjecting ourselves to another week of this medicine. Same people who organised the last week's camp, which the munchkin seems to have enjoyed more than the first week. The theme: A voyage of discovery. And likewise one for mothers and daughter, who discovered over the last two weeks that they can be quite brave when they need to. But who still feel the need to be joined at the hip... until my last, dying breath...

Current mood: blah

I'd love to insert something witty and fun here tonight, but frankly I'm over everything today.
I'm over the screeching strident Turkish kids trawling our street on the way to the neighbourhood square; over my daughter's moodiness, after which she packed herself off to bed for the night; over the whole Christopher Ciccone and Madonna thing; so over the Brangelina babies; over the idiot Belgian politicians who can't get their crap together (resign already and call a new general election); over the fact that my holiday is still three weeks away and that we still have relatives coming to stay before that, and the list continues.

So I will just shut up now and return when my mood is somewhat more balanced and harmonious.

Goodnight and godspeed!

As ever,
the disgruntled domestic demi-goddess

"I missed you today"

Some days, being a working mother really sucks. Yesterday the munchkin went to day camp for the first time, with her best friend from a few doors down. Like any worrywart, I did vet the camp, check other parents for their assessment, looked at photos on their blogs, etc. before I signed her up for it.

She did fine, of course, all day, although her friend told me that towards the end of the day she'd missed me.

I didn't pay any attention to it, until the moment that I put her to bed. A little voice from under the covers said: "I missed you today". My heart hurt when she said that. I literally was in physical pain for a few minutes. Even writing this still makes me feel bad. I covered her with hugs and kisses and asked if she didn't like going to camp, then. No, she answered, it was a lot of fun. And she'd played with her friend. But she'd simply missed me.

Cue this morning: I was still getting myself together when I took this photo with my cell phone.