2468 Memory Lane, Childhood, the Eighties

(Still in England; wrote this post the other day. Am clever like that.)

My dad scanned some great images for me, pictures I maybe hadn't ever seen, or not for a long time.

The first one is of me with two beloved items that are, I believe, still in a box somewhere in my parents' basement. When I was very small, my mom made that activity book I am carefully "reading" for the millionth time. As a matter of fact, most of my childhood pictures consist of me curled up in some chair or another, engrossed in some book or another. Next to me is perched the Christmas present that made my little head nearly explode with joy, a real Cabbage Patch Doll named Christy Nicolina. My great-grandma told me it was an ugly doll (it was, of course, not that I could conceive of such sacrilege at the time), which made me cry. Sadly, it's one of the few memories I have of my grandfather's mother.


The second photo shows the "stacked like a cord of wood" configuration I mentioned the other day. How we drove to Iowa, all laid out in the back. Nowadays, of course, totally illegal, but I have good memories of falling asleep, curled among my siblings, listening to the steady thrum of the highway.

I want to neglect the remainder of my life with you

While I'm away...

The other day I watched a little video that so thoroughly tickled my funny bone I sat there chuckling long after it ended. Not surprisingly, it's all about wordplay, and the comical results of automatic internet translations. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to embed it here, so go to YouTube and watch it there.

Hills and Dales

Today I'm flying to Manchester to meet the Mister (he's there for some meetings). From there, we're going north to explore the Yorkshire Dales and some lovely B&Bs, then down to York for a day. I'm looking forward to misty fields, crackling fires, hearty English breakfasts, tea, and cheese! (Wensleydale, home to Wallace and Gromit, is famous for its cheese.)

We've rented a car, and I'm a bit nervous about driving on the other side of the road. But everyone assures me that it'll be fine if I just take it slow and think carefully at the roundabouts.

Anyway, although I've committed to writing every day for national blog posting month, I don't know if I'll be able to post. I'm not bringing my computer, just my little iPod touch--so if I'm lucky and can capture a wireless signal, I'll be able to write briefly, but if not, I'm out of luck.

I'm also trying to figure out what book to bring. Something nice and Englishy, something good for fireside reading. Maybe Jane Austen. The area where we're headed is also famous for being home to James Herriot, country veterinarian and author of a series of autobiographical books. I devoured and loved them when I was about twelve, so maybe I will be able to dip back into them if there are copies strewn about the inn's bookshelves.

Today I'm thankful for lovely feeling that accompanies the anticipation of travel.

Happiness doubled by wonder

I'm not necessarily forgetting to be thankful, I just keep forgetting that I was going to write about it...

The other day I came across this lovely sentence by G.K. Chesterton:
“I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.”

Therefore, to be included in today's post and past posts:

-winter's sweet and spicy smells and tastes, the warmth of baking with cinnamon

-Barcelona's November sunshine

-the pure silliness of dressing up for Halloween

-nephews and nieces in adorable costumes

-Skyping with family

-the baked apples my mother-in-law snuck into the bag we carried home on Sunday

-revisiting wedding albums

-sore muscles and the satisfaction of having exercised

-Sunday crosswords

-Bach's Magnificat

Lavender and cinnamon

In September we attended a wedding up in the hills of the collserola. The wedding favors, sitting on our napkins when we arrived at dinner, were fat bundles of lavender and cinnamon. I ended up with a few extras, those of our out-of-town guests, and stuck them all in a pretty glass vase and put it in the entryway.

Now, every time I walk by, I catch a whiff of the bright note of lavender and the lower, spicy undertone of cinnamon. Who needs air freshener when natural aromatics like these can fill the air?


I've long been a lover of cinnamon. I still remember how disappointed I was when, as a little girl, I ate a big spoonful of the raw spice, thinking that it would be as delicious as the cinnamon candies I loved or the baked goods flecked with brown spicy sweetness. I think the Cinnamon Roll is one of humankind's better inventions. (My in-laws, when they came to the US for the first time, for our wedding, asked me about "those little spiral breads" at breakfast, in an awed sort of voice.)

As a child I also had a series of imaginary pets, ranging from horses to raccoons. They were all named Cinnamon. And I still hoard cinnamon gum from trips to the US, because I can't find it here. Most of my Catalan friends (the cuisine here is decidedly un-spicy) wrinkle up their noses when they try it because they find it too spicy. Not a problem, just means more for me!

Thus, it was with great excitement this morning that I woke up to discover I had won some Vietnamese cinnamon, whose superlative sweetness and fieriness Todd and Diane at White on Rice Couple had me drooling over. They say it tastes just like cinnamon candy, and has such a high concentration of essential oils, it'll spark when ignited! I've never tried this kind of cinnamon, and now I will have the opportunity to do so. Thanks, Todd and Diane!

In costume

On Friday afternoon there was a late-in-the-game change of plans, and we decided to go with political attire. My wig was all wrong, and most people had to read the "Miss Alaska" sash to figure out the costume, especially if my McCain wasn't around. But it was fun to pull together, kind of silly, and relatively easy.


Little red riding hood snagging candy...


And some very adorable clowns.

Estiuet de Sant Martí

In early November, the Catalans predict warm weather: the "little summer" of Sant Martí, which falls on November 11. Sure enough, today was a winner, crisp air and warm sun. We ate lunch outside for the "festa major" of my in-laws' town (every town and neighborhood has its own week of celebrations, based on the day of the patron saint). After some days of decidedly cooling weather, we are enjoying this estiuet.

I couldn't help thinking about what it'd be like in Brussels right now: ten degrees cooler, and gray. Maybe raining.

So I did a little poking around on the web, if only to confirm my suspicions. Brussels has, on average, 208 "wet days" per year, or 17.33 days per month. And this statistic does not include not-wet but still gray days, which I would unscientifically estimate to be another 10 days or so. 27 days of gray per month.

Barcelona has, on average, 79 "wet days" per year, or 6.5 days per month. Maybe a couple more are gray without rain. 9 days of gray per month.

If you could choose between the two, where would you want to live?

It's funny that I care so much about this, because I'm not a sun-worshipper, not a beach bunny. I burn and don't tan, I stay in the shade. Really, it's all about the effect of so much gray on my spirits. It's SAD all year long in Brussels.

And Barcelona? Happy.

(source)

Party cleanup

Nearing midnight. Must post, but am in the midst of saying goodbye to guests (who've been here since 7). Some fabulous costumes. Ours were slapdash, but got the most laughs: McCain and Palin. Am on sugar overload, as were all the children literally running back and forth through the apartment screaming at the top of their lungs. In a cute way, wearing little red riding hood and clown and doctor costumes. Somersault contests for the kids, a Barça soccer game for the boys, and lots of yummy food. Happy Halloween, redux!

Pet peeve rant ahead

A couple of weeks ago, at long last, we got a washer and dryer. On the first day, I washed every scrap of fabric in this house that needed to be washed or could be construed as needing a wash. I've never been so excited to do laundry.

The Mister's grandmother had told us in all seriousness that we didn't need to buy the washer and dryer, that we could just keep bringing her our clothes. I thought she was just being nice. But when we bought the machines and she still insisted that we bring her some things, or better yet, bring her all of the Mister's shirts to iron, I realized she truly does take great satisfaction in her impeccable presentation of perfectly ironed clothing (she even ironed our sheets and socks, and she has some mad stain-removal skilz). Plus, given the time and care she takes with it, doing laundry and ironing is a way to fill her day with activity.

Since I simply don't iron--the Mister irons his own shirts, but lately barely has time to stop off at home and re-pack his bag--I actually might take her up on the offer, if I can get over my own sense of the impropriety of bringing our ironing to a 93-year-old woman!

The arrival of the washer and dryer also reminded me of two major PET PEEVES: Stickers on New Things, and, even worse, Stickers on New Things that are Impossible to Get Off. The shiny New Thing is offensively marred by some loud sale sticker or ugly price sticker or, in this case, a muffin-sized sticker announcing in big red letters the number I should call to register the warranty. I know people who don't mind leaving the stickers on, but I really really can't stand to leave them there, marring the way the New Thing is supposed to look and feel. (In grad school classes, I sometimes had the urge to reach over the table to take the big yellow USED BOOK stickers off the spines of my classmates' books, and they always did easily pull off, so why leave them?)

But when it's the second degree of peevedness--not just Stickers, but Stickers that are Impossible to Get Off--you peel, or sometimes, in tiny little fingernail-gunking strips, rip off the sticker, but are left with a gummy residue that Will Not Come Off. I spent a good hour the other day trying various (probably toxic) substances on that darn sticker, including a de-greaser and turpentine, but nothing worked. Meanwhile, I was worried that I was damaging the nice shiny white surface of my New Thing. Finally I was able to get rid of the stuff, mostly by fingernail scraping and persistent wiping with dish soap. Ugh.

Someone should fire the people in charge of Stickers on New Things.

Today I am thankful to be doing laundry in my own home. Yay!

Phoneless

Our home phone hasn't been working for a few days.

I can't make calls or receive them.

With my cell phone, I call the number on the contract.

They only deal with contracts at that number.

I go to the store and talk to a real person.

He can only sign people up and doesn't help with technical difficulties.

I call the number he told me to call.

An automated voice tells me to call another number if I am already a client.

I run out of credit on my cell phone.

The website to re-charge the cell phone won't load.

I come back an hour later, and it is working again.

The website to re-charge the cell phone doesn't accept my credit card.

I try it again.

I put twenty euros on my cell phone.

I call the technical service number.

I am on the phone for about twenty minutes with a guy who tells me which buttons to press and what to unplug when and what to look for on my computer.

He concludes there's something wrong with the cable. They will send a cable.

I hang up and call the Mister.

While I dial, a voice tells me I am running out of credit.

I wonder if there is some mistake.

I ask the Mister if it is possible for the technical support number to cost almost a euro a MINUTE?

If it might not be toll-free to call a company to fix something that is THEIR FAULT?

He tells me since this is Spain, it is possible.

The line goes dead.

I bang my head on the desk.

L'americana

Last night was my first "real" concert with the new choir. We sang "Cançó d'amor i de guerra" (Song of Love and War), a rollicking zarzuela, full of triumphalist full-throated choruses that end with happy emphatic crashes of cymbals. Which fit my mood rather well after the election.

In fact, the best part of arriving at the auditorium dressing room last night was that one by one, many of my fellow singers (many of whom I still don't know) came up to me and solemnly, admiringly, shook my hand or kissed me on the cheek. There was a deep contentedness in those sturdy handshakes. It caught me by surprise at first, but of course: I was likely the only American they had seen that day. I felt like a celebrity, just by virtue of being l'americana, and believe me, this is the first time while in Europe I have ever felt so... admired for being American. I told them all I was so proud of my country.

Take a look at these reactions from around the world. It captures a bit of that good feeling.

And now for a couple of tangents, one a gush and one a dash of realism:

Isn't Michelle Obama just fabulous? I have a feeling that she is going to rock as first lady.

Also, Obama's election is a huge huge huge step for a country whose legacy is one of systemic racial hatred, violence, and discrimination. It really is an American dream come true. But some commentators are acting as though all of the sudden racism has been defeated for good. Sadly, that's not the case. I'm worried that having a black president could serve as an excuse for the more naive segments of society to say, "See? No racism here. Obama's in the White House. Case closed." And then shut their eyes to their own behavior or injustices around them. Obama might be kind of like the Cliff Huxtable of today, the friendly black guy who makes white people think they're "totally fine" with black people and that his success story is proof that racism doesn't exist.

(Yet: I am thankful things are changing.)

Yes

I tried to stay awake long enough to see some conclusive election results. I baked and did laundry until 2 am to keep myself occupied while the Catalan television speculated and the CNN election map slowly filled in with bright red and blue. I made it until 4 am, but although things were looking good, nothing was really certain. I fell asleep curled around my laptop.

So when I woke up all I had to do was hit refresh, and I saw the news. And then watched Obama's acceptance speech, and was moved to tears. The man is a brilliant orator, and I hope that the feeling I get when I listen to him, the feeling that here is a leader who I can trust and is telling the truth, will be borne out by his actions in office. I know that no one is perfect, and that an Obama presidency in and of itself does not solve the nation's--much less the world's--problems, but I hope that he will follow through on the good words of his speech.

Because what I heard is this:

I will always be honest with you

I will listen to you

it cannot happen without you

a new spirit

of service and responsibility

looking after not only ourselves, but each other

a measure of humility

to promote the cause of peace

America can change

while we breathe, we hope

yes we can

(today I am thankful for the promise of America)

Historic

Every election is an "historic election," in the sense that history is made whenever a new president moves into the White House. However, this time around the outcome will be especially noteworthy, and the issues at stake seem especially crucial, what with the ugly economic panorama, interminable war-waging, the dire state of the world's ecosystems, good health care out of reach for millions, and a lingering legacy of racism, poverty, and social injustice. I turned to the Mister the other day, when news of the financial crisis was starting to hit, and wondered aloud if we would look back on the whole of our pre-2008 lives as a kind of golden age.

And yet: whatever happens, I feel energized and excited just by the fact of being alive on this memorable day, and proud of the changes that already seem to be taking place.

Some reasons the election is especially historic:

* Barack Obama would be the nation's first African American president.

* John McCain would be the oldest person to be sworn in as a new president.

* Sarah Palin would be the nation's first female vice president.

* This is the first time in history that the two main candidates for president are both sitting senators.

* This is the first time in more than 50 years that neither the sitting president nor the sitting vice president is a candidate on his party's ticket in the new presidential election.

* This has been the most expensive election campaign in history.

* This has been the longest election campaign in history.

* This is the largest-ever age gap between the two presidential candidates.

* Obama's campaign has raised a record-setting amount of money from small contributions.

* New voter registration and early voting have broken records, and voter turnout may do the same.

* For the first time in history, both candidates were born outside of the continental US.

* The two candidates are the first from their home states, Arizona and Hawaii.

* The candidates have made unprecedented use of new technology like Facebook, text messaging, YouTube, and online advertising.

(Most of this I pulled from my buzzing head after nonstop election reading, but this article covers all of these assertions, I think.)

Vote

On the eve of...

Unless you are living under a rock, you know that tomorrow is the Big Day. The rest of the globe is voting for Obama. What will America vote? Everyone here is holding their breath, and there is extensive US election coverage in the news. Every day I have conversations with people who are puzzled as to why McCain even has a fighting chance, and I find myself (inadequately) trying to explain the whole American political panorama. It ends up being about the ideals of individualism and freedom, and competing definitions of those ideals when applied to various social needs. Isn't every political system (with further shadings among parties) just a different balance of what and how an individual gets to decide vs. what and how the government gets to decide? Meanwhile, I am getting nibble-on-fingers nervous.

As Obama's half-sister, who lives in Kenya, said of him, "He can be trusted to be in dialogue with the world." Boy, do we need a president who will rely on dialogue. And a president who is trustworthy.

The quote comes from an editorial I enjoyed because it suggests that literature and politics have a whole lot in common: they're both all about narrative. Stories matter, because stories are how we understand ourselves and where we come from, and how we understand our leaders and where they come from.

Anyway, the important thing is: vote!

(Scroll down a bit to see my election-themed Etsy sidebar...)

Me Mosaic

The Rules: you answer the following 12 questions about yourself (my answers are in parentheses after each question):

01. What is your first name? (Robin)
02. What is your favorite food? (tomato)
03. What high school did you attend? (Mount Mansfield)
04. What is your favorite color? (blue)
05. Who is your celebrity crush? (Obama)
06. Favorite drink? (coffee)
07. Dream vacation? (Argentina)
08. Favorite dessert? (chocolate)
09. What do you want to be when you grow up? (writer)
10. What do you love most in life? (beauty)
11. One word to describe you? (quiet)
12. Your Flickr name? (Cant d'Ocell)

Want to play?: Type your answer to each of the above questions into Flickr's search. Using only the images that appear on the first page, choose your favorite and copy and paste each of the URL’s into the Mosaic Maker (3 columns, 4 rows)... Enjoy!

Trick or treat

No trick-or-treaters rang my doorbell yesterday, but the doorbell did ring, and I did get a treat:

A big box full of books, all of them MY book! My translation, that is. It's a deeply satisfying feeling to see a row of them all ranged on the shelf, knowing that my name is on the cover, in letters just as big as the editor's.

It's not the first time I've seen it; I have had one copy since late July, I think. And I've been simultaneously excited and embarrassed about it all ever since I first held it in my hands and flipped through the pages.

Excited, because the book is beautiful, with a lovely painting of food on the cover, and a tasteful jacket design. I love the deep red endpapers, the font, and the layout. I was thrilled that it is a bilingual edition, Catalan and English on facing pages, so readers can themselves go to the original for the thornier aspects of the medieval language.

But also embarrassed, because some funky editing went on after I sent my round of proofs to the publisher. [Redacted: some guesses as to who is at fault, because on second thought, this is a job here, and blog lesson #1 is probably about not discussing work-related issues online.] The first problem is with inconsistencies (changed some but not all occurrences of a word). I wouldn't mind if they had changed them all but it makes me itch and practically break out in hives to see contradictory usage. Similarly, some but not all words were changed to British spelling. Finally, there are some errors that are probably typesetting issues, including many incorrect word breaks (as a former proofreader, this gets under my skin).

Yet all of this I could easily forgive if there did not exist, right in the middle of page 19, glaring at me reproachfully (there might as well be a blinking red light for all I can ignore it), this clunker: "When the recipes was copied, they was extensively reworked..."

The first time I thumbed through the book, I saw it, and it still makes me cringe every time I think about it (the "trick" in yesterday's "treat," if you will). I suppose the error resulted from the back-and-forth between the British and Catalan editors. Somebody changed something, somebody changed it back, but without correcting the verb. I don't know.

I have to reassure myself with the following line of reasoning: a) not a whole lot of people are going to buy this book, anyway--it's a niche audience--and b) of those who buy it, not many are going to share my obsession with grammar, and c) the clunker on page 19 does not go on my CV, so sheesh, just calm down already.

Anyway, today I am thankful for my very first, very own, shiny pretty book translation.

All Hallow's Eve

Happy Halloween!

I hope everybody has a fun, sweet-filled evening. It's not terribly Halloweeny here, but in honor of the holiday I roasted a little pumpkin (I was overjoyed to see a few pie pumpkins here!), then mixed the pumpkin purée with cream cheese, brown sugar, and spices, and dipped apple slices into it (and, to be honest, ate it by the spoonful). Like pumpkin pie in a bowl.

Our Halloween party isn't for another week, and I'm trying to think of a costume for the Mister and I. In past years, we have dressed up as Vermeer and the Girl with the Pearl Earring, Bonnie and Clyde, and Anthony and Cleopatra. I have two ideas so far, but I can't figure out if they're dumb or not: American tourists (fanny packs, flip-flops, floral shirts, sun hats), or Quasimodo and Esmeralda (a pillow for a hunchback, gypsy-esque dress, the same black wig I wore for Cleopatra). However we end up costumed, I have big plans for pumpkin-based food as well as lots of candy and chocolate and yumminess!

I also want to announce (to make sure I go through with it) that I am going to try to blog every day during the month of November, just like last year, and that also like last year, I'll be remembering the many things for which I am thankful.

Back to BCN

Thanks to everyone who commented or emailed about my grandfather. The trip went remarkably well (despite having to turn around mid-ocean and go back to Amsterdam and switch planes because there was something wrong with the controls) and the whole 7-adults-in-a-minivan-for-9-hours thing was actually kind of fun. Like when we were little and we all piled in the back of the station wagon to sleep through the night in our jammies with our blankies ("stacked like a cord of wood," my uncle said as we looked through some photos from the 1980s). Now, though, we took turns driving and everyone challenged each other to best their high scores on one of the several ipods and iphones and laptops floating around the car.

The funeral was sad, but simple and lovely. Grandpa would have liked it. It was great to see my cousins--all the grandkids made it--and aunts and uncles so soon again after this summer, and to be there for Grandma, because this is a very tough time for her, facing loss and a new kind of life after more than 50 years of marriage. Step by step. She told me she is going to learn how to find my blog online so she can keep up with our goings-on. Hi Grandma!

We played cards and watched faded slides of my mom and aunts when they were kids and ate lots of food and then so soon we had to turn around and head back to Chicago, where we had to buy the Mister some sweaters and a scarf and gloves because he was going to the Yukon for a work trip afterwards (because of the funeral he hadn't been able to re-pack his bag between Strasbourg and the Canada trip). For my part, I stuffed my suitcase with canned pumpkin and chocolate chips and almond extract and cranberries.

I came back to a rainy and cool, November-y Barcelona, and discovered that I would need to break out the space heater. And maybe buy a couple more. (We never had the radiators installed in the apartment...this winter will be an experiment to see if we really need to do so.) Today the sun is out again, though. It doesn't stay away for long 'round these parts.

Grandpa

My grandfather was very sick, but it didn't seem possible that he would leave us so quickly. I was able to talk to him on Sunday just before they gave him morphine for the pain, before he entered a cloud of sleep and medicine, a conversation for which I am so profoundly grateful. He was tired and hurting, but still his matter-of-fact self, his laconic midwestern voice the same as ever. I told him we would talk again in a couple of days, but by Monday evening he was gone. I told him that I love him.

Tomorrow I fly to Chicago, where I'll meet my dad and brother, spend the night at my uncle's, and then drive to Iowa together for the funeral. I still can't believe that the last-minute ticket was so reasonably priced, and I'm astonished that I am even able to go to the funeral. It's a strange thing to be so happy about that even in the midst of sadness, looking forward to seeing family and being with them to celebrate grandpa's life.