All Grown Up

This site is all grown up now, and has its very own name. Please come to Insearchofdessert.com to continue reading my blog, my adventures in Switzerland, and most recently MINI S'MORES!!

Oh, and don't forget to update links to my site on your Blogroll, s'il vous plait! See you soon :)

SITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Does this count as a post?

After a few million hours logged away at the computer (by my genius boyfriend), my new WordPress blog is near completion. All that remains is that I go to my new site and re-upload every single photograph. Sweet!!! This is fine, I have my IPOD, a coke, etc. However, the white cat has decided to take a nap on my right arm. I'm not joking. He has draped himself over my right arm and is snoring. Surprisingly, I'm still able to type, although i have to use the mouse with my left hand.
The point is, hopefully tonight, I will have a new address. So, stay tuned :).

Mom's Guacamole

I listed it as one of my favorite things in America, so why not share the love. Here is my mother's recipe for Guacamole.

Guac a la Mrs. B.

This recipe requires active adjustments on your
part for taste and texture for these reasons: avacados vary in
texture and moisture content, lemons range from very wet to very dry,
and onions themselves have different amounts of wate.

one large ripe avocado
one lemon

about 1/4 C of finely chopped onion (see note above)
garlic salt or garlic powder
additional salt to taste
pepper
a dash of Worchestershire

Mash the avocado with a fork until almost creamy
Quickly add the juice of one lemon for each avocado used before the guac starts to turn brown. *Iif the avocado was itself already "wet" or if the lemon is particularly juicy, you'll only want to
use half a lemon.
Add the chopped onion (*Adjust for wetness of the onion--you want your
guac to stay somewhat thick, never runny)

Add 1/4 teaspoon of garlic powder and 1/2 tsp of salt.
Fresh pepper to taste, along with a dash of Worchestershire (just a
touch--it goes a long way)

That's it! Serve on lettuce (and/or slices of tomato) for a salad
OR, serve with chips for a dip.

TASTE all the way through, and go back at the end for extra garlic, salt or lemon until it has the
"just right zing!"

"Sex on a Plate," and other secret gems in South Bend

I fled my hometown of South Bend the first chance I got. The summer after college, I packed my car full to the very last crevice, road tripped around the country and ended up in Dallas on a scorching Saturday in August. I started my job that Monday and at dinner I celebrated my escape from South Bend with some fine Margaritas - in the company of men, and women, in cowboy boots. Life was good.

I still visit “the Bend” quite often though, since my family lives there. Since I'm positive I won't be falling into some cosmic trap that sends me back, I'm happy to visit, and even find the pleasant and surprising things about the city. It is a small, gray and flat town. The University of Notre Dame is there, but it is not a college town. ND is more like a gated off complex in the middle of the city. It has its own post office and there is a significant divide between "Domers," and "Benders." Domers like to claim that the number of good restaurants has risen in the area, as well as the presence of a Lexus dealership, thanks to Notre Dame's existence, and the N.D. alumni tastes. I still only see chain restaurants and billboards. I can't say I have been to any of the genuinely upscale restaurants (of which there are two or three). I doubt most people in South Bend can afford them either.

When I'm visiting, I prefer to find the genuine treats the town has to offer...

Breadsmith's for bread

This fresh bread bakery was not successful for the first few months; the concept of fresh bread is lost on most Americans. But, thanks to its status as the only Kosher bakery, it is receiving all the business from European immigrants. Even though it is a franchise, it’s a family style business. The manager’s son is the delivery boy. I love their bread – from flaxseed to Rosemary Multigrain to Egg Challah - although it really lacks something that fresh European bread has. They sell brownies, fresh muffins and scones as well. Their Pecan Scone is to-die-for. I always finish it in the car before I get home.


Lula's for coffee

I don’t know how Lula’s started. It’s the only really artsy, indie place we have. It’s so not Notre Dame, and yet it sits at the edge of the campus like a beacon for all the slightly off-mainstream students, and some lucky “Benders” who are lured in by the bright pink sign. The walls are boldly painted, sculpture lines the walls on tiny pedestals. The couches are ancient and worn down nearly to the frame. You can sink into one and not rise for hours. Baubles and lanterns of different sizes hang above tables, and there is an old bookcase with games and novels crammed onto the shelves.

South Bend Chocolate Café for chocolate

This is truly the wonder of South Bend. This “café” has expanded to have booths in every major toll booth, as well as the malls and a downtown flagship store. Once again, the Notre Dame theme is present, even in the naming of their creations. You can order a Knute Rockne Meltaway or one of the Ice Cream specialties, which are named after famous historical Alumni, such as the Gipper, and the Four Horseman. I was pleased to read that they use local ingredients: Butter from nearby Amish community, tart cherries from Michigan and mint oil from South Bend fields.

The chocolate is great quality, the folks are mid-west friendly and this is a place that believes in the small details. Order a cake and the fork (for .70 cents more) will be dipped in chocolate beforehand. If you order a drink, such as a “Lake-Effect Mocha” or a “Mexican Hot Chocolate,” which has a touch of chili powder, for an extra dollar you can have a spoon dipped in chocolate.
Sugar & Spice Candies for party favors

This little mom and pop store is almost invisible. It is dwarfed by the city hospital just across the street. You won’t find any fancy candies – just good old fashioned stuff like licorice and those mints you only find in restaurants. There are rows and rows of plastic bins, full of hard candy in every flavor of the world. This is a great place to make a grab-bag.

Pulito's Pizza for pizza

This little Italian joint next to B& N is majorly popular. Charlie Weiss is said to eat here for free, whether or not he likes it; the owner refuses to let anyone who works for the football team pay. Like many of the local restaurants, the walls are plastered with old football shots, posters of ND basketball stars and an autographed photo of Muhammad Ali (who lives nearby). All the restaurants have the same photos, and the same shot of Ali., so Pulito’s doesn’t stick out in that regard. I don’t even like their food, but I have to include it, because they make this:

The whole pizza weighs 16 pounds! The small slice is two inches tall and weighs a whole pound. The large slice weighs two! We ordered it, just to take a picture, but none of us could stomach it.

Nick's Patio for breakfast at midnight

Last, but not least. The beauty of Nick’s is that you can have anything you want, anytime of the day or night, even Sex on the Beach. It’s a real local place, where all the misfit youth, grad students tired of researching, and just about everyone who has the munchies come to vie for a booth. On weekends at 3 a.m. it is packed with the people from the bars, and there are always a few policemen in a booth - they aren’t just there to keep things civil, they grub too.

This Christmas, for the first time, I went while the sun was out. There was a completely different vibe – it was full of elderly people eating waffles a la mode. Dawn, our waitress, arrived in her green smock and pigtails. She just started working at Nick’s again, after a year long hiatus. When she brought our food, she let me know that she’d been too embarrassed to ask me to remind her what “Sex On A Plate” was on the menu. She had snuck back to the kitchen and asked before putting in our order. It’s actually a house croissant, but long before I started going it got this nickname, and it stuck. (They even put it on the menu for awhile until someone complained.) The best part? The price:. One house croissant;Large oatmeal, 2 O.J.s $11.13.

Jon loved it, even if he had to make a stab at Americans. “This is breakfast,” Jonathan asks with his full mouth. “This is why we think you’re fat.” But I noticed that he cleared his plate.

***The man in the photo behind Jon talked on his cell phone during his whole meal. His wife was sitting across from him.

Another List: Items from America

Besides my grandmother's cake, which is in a category of its own, these are the TOP 20 ITEMS that I miss, write in my journal about when truly ornery, consume in mass quantity on trips to America, and pay extra at the airline ticket counter for the "over weight" charge to bring back to Switzerland. Well, not the Taco Bell. (One day...) These aren't necessarily all things I could find in a store. In fact, one is a whole store. Some are specific to a person, or a place. But they're all my favorite.

The top 20

1.Diet Dr.Pepper

Part of the reason I took a job in Dallas v D.C. was because Dr. Pepper is bottled in Plano, TX. It's available in ALL vending machines and restaurants. Here, to my utter amazement, they sell DDP in a little candy store. It's 3.50 Francs a can. But, about once a month, it's worth every centime.

2. Coleman’s Mustard
The good, yellow stuff without the unidentified fattening agent in European mustards.

3. Deli Sliced Turkey
So juicy, so thick. So giant sandwich.

4. Pickles
I'd even go so far as to say a pickle-on-a-stick!

5. Whole Foods
You know what I'm talking about. This also has a tangent 5b. Free Samples

6. Apples, giant, genetically modified, spotless apples
I don't care if it's less healthy. I enjoy knowing that I can't even find an apple smaller than my fist.

7. Sugar free lemonade
I could drink this stuff all day. And I cheat and tell myself I'm getting my daily intake of water since it's one of the 2 ingredients.

8. Beef jerky
This reminds me of road trips, pit stops (along with peanuts, jerky and DDP) and my southern roots. And I love any food so chewy.

9. Coffee in a to-go cup
Enough said.

10. Oatmeal at a breakfast diner


There's something so ridiculous about the raisins and brown sugar coming in these crazy little covered containers. I love diners in general, more so in the wee hours, but I always get oatmeal and hope my waitress is named Flo.

11. BBQ sauce
On turkey, on chicken, on 24 hour brisket, on baked beans, on rodeo days. Mmm. Mmmm. Good. Honestly, on french fries is the best.

12. Shirley Temples
The non-alcoholic drink I always got at Chi Chi's, along with my enchiladas, every Friday night between the ages of ten and fifteen. The whole evening was my treat. I am still apt to order a Shirley Temple when I'm feeling like a little treat and want to drive home.

13. Salsa and guacamole
The spicier the better. I've tried to make guac so many times but it's never as good as my mom's.

14. Sweet Tarts
My mom got me hooked on these at a young age. There are always a few rolls lying around the kitchen. Here in Switzerland they fill up an entire drawer. My mom and I agree that the blue ones are beyond unnecessary - we throw them away. Everyone knows that purple and pink are the best flavor - it's a sign of how well we're currently getting along to see a small pile of purple and pink tarts, left on a napkin on the kitchen table.

15. S’mores
I once went camping and didn't get my S'mores, and the taste has been with me ever since. Torturing me. These new fangled things like S'mores powerbars and S'mores ice cream are, what's the word I'm looking for? Crap! Can anything replicate the flavor of a charred marshmallow? I think not. Do you burn or just bronze yours?

16. Soft Serve

I try to limit my intake of ice cream - my absolute favorite thing in the world. When I do go for a soft serve, I'm confident that I deserve it. I drive to McDonald's and more often than not, I eat it in the parking lot, then go around and order a second for the drive home.

17. Curly Fries
Arby's makes the best. I hold them in front of my mouth: Boing, boing, boing. Like a spring. And they just spring right into my mouth.

18. Raw cookie dough
Proof that people (Americans, mostly) are self-serving. We all make a fuss when some restaurant serves E Coli infected food. But, what happens when a spoon and our sweet tooth come within the vicinity of raw cookie dough? Does anyone else hate that metal tie?

19. Crab


King crab, snow crab, blue crab. Crab cakes, stuffed crab. The best I ever had was at Lulu's in San Francisco. I was still eating the monster when my father ordered dessert. And I dig wearing the bib.

20. Taco Bell
My guilty pleasure, my true comfort food. My mom, bless her heart, arrives at O'Hare airport with DDP and my meal from TB when she picks me up. It's always cold, but no matter. I get the same thing every time. I know, it's horrible, it's kangaroo. Whatever. Listen, I'm a pretty healthy person and I'm only going to give up so much. Bring on the beans.

21.Stick Gum
I got a little over zealous and went over the number. But this subject is important to me. I chew a lot of gum. Once it helped me quit drinking, then smoking, then snacking. I have a lot of habits to replace and gum fill them all, so it's important I have my kinda gum. Does anyone know? I don't - Why don't they sell stick chewing gum in Europe? There is one brand, but ueuegh - yuck.

This Writer's Contract

Beth has peer pressured me into doing the last thing on earth I want to do right now: sit down and assess myself as a writer. Inside my agenda, EVERY SINGLE WEEK, I write "make writing schedule." And, you can imagine what happens. Rien de tout. But, maybe it does take a little support, even if it is a fairly solo gig. So, just for Beth, I have committed myself to paper - my writer's contract with myself. Now if I would just make the schedule...

I will believe in myself and my voice. I will not call myself a writer, without dutifully trying my hardest to be published. I will recognize that writing is a job, like any other. I will market myself in seriousness. I will write something everyday. I will be absolutely less indulgent with my schedule: procrastinate less, make and stick to a realistic schedule for my goals and level. I will try. I will read like a writer, think like a writer, smell like a writer and dream like a writer. And I will remember that writing is not always pleasant, but every bit helps to improve. I will not diminish my own skills, or indulge in self-doubt to further the cycle of procrastination: I will have pride.

Furthermore, I will invest more time in writer’s forums, groups and friends who write – and share my pain. And I will be open to others for the same support.

Birthday Cake - a Lurker's Meme

For a woman who doesn't eat sugar, my mom makes some damn good cakes. Honestly, I've never witnessed my mother eat a dessert - not even a hershey kiss - in my life. She has the willpower of a marathon runner, and yet, so many of my childhood memories involve her making me a cake. For my fourth birthday I had two: a pink one, and a purple one, my two favorite colors at the time. Perhaps she lived vicariously - she did have suspiciously thorough advice for how best to get the chocolate from the bottom of the bowl. To this day, the sight of a silver bowl and spoon makes me drool. Mostly my mother cooked, however, and only baked on rare occasions. When she did it was something simple but amazing.

The other night I got to thinking, if I could have any dessert for my birthday (which isn't for a month, but it doesn't hurt to plan), what would it be? There are a few exotic items I could think of. I'd like to finally track down the "sticky doughballs of goodness," I had at a cafe in Rome. I never learned the name of the dish. I even returned to the restaurant twice before leaving, but they were closed each time. But in reality, all the fancy daydreams of dessert lack the essence that makes a birthday cake special. And so, I would have my mother's southern, Pecan Chocolate Cake. It's not fancy, or even clean. It's a lick-the-bowl, lick-your-fingers-steal a fallen piece-scoop the crumbs kind of cake. And a lot of good memories.




Since no one comments anymore, I'm not sure who reads this thing. Therefore, I'm not tagging anyone. But I want you to answer, if you're lurking on this page. So. If you could have any dessert in the world for your birthday, what would it be?? (Leave a link to your post in my comments here so I can read all about it.)

RECIPE:
15 min prep, 35 min bake
Servings: Depends on how fast you get to it

1 bowl for wet ingredients
1 pot for stove (use same pot for icing)

2 cups white sugar
2 cups flour
1/4 tsp salt

2 st. margarine
3 Tbsp cocoa
1 cup water

1/2 cup buttermilk
2 eggs, beaten
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp baking powder

Butter and lightly flour a cake pan and set oven to 400 degrees (F)

1. Combine first three ingredients in bowl.
2. On low heat, bring to boil the margarine, cocoa and water
3. Once boiling, pour over the dry ingredients and stir well
4. Add milk, eggs, vanilla and powder and stir well
*The texture will be a runny liquid.

Frosting:

1 stick margarine
6 Tbsp Milk
3 Tbsp Cocoa
1 box powdered sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup chopped pecans or more, if desired. *That's silly. Pour 'em on.

1. Bring these three just to a boil.
2. Pour over the powdered sugar
3. Add nuts and vanilla and stir.
4. Frost cake when just cooled.

When I say Swiss, I mean it.

Yesterday, four months of work blew up in Jon's face. He had logged countless hours of coding, and we were nearing the comfort zone of our little online project, when it simply refused to work. The night before it worked fine, now it doesn't - and won't.
The word "devastation," came to mind. Yes, he looked devastated and really, really mad.

I've watched him work at this for months, and lately it has been a lot of stress, and not much else. I suggested that we simply put this project behind us and start over. "It was just an idea,we don't have to do it," I said, attempting, in my naievity, to convince him to let the project go.

He looked at me, and then sternly said, "I wish I could quit, but there isn't a question. I cannot," and with a sigh he walked back into the office.

If I had any doubts at that moment of just how deep Swiss commitment to perfectionism runs, they were put to rest just as I was brought out of mine - at 4:30 a.m.

I groggily rolled over and saw the clock: 4:32 a.m. and a space where Jon should be. I heard movement, and then water in the bathroom. Surely I was imagining things. I shut my eyes and waited for him to return. Five minutes later I heard rustling in the kitchen, and whispering to the cats. I rose out of bed and stumbled into the hallway. With barely open eyes I put out my arm to stop him as he opened the front door. I was too tired to add any emphasis to my voice, but I managed a bewildered, "What are you doing?"

"Going to work, silly," he said. He smiled and kissed my nose. "The boss is gone, I'm going to work on our project."

I drug him into the bedroom and showed him the clock, which now said 4:45 a.m. "Oh my Gosh," he said. "Oh my gosh, it was a dream."

Yes, he had dreamed that his alarm went off, even dreamed that he hit Snooze!, then he got up, excited to get back to work on our project. I told him that perhaps he could just go ahead, seeing as it was only two hours early and he was obviously awake - maybe he could come home early. "Oh no, I can't. My contract says I arrive at 7," and he crawled back into bed.

The Alaskan Podshow , or how to feel warm in Switzerland.

Most of the winter I stay put inside. I've fallen in love with the way the shutters block out all available light and I can pretend the greyness isn't out there. I've learned to avoid the kitchen windows. But, this is leading to a very sedentary lifestyle. I doubt I would have changed this except that I was introduced to podcasting.

I went on a downloading spree and racked up a few hours of NPR, National Geographic, French lessons, etc. Then, I sat down on the couch with my IPOD, giddy about all the learning about to take place (confirmed, I am a nerd). Surprisingly, this was incredibly awkward. I felt ridiculous sitting on the couch with my earphones on. You might say, why not just play the podcast through the speakers? Because then I would start doing something else, to avoid the awkwardness of staring at the wall, and then I'd stop listening. There was only one solution. Thus, I've begun walking to the grocery store in the cold - which is shocking. I'd rather have my eyelashes pulled out than go outside today.

And yet, thanks to podcasting, I've begun walking to the Migro. The other day I set out against a bitter, chilling wind and wishing I owned a ski mask (I bet they're still innocent apparel here). The old man from my boxing class drove by and yelled something out the window - though he didnt stop to ask if I needed a ride somewhere. I cursed out loud as I reach the small hill, trying to focus on the music and the pain in my teeth. The "French-in-a-minute" podcast ended and that's when Scott and his Alaska Podshow chimed in. I downloaded the Alaska Podshow because I knew nothing about Alaska, and it's cold there too. I had no idea what to expect.

First, there was a corny, but catchy theme song. Something about "Alaskaaa, Alaskaaa." Then, Scott's friendly voice.That song was really corny, but I'll give it until I reach the next round-about, I thought to myself.Then,Scott read the weather report for Alaska: Anchorage - 11; Fairbanks - 4; Barrow-17. Negative 17? Suddenly the weather didn't seem quite as brutal; it certainly was above freezing. And he sounded so cheerful; I kept it on.


Scott gets visitors and listeners from around the world, and it doesn't surprise me. He is a little goofy, but it's endearing. He has an honest quality about his voice and you immediately sense he loves where he lives, and wants to promote it.He has pride, an an impressive repertoire of knowledge about his home state. He does not shy away from controversial subjects, but he is diplomatic in discussing them. I really ended up respecting Scott's show because he talked about what concerned him and what interested him, and yet every subject was something that spoke to a global audience as well as a local, Alaskan audience.

About halfway through the grocery shopping he plays a song by Twisted Sister. I realized, as I bent down to pick tomatoes, that the few other women next to me were staring at me. Perhaps the music was a little loud, but the feeling was great. I couldn't help but smile as I walked through the store listening to the show; I was officially in my own little world. Towards the end of the segment, Scott touched on global warming. All of us who live in Switzerland can hardly deny this subject: Is there snow on your Swiss roof? Scott read comments from various perspectives and I felt he portrayed all sides of the story. It was time to leave the store and plod back home, and I found myself wishing I had downloaded another segment. Or at least the weather forecast.

To hear for yourself, and learn about crazy cold but apparently glorious Alaska - or just to catch some of Scott's good cheer - visit the Alaksa Podshow.

I heart technology.

The very first time that I lived abroad, I had two antidotes to my homesickness pains: the little French boy handed me dandelions through the fence at recess, and the baguette covered with gooey Nutella that my host mother made me in the afternoon. I had my first kiss on the school bus with the daffodil boy, the day before we flew back to America. I learned a great lesson that day - good things happen when you travel.

A decade later the homesickness was less poignant. There were thirty-five of us, and the school’s computer lab. Oversees airmail had been modernized and I received care packages from loved ones in a timely manner, even considering that this was Italy.

Today, I realize that the so-called expats in Europe, for all of our sporadic complaints, have things pretty good. I know a group of women who arrived here twenty years ago, before Internet and blogging, and had to request permission from the operator to dial international numbers. Today, I vacuum with my IPOD listening to anything I've collected since the end of high school ("colder than a polar bear's toenails..."). When my ears have overheated I plop down on the couch to read emails, look up information on an upcoming trip (I AM the travel agent now), and write this blog. A friend- a friend I met through blogging - recently turned me on to podcasting, so now I’m listening to NPR more often than I did back home in the Grand Am. If I wanted it, there’s Slingbox for television ( TiVo connected to Slingbox) and webcams for those who truly need to see our families’ faces. I don’t watch much TV, but all I’m saying is that if I wanted to, purely hypothetically, I could watch the episodes of I Love New York I’ve been hypothetically missing, on the internet.

And in fact, now that I think about it, my friends and family visit me much more often since I’ve moved to Europe, than when I lived in the USA. There’s no substitution for a hug from my best friend, a 50% off sale at Macys, or that buzz from Sunday afternoon football. But, we have it pretty damn good here.

Saut du Doubs

Click on the photos to view more.

Sunday we woke up early to a sunny blue sky. We had a big breakfast of fresh squeezed O.J., muesli with the fixings, and foamy, luxurious cappuccinos. Then we headed North to the Swiss-French border, which is marked by the thin Doubs river. Normally during the winter, this river freezes and people use it as a giant ice rink. With this year's warm winter the day was perfect for hiking instead. The specific hike we wanted was across the border, and though we didn't have any identification, we didn't have any reason to worry. This is a narrow road in an isolated area. There is a guard booth, but it was empty and the electronic hand was tied in an upright position. Meats and wines smuggling from France into Switzerland are common here, but the road was absolutely deserted for us. I still haven't gotten used to the idea of crossing countries so swiftly; I wonder if I ever will. In my head I was whispering giddily to myself, "I'm in France!"

The change is subtle, but there is a difference on the two sides of the gate. In Switzerland it is illegal to advertise on buildings, or to erect billboards. Not so in France and the first house we crossed showed an advertisement for welding services. Almost immediately we got lost. We asked directions from a couple, whose accents were noticeably more French. We drove a single lane country road, which rose up quite high above the thin, squiggly river.

Again, we find ourselves parking on the side of the road and tramping through a field - calling it a "hike." But, sure enough, after walking past a farmhouse and escaping the guard hens (they make more noise than dogs), we found a trail marker. The trail is fairly easy. You have one steep descent down a hill and the rest is a gentle downhill walk on a paved road (unless you want to make muddy shortcuts). We crossed over a very pretty bridge, where we could hear the rushing rapids, and sure enough, around the next corner we arrived at the Saut du Doubs, which literally means, the jump of the river Doubs. The sky was clear and sun bounced from mossy rock to rolling water to dripping icicles. A sunny day's hike to a snowy waterfall is a real gift. I realized that this was only my second day back in Switzerland - already I'm in awe again - and I take this as a sign of good things to come.

Winter Images 2007

Meme si il n'y a pas de la neige, c'est tres beau ici. Click to view larger images.

Coming Home Again?

As the plane descended into Zurich, we dropped below the cloud cover and Switzerland's green hills came into view through my tiny window. I pressed my nose against the cold glass pane and traced the gorges and valleys with my eyes, craning my neck for a last view of the sunrise lit Alps as the plane banked a sharp right. The man in front of me pulled out a camera, aiming at the red rooftops and the last stubborn patches of snow below. Along with the familiar jittery stomach during a bumpy descent, I felt a new sensation: pride.

When Jonathan and I arrived in our village, we met a crowded street full of neighbors. Today was the festival to honor the saint for whom our village was named, Saint Blaise. A group of men in their neon orange jumpsuits were erecting a tent over a small bar in the church courtyard. The smell of fondue permeated the car, and I suspect it will linger for a few days. The very first view of my village shocked me: clear blue skies, smiling crowd, and charming colored shutters with old womens' heads peeking out. This view was not actually the shock. The surprise was in seeing it with fresh eyes -what an unanticipated pleasure. Jonathan claims that there is no word for a "treat," in French. This is my example for him.

Taped to the door we found a note from our landlord, welcoming us back. I was touched. Then,we spent some hours unpacking my bags. It was like Christmas all over again, pulling out goodies from America and making a new pile of books to get started on. Jon disappeared to the kitchen while I finished and eventually we were sitting down to a chilled glass of wine and a slightly belated anniversary dinner. The meal was fantastic, but the coup de grace was scallops, my favorite food, made to look like miniature presents with ribbons of julienned orange peel tied around them.

Just as we finished we heard the sounds of a brass band in the street, getting louder by the second. We threw open the shutters to see that a shimmery orange and gold costumed band had come to rest below our window. Mimo, the owner of the restaurant on the first floor, was standing at the door with his chubby arm crossed over his apron. I could see he was wearing his designer jeans yet again. Mimo is greedy about business, so I was shocked to see that he wasn't letting them in. One boy gave a blow into his horn like a loud sigh. Eventually the dejected band gave up, and walked back down the street with a little less pep in their step.

I only go into the Puck with Jon with me now, so as to avoid Mimo's sexual advances, and even then we go rarely now, since Mimo is generally rude to Jon as well. But it was a festive night, so we went downstairs together for a beer. None of the regulars were present. Martine is afraid of crowds, and people are gossiping that the lesbian couple may not return from the Caribbean. Very Tan Man popped his head in, waved his cigarette in hello and disappeared back into the street. The dim room was filled with strangers, including a long table of many men in uniform. Mimo's wife, Paula, informed us that they were "big heads," including the Colonel of the Swiss Army. That explains why the tubas weren't let in. Mimo ignored me, as usual, and only spoke with Jon. Finally, when we were leaving, he acknowledged my presence. By then I was quite tipsy, and I forgot that we give three kisses here, when he leaned in to greet me. He rolled his eyes at me in disgust and walked back into the kitchen. Nothing has changed.

Discerning if I feel at home here is difficult. We know we will be leaving this town in six months, so it does feel temporary. Whether we will stay in Switzerland, however, is utterly unknown. I do feel safe and stable, though that doesn't always translate to "at home." I see the school children and the baker, but no place for me. Our apartment is charming and colorful, and I am truly blessed. But, there is a need for a connectedness with the world this room is in. This village, and this phase, like so many phases in our lives, is like a gorgeous dress that just doesn't fit right. It's uncomfortable in the noticeable way, and yet we cling to it, refusing to put it down. We shift and stretch, trying to make it fit, and still it doesn't. Eventually, after painful deliberation and a few well-placed urges from friends, we put it back on the rack and leave it for someone who it will fit much better. We move on to another rack, maybe another store, and find the piece that fits us just right. Even if it has to have less shiny bits.

Flashback II - Staying in is the new going out.

Today is the day before I fly back to Switzerland. My thoughts are empty, and only focused on the present day. This is the third time I go back to Switzerland. The place itself has not lost any charm, but the excitement of a new voyage has been spent, the power of the new has faded: I'm simply going back. I look forward to it, but no more, no less. And I still have to pack. I consciously notice that I am simply living in the present today. There was a time in my life where this ability was a distant fantasy - a torturous desire. I could never stay grounded in the present moment, my thoughts were always weeks, months, and a million daydreams beyond my present state. But today, this lack of excitement, which I thought might be a bad sign, is actually a blessing. Today, I'm simply being.

I wake up and have breakfast: a mix of my two favorite cereals and a tall glass of orange juice. While I munch I attempt a Sudoku, which my mom has me hooked on, and occasionally look up at the snowy view out the large kitchen windows The two ducks who have refused to migrate, have also refused to give up their daily bath. The entire pond is frozen and dusted with last night's layer of snow. Except for the small circle where they sit. Their body heat keeps this tiny patch unfrozen, and they swim tight circles around each other, just out of reach of my cats. A neighbor comes down each morning to leave food within their reach on shore. They are as spoiled as I am.

After breakfast I go to my gym. Actually, it was my gym when I was in college. Each time I visit I sneak in, using a family member's ID. I love this gym, but the great workout is accompanied by a sad envy of the students around me. I'm often caught staring unconsciously at some student in my line of vision, daydreaming about his/her daily schedule, the dining hall, the flag football team... you get the idea. I realize that my long sleeve shirt, that I pulled from an old stack of clothes this morning, bears the year of my graduation. I'm tempted, just for myself, to turn it inside out.

Following the gym, I swing by home, shower, then rush to the mall where I swiftly make a return. The ease of running errands is not lost on me, this day before I return to Europe. Across the street I enter the spa. I get a facial, a massage, a new hairstyle, and a season's worth of celebrity gossip. Despite my previous complaints, I find myself gossiping about American Idol with the girls. Next, I walk next door and pick up a basket of healthy food and snacks for the airplane, and a few of the coveted American items to take back to friends. Then, it's on to Borders to grab a few magazines and a cappuccino. No one said anything about drinking warm milk at 6 p.m. My brother, a senior in college who has finally found time to hang out before I leave, pulls up to the bookstore in his old Camero and we drive to dinner around the corner. Scallops and shrimp skewers and a luscious crab cake for me. Pizza, of course, for him. I treasure my time with my brother more and more.

After dinner I return home. The packing can wait. A friend calls to invite me to a club, it sounds fun, but I decline. American Idol is on, and there is frozen yogurt in the freezer. This has been an utterly perfect day, even if I never did figure out the Sudoku.

Flashback I - Buns of Steel, Attention Span of a Goldfish

Disclaimer: The next series of posts are en retard, due to not having a computer to blog with while in USA. Here are my musings from scratch paper...

In Neuchatel I run along the littoral - the tiny path that follows the length of the lake. While I'm running, my thoughts turn to the foothills towering over me and the housing developments with the laundry flying from the railings. I wear earphones and when the train whoozes past me, coming around the curve, I have to stop and calm my heart from the surprise. I navigate around the dog-walkers and the stroller club. The Alps are far in the distance, always hidden, except on rare clear days, by a veil of fog. Despite the moisture, the air is tantalizingly fresh. Still, I grow bored as I run my increasingly monotonous route and look again at the laundry, trying to distract myself.

Regardless of the Alpine panorama (which I do love), a small part of me doesn't want to run along the littoral anymore, breathing in the fresh air and dodging the Nordic Walkers. A part of me just wants to be in a living room doing Tae Bo, playing out a soap opera in my head about the background cast as I move. My workouts in Switzerland, on the lakeside or in the gym, are lacking something, and I think it is distraction. You see, as much as I try to exercise, I am a bad athlete. I'm not the kind of runner who takes off for an hour to clear my head and have some alone time. Quite the contrary, I need all the distraction I can get to complete a workout. I need television, music, magazines, eye-candy and a little competition on the treadmill next to me; I need it all at once. I'm also not the kind of runner who can just go until I tire. I'm running, damnit -I want to know exactly how far I went if I'm going to be doing this.

Being here in Indiana visiting my family has had the extra bonus that I have access to my repetoire of exercies videos. Billy Blanks and I have made up much lost time this week. For the first time I notice that he calls the woman to his left "baby." Quel scandal. I've also been frequenting my old gym, and gone right back into my old routine as if I never left. I remember which treadmill makes the janky sound, and which hour of the day is the most packed. I go at exactly that hour, I think to make up for the lonely gym visits I make in Neuchatel, where the maximum at one time is less than the number of digits I have to count them on. I've also bought new shoes, which are half as expensive here. I'm not going to go down the bitter, complaining route, I'm just saying, it feels good to find good, cheap shoes, and to know exactly how far I'm running without converting distances or guestimating. Yes I have to run on the street here, but I don't mind. I clock it, I run it - it soothes the perfectionist in me.

Soon I'll be headed back to Neuchatel, and I'll have to give up Billy for some time again. I'm hoping the gym hasn't thrown out the one treadmill since I haven't been there to guard it (the owner says the noise disrupts people). However, I won't be leaving my favorite video behind this time, which was made long enough ago that it doesn't have the code to prevent copying to DVD, like Tae Bo has. The 1986 Buns of Steel tape, led by a Chuck Norris look-alike, is going back to Switzerland with me, and as a carry-on, just to be safe.

Possibly?

There haven't been any official polls or anything, but I do believe we have the cutest cats ever.


Can cats be lovebirds?Indecent, yet still cute...

Whoops, how did that get there?


Sometimes I get lazy, and let the cat do the blogging.

READERS WITHOUT BORDERS

Today I get to announce to you the unveiling of a new blog: Readers Without Borders. This blog is a collective idea, brought to speedy fruition by myself, Gretchen, otherwise known as Global Librarian, and Beth of Shenanigans. But, it involves all of you. Didn't you know?

We call it "without borders" for many reasons. First, because bloggers post from all over the world. Second, because many of us (including the founders) live in places where English books are expensive and difficult to come by - especially by a book club deadline. And last, because this blog is a forum for reviews and thoughts on books of every genre (as long as the book is published or translated into English).

Like many of you, books have played a major role in my life. They've sheltered me from difficult moments, motivated me to change, instigated travel and even brought me new friends. (The latter is one of the ideas behind Readers Without Borders.) I could not live without them, and I know many of you feel the same way. It is this sentiment which brought us to Readers Without Borders, where any and everyone who loves to read can be involved.

RWB is a site where all people are welcome to post a review of any book that he/she has read. Visitors will be able to search for books using the alphabetical list in the sidebar, and once there, read and respond to any discussions. My hope is that "forums" will develop in the comment section of a post. I want to know which book to take to the beach and veg out with, but I also want to become a smarter person when I read, and I look forward to healthy discussions.

My other hope is that members will post about all different types of books. I for one have always read fiction - starting with hardback Nancy Drews as a child. For the moment I am devouring historical non-fiction as fast as I can get my hands on them (i.e. every trip home to America), as well as travel writing. I have only read a few biographies and never read a science fiction book. But, I hope that will change by reading candid opinions of many other genres of books. And who knows, maybe I'll make a few new friends. The power of books is remarkable in that way.

So, welcome readers, wherever you are, and I hope you enjoy this site. Remember, anyone can post a review as a "member," and we founders simply moderate the comments. Please feel free to email with comments and/or suggestions at readerswithoutborders@yahoo.com