Awake in New England

Singapore Redux

2012-02-15T13:22:00.001-05:00

I really thought about not bothering to write a blog post about our weekend jaunt to Singapore. After all, this was my 4th trip to that wonderful city-state. What more could there be to write about it? But, after 2 weeks in KL, the contrast was so striking! I guess I am inspired, after all.

KL is.....fine. I mean no disrespect to this striving city of 6 million. There are a lot of things to like about KL, including the gorgeous mountainous jungles surrounding the city, the striking iconic buildings, the massive, airy (and comfortable) malls, and the interestingly diverse population. But KL is also fairly dirty. You can't drink the water. The traffic is awful, and the mass of highways is so confusing that we thank God every day that we had the good sense to get a car and driver for Lee.

The minute you land in Singapore you know you are in a very different place. Second best airport in the world (after Hong Kong), we speed through customs and are soon in a comfortable taxi, speeding along a bougainvillea-lined highway to our hotel.

Lee usually stays at the Regent or the Sheraton hotels, near Orchard Road, the big shopping area. But we decide to try something a little different this time and choose a small boutique hotel called Naumi. This was a good choice. Our room is very comfortable, there is a rooftop pool, a nice bar, and a good free breakfast. We are right next door to the venerable Raffles Hotel, and close to the River Walk and the Ocean, both great places to go for a run.

Once we unpack we take the MRT, Singpore's clean and efficient subway system, over to Orchard Road. We want to eat lunch in the food court underneath Takashiyama, the Japanese department store. On the surface this is a good idea, but I get completely overwhelmed by the number of food choices. We grab a table and I wander around but can't make up my mind. Much of what is available is completely foreign to me. In Singapore there are no worries about getting sick from the food, but I'd like to get something that tastes good to my Western palate. After all, this is the country that has a building shaped like a piece of Durian!

Finally I fall back on the time-honored tactic of foreigners in an Asian land. I look at what people are eating at the surrounding tables and ask a lady that is eating a rice and beef dish where she got it. It's not a bad choice, hot, sizzling, and spicy. Do I remember what it was called, however? No.

Now in a more adventuresome mood, we decide to grab some dessert as well. Asian desserts are not as sweet, and trend toward flavorings involving red bean paste. But I found a stand making pancakes with different fillings, including chocolate and banana. AND, we get custard filled creme puffs from Papa Beard, an odd-sounding brand name to be sure, but very yummy. We've had them before in Taiwan, and they're just as delicious here.

We go back to the hotel and go up to the pool. Initially it looks a little spooky, an infinity pool that looks like its spilling right off the 10th floor of the hotel! We sit in a shady cabana, but even so it gets pretty warm and we have to get in the water. The water is COLD, shockingly so. We can only stay in for a short while.

That evening we decide to try something different. We've booked a table at a highly regarded Greek restaurant name Blu Khouzima. It's a little hard to find, but once found it is indeed delicious. We get a grilled cheese and fig appetizer, and a smoky grilled eggplant dish that makes me want to go home and figure out how to cook. For our mains we get some lamb chops and an amazing "beef steak" that is so flavorful, tender and juicy that I can't stop eating it even though I'm stuffed. The only downside is trying to get a taxi back to the hotel. This can be difficult sometimes in Singapore if you are not in the downtown area. We finally have to beg the restaurant to call us a taxi, otherwise we might be there still.

Sunday morning I go for a run along the river walk. It's nice, but warm and humid. I wanted to run 6 miles, but cut it a little short, figuring it was better not to get overheated. We need to work up an appetite before lunch, so we decide to check out one of Singapore's many excellent museums. There is a Peranakan Museum that sounds interesting so we decide to go check it out. The Peranakans are the original native settlers of Singapore. Anyone of mixed ansestry that is a native Singaporean is considered Peranakan. They could be like the Baba-Nonyas of Melaka, Chinese and Malay, or the could be Indian-Chinese, Malay-Indian, you get the picture. They have a rich history and the museum addresses their culture, food, religious practices, clothing, etc. as you can imagine its extremely varied! I especially liked the exhibit on fashion, including the beautiful batik sarongs and lace tops called kabayas. Part of me wants a kabaya, although I'm afraid it would be like the sari; when would I wear it?

Now its lunch time and we're ready to hit the Maxwell Hawker stand. You've probably figured out by now that a visit to Singapore is all about the food. The hawker stands are great. There is so much variety, and it's clean and safe too.

Unfortunately on a Sunday a lot of the stands are closed. But I've been doing a lot of research and even though some of the best ones aren't open I still want to try some different types of food.

Lee goes and stands in the line for Bee Hoon, an amazing fish stew that we've had before. I look at the line for Tien Tien Chicken Rice, but even on a Sunday it's just ridiculously long, so I decide to experiment again. I get some Char Toui Pork with rice and several types of chili sauce. This is pretty good, basically barbecued pork. Then I go over to a neighboring table because they have something that sort of looks like a spring roll. I asked them where to get it, whatever it is and they point me to the right stand. Rojak Popiah turns out to be an interesting dish. I watch them make mine so I know what's in it. First they take a thin wheat pancake, they spread some chili sauce on it, followed by minced pork, chopped hard boiled egg, rice and a sweet fruit sauce. They roll up the pancake and cut it into bit-sized pieces. It's surprisingly good!

Finally I get us one more thing. Carrot cake is actually daikon radish mixed with potato, egg and onion, and fried. This sounds like an excellent idea but it turns out to be pretty disappointing because it's pretty mushy. I think I could make this better than the hawker stand did!

Not surprisingly we are incredibly stuffed after this meal. We go back to the hotel because we need to rest up for the last meal of the trip, chili crab!

I probably have at least five blog posts about chili crab, but I won't force you to look back through my two blogs to find them! Singapore chili crab is a wonderful dish. Take a big south china sea crab, steam it, crack it, and pour a spicy-sweet sauce all over it. You may find this dish in other countries, but everywhere else that I've tried it pales in comparison. And yet...

This time we decide to try a different restaurant. We usually go to Long Beach, but decided to try Jumbo instead. All the restaurants in question are open-air establishments along the coast. Tables are set out on the grass in East Coast Park, and God knows what happens if it rains. "You get wet" Lee says. Fortunately we've never had to deal with that.

What we DID have to deal with this time was bad service, a real rarity in Asia. They lost our order, and in the hour we ended up waiting for our food chili crab lost some of its magical aura. It didn't taste quite as good as it has in the past. Had it just gotten built up too much in my mind? Or was Jumbo not as good as Long Beach? I don't know when I'm going to get a chance to settle this question. It's hard to imagine that I'll never be in Singapore again, but it may be a long time.

Monday morning it was time to head back to KL. My trip to Asia was almost over. By Wednesday I was swinging my way back across the globe, and here I am, once again safe and sound in snowless New Hampshire.

It's great to be snuggled up with Harper in the recliner this evening. I love to travel, but part of the fun of traveling is coming home and appreciating my own kitchen, my own bed, and yes, my own little white dog. Now, if only Lee were here too, things would be perfect!

Segway Tour in the KL Lake Gardens

2012-02-02T04:12:00.001-05:00

Today I did something I've always wanted to try, I don't care if the ARE geeky-looking! I road a Segway all around the KL Lake Gardens area. This was lots of fun in more than one way. First of all I got to ride a Segway, which was a blast. Second of all I got to see a lot of the Lake Gardens in a short amount of time. The Lake Gardens are a series of beautiful gardens and parks in the center of KL. It's very big, and since it's always hot and humid here, riding a Segway was a great way to see a lot of the gardens without dying of the heat.

Balan drove me to the National Museum this morning. Neither Balan nor Kumar knew what I meant when I said I was going to go ride a Segway. I had to show him a picture at the end so that he knew what I was talking about. The tour was supposed to start at 11 am, but you never know what traffic is going to be like here, so I had him pick me up at 10, and I got there in plenty of time.

Once I found the tourist information kiosk it was time for me to learn how to ride a Segway. Stand on the platform, lean forward a little to go forward, lean backward to stop. Turn the handle slightly one way or the other to turn left or right. Relax! At first I was very anxious and nervous, but gradually I started to catch on. It's really an amazing device. Its powered by a little electric motor, and a gyroscope keeps in it balance. We practiced going up and downhill (lean forward more to go up, lean back a little to slow yourself going down) and then it was time to take off.

I was on a tour by myself with two guides. One did this full time. His English had a strong Malay accent, so even though he was quite fluent I had trouble understanding him. The other guide was great. His name was Roger. He was a young engineering student and he made sure I was comfortable and confident in my maneuvering ability before we started the tour.

First we went to see a huge rubber tree at the entrance to the botanic gardens.

From there we drove by the lake, and saw several different types of bonzai trees.

We visited the hibiscus garden ...

...and the orchid garden.

Finally we visited a little exhibit of mouse deers, the smallest deer in the world. And I thought the deer in Texas were small!

By the end of the tour I was zipping along confidently, even looping in and out of a series of warning cones! I could go downhill fearlessly, and turn corners without thinking about it too much.

Riding a Segway was really fun and I would definitely do it again. Unfortunately they are way too expensive to fantasize about owning my own. It wouldn't be very practical in New Hampshire anyway.

Petronius Towers in KL

2012-02-01T02:42:00.001-05:00

I tried to go up the Petronius Towers several days ago, but they are a very popular tourist attraction here and the tickets to visit the viewing station on the 86th floor are limited and sell out quickly. So I bought a ticket for today instead.

It's actually quite nice that they limit the number of tickets that are sold. This means that only a reasonable number of people are up at the observation deck at one time, and you don't have to stand in line very long either; just show up at the time printed on your ticket, and up you go.

At one point the Petronius Towers were the tallest buildings in the world, but in recent years they have been passed by Taipei 101 in Taiwan, and now by the Burj Khalifa building in Dubai. They are still the tallest TWIN towers in the world, which Malaysians will not hesitate to point out if you ask.

This was your standard "view from the top" experience. The buildings themselves are unusual. They are supposed to reflect Islamic architectural characteristics, but to me they look as if someone in the 1930's tried to imagine what the "building of the future" would look like. They also look like giant bullets, or maybe oversized rockets. They are pretty cool looking, I think!

One thing I found myself observing today was the myriad different styles of feminine Islamic fashion on display among the people touring the towers. I know Malaysia is a popular vacation spot for Muslims, and I certainly understand why. Even though it is ethnically diverse, it is also very accommodating to Muslim sensibilities. Even most Chinese food in restaurants is "halal", ie pork-free! So today I saw full-length black burkas with only slits for eyes, elaborate costumes with long sleeves, long pants, and head-coverings like a nun's, modest pant and long sleeved outfits, but flowing, colorful scarfs for hair-covering, and modest modern dress, with a scarf loosely tossed over their hair.

I found myself wondering what the burka-covered ladies thought as they looked out at all the various styles of dress surrounding them, all of it considered appropriate attire for a Muslim woman by the person wearing it. Did they think that the rest of the Muslim women were missing the mark? Or did they wonder why some Muslims wore fashionable clothing while they were hidden away? It's so far beyond my ability to imagine that I don't really have any idea what they were thinking. I found myself observing their eyes, which in some cases were heavily made up, and seemed very expressive. I saw their shoes peeking out from under their burkha, and noticed their designer handbags too. It's just a puzzle to me, everything about it.

Canopy Walk at FRIM

2012-01-29T00:53:00.001-05:00

Today we went to FRIM, the Forestry Research Institue of Malaysia. It wasn't very far away, maybe 30 minutes from Mont Kiara where we are staying. It's a large area of jungle wilderness that attempts to preserve the natural jungle surrounding KL and promote awareness of the trees and other plants that are indigenous to this area.

That all being said, this would be just a nice humid walk in the jungle if it was not for a unique feature called the canopy walk. A series of narrow boards suspended between ropes and cables high above the jungle floor, it provides literally a bird's eye view of the environment.

As my faithful friends and blog visitors know, sometimes I am afraid of heights, but not always. An ill-advised walk at night on a railroad trestle over a river long ago in my college years left me paralyzed with fear. A back-packing trip through the Olympic Penninsula that involved many crossings of a creek over logs exasperated Lee to no end, since rather than use the logs I removed my hiking boots and waded through the icy water, dried my feet and put my shoes back on, only to repeat this action again, and again, and again.

But the bridge walk in Sydney Harbor was easy, even though it was very high up, because there were protected guard rails that I could hold on to. I had seen pictures of the canopy walk, and it looked like something I could do, and I was right.

The first part of this walk involved a short but steep walk up the mountainside to the start of the canopy walk. Quite a shock to the system after Hong Kong. We started by 10 am and it was a cloudy day, so it wasn't too hot yet, maybe 80F, but of course it was very humid, and we were soon drenched.

Once we arrived at the canopy walk, it was only a short climb up a ladder and there we were. For once words really don't do this experience justice, so just take a look:

There were 4 walkways. We had to keep ourselves spaced out along them.

On the platforms between each walkway only 4 people were allowed, so periodically we needed to wait until the people ahead of us moved .

We could see the city in the distance.

We were surrounded by the sounds of birds and other small animals, although we couldn't see them.

It was kind of scary, but in an exhilarating, good way.

It was a unique experience and I'm glad we went!

Hong Kong and the Year of the Frozen Dragon

2012-01-26T05:10:00.002-05:00

First of all let me just say, it's frigging COLD here! You all can laugh at me, frankly I'm laughing at myself. It's only 45F. But I forgot. 45 is unbelievably cold here. Most people's apartments don't have heat, and neither does our hotel room. I'm currently writing this in a Starbucks where it's nice and toasty, and crowded, because lots of people are looking for somewhere warm to hang out.

Part of the reason it feels so cold here is that it's also very damp. Like most places, when it gets cold here the humidity drops. But here that means that instead of having 99% humidity, it drops to 85%. And on top of that it's rainy as well. But as Lee said yesterday, you don't visit Hong Kong for the weather. And I'm very grateful that I can pull my puffy down coat out of my suitcase and look like just another Hong Konger,freezing to death in 45 degree weather.

Our hotel room is actually very nice. We are staying at the Bishop Lei once more, both for the price and the location. Bishop Lei. Right on Robinson Road in Midlevels, it's very close to where we used to live, so it feels like we are "home". It's not fancy, but it's clean and comfortable, and if you ask for a corner room, it's even somewhat roomy.

Actually this time we asked for their highest, nicest room, and ended up with the Bishop Lei equivalent of a penthouse! The room has two floors, a spiral staircase, a glassed in porch and a large bathroom. Even though there's no heat there is a plugin radiator that we can huddle around, thank God.

I need to pause for a minute here and describe how I flew to Hong Kong this time. I flew first class on Cathay Pacific, and paid half of what my business class seat cost when I came here in February. Some friends of ours told us about a pretty amazing website called www.alphaflightguru.com. If you want to fly business overseas (it's not for domestic or economy class tickets) and your flights are somewhat flexible they can probably find you a great deal. It doesn't always work, but this time it worked perfectly for me.

I know some of you travel so much for work or pleasure that you have accumulated zillions of miles, so maybe you've flown first class on an Asian airline before. I've flown business but not first, and let me tell you, it's a whole other level of pampering. My inner princess was nurtured and indulged to the max.

There were only 7 first class seats on my flight. Each seat was like a little cabin unto itself, with a large seat where two people could visit facing forward, and a third seat facing backwards. There are several large storage areas, including a little closet where you can hang up your coat. They give you a set of pj's and slippers from Shanghai Tang. There are 4 bathrooms, and a flight attendant for every two people, maybe more. For once in my life I didn't feel at all hesitant about pressing my little buzzer whenever I needed something.

My flight was routed through Vancouver, and left New York at 10pm. I decided it was best if I tried to stay awake until we left Vancouver. This would start to put me on Hong Kong time. It worked pretty well. I ate dinner, watched a couple of movies....when we left Vancouver I went into the bathroom to change into my pajamas. When I came back out my cabin had been transformed into an ingenious little bed, with a quilt that covered the seat and had openings for the seatbelt so that it didn't hinder you. It was very nice and comfortable and I was able to go right to sleep. Unfortunately I only slept for around 3 hours. I ended up getting up for awhile and having a snack. Then my flight attendant brought me some camomile tea with honey and I fell asleep again for awhile.

One of the nicest things about this experience was getting to eat whenever I wanted. And when it was time to get up and change back into my clothes, when I returned my bed had been magically transformed back into a cabin again.

Okay, back to Hong Kong. So far we haven't done a whole lot, but then we don't need to in Hong Kong. I landed here Saturday morning. Lee had arrived from Sri Lanka on Friday, so as soon as I got myself cleaned up we headed straight to Maxims for dim sum. We ate all our favorite dumplings, with egg tarts and black sesame jello for dessert. Then we headed to Causeway Bay and Victoria Park, so that I could show Lee the huge Chinese New Year Fair they have there every year.

This fair is like a combination midway and flower market. Click here for a link to my first visit, back in 2007. All kind of silly junk with lucky symbols for the New Year can be had. Dragon puppets, stuffed animals, tshirts, costumes were everywhere. I was definitely tempted by a red plush and satin dragon hood with matching claws and feet. I've seen people wearing the bright red hoods with dragon heads on top in the street, so I would have fit right in, but I resisted. However I did buy Harper a Chinese coat, perfect for her Halloween costume next year.

We ate dinner that first night at a Dutch restaurant called The Orange Tree. It was close to our hotel, the food is good, and I could get to bed by 9, which was important, since jet lag was definitely getting the better of me.

On Sunday we devoted ourselves to some serious eating. We went to Nha Trang for lunch and our favorite Indian Restaurant for dinner. The Indian Restaurant had moved, but we knew that they were moving from our last visit in August, otherwise we might have freaked out. The cute thing was the owner was standing outside the old entrance, keeping a lookout for any of their loyal customers that might not have heard about their new location yet. He had a silk scarf wrapped a round his head to ward off the chill, which made him look like he was trying to go incognito. But we were very glad to see him, and he was happy to escort us personally to their new location, right around the corner from their old place.

Their new restaurant is very nice. It even has an elevator and a bit of a view. It is larger and it no longer feels like you are eating in someone's living room. And the food is just as delicious as always.

On Monday we were in for a special treat. My old Cantonese teacher, Sandy saw on Facebook that I was in Hong Kong and got in touch. We made plans to meet for a dim sum lunch in Central. We went to Super Star Seafood restaurant on Wyndham. It was so great to see Sandy and catch up on what she has been doing. She still teaches Cantonese and Mandarin, and she does a lot of traveling too, all over Asia and Europe.

It's always so much fun to go out to eat with Sandy because she takes us to places that Gueilos never get to visit. She's the one that took me to the scary dim sum place and introduced me to the delights of congee.

This place had good dim sum, and with Sandy there we tried some new things, including a yellow bun with custard inside. She showed us how to eat it so that you wouldn't burn your mouth on the custard (tear it open first). This restaurant had dumplings in the shape of animals. We bought some cows and they were so cute we couldn't eat them, so Sandy took them home to her niece and nephew instead.

On Monday we had reservations at Spoon, a 2 star Michellin restaurant in the Intercontinental Hotel overlooking Victoria Harbor and Hong Kong Island. Our initial thought was that this was the night of the fireworks, but for some reason Hong Kong does their fireworks on Tuesday, even though the Mainland does theirs on Monday night. I was momentarily disappointed but then realized we'd get to see the light show anyway.

We discovered a bigger problem when we got in the taxi to take us over to Kowloon. The Chinese New Year parade was Monday night and it went right by the Intercontinental. The roads leading to the hotel were all blocked and there was no way for the taxi to get us directly to the hotel.

Normally this would be no big deal, but I was all dressed up, wearing a nice dress and high heels. I could walk in them, but it wasn't going to be fun.

We took the Star Ferry, thinking that might involve less walking, since the MTR doesn't go very close to the Intercontinental. This would have worked pretty well if it hadn't been for all the blocked off streets. We grimly pushed our way through the throngs, even catching a glimpse of a very cool dragon at the beginning of the parade, but we kept having to backtrack and change our route. By the time we finally sat ate our table overlooking the water, I was very glad to just sit.

Our meal, was very, very nice. Lee chose 3 courses, foie gras, duck, and a salad. I had the 7 course tasting menu, and enjoyed every single one. For dessert Lee got a chocolate soufflé that was just amazing. I was so stuffed, but I kept stealing bites from him anyway.

When it came time to leave we discovered that the roads were still blocked. There was nothing we could do, except sit in the lobby of the hotel with other disgruntled patrons until the roads finally opened. It was almost midnight by the time we got back to our hotel, way past our normal bedtime!

Tuesday was our last day in Hong Kong. Around noon we headed to Airport Express and decided to see if we could get a table at the Tasty Congee restaurant above the airport check-in counters. This is the place Sandy took me to that exposed me to the delights of congee, and I was happy to be able to finally share it with Lee.

We were able to get a table with only a 30 minute wait. It was packed as usual, and we were the only Westerners there. We decided to try the fish congee, plus a beef noodle dish and we were not disappointed. Congee is such an interesting food. It's basically rice porridge, but when flavored with fish, onion and ginger it turns into something way better than a breakfast cereal. I know Asians eat it for breakfast, but that doesn't appeal to me. I'll eat it for any other meal, however!

Well it's time to finish this up and get it posted to my blog. I'm hanging out in Lee's apartment in KL now, and the contrast couldn't be more pronounced. The temps are in the 90's, the sky is blue, with puffy white clouds, and we're back in the land of ethnic diversity and grocery stores that sell alcohol and pork as if they were slightly illegal. I'm ready to enjoy the heat and sunny skies for a couple of weeks, until it's time to head back to winter.

Russian Cruisine Walking Tour

2012-01-17T15:38:00.000-05:00

Last weekend I went on a Russian Cruisine Walking Tour in Boston. The towns of Brighton and Brookline right outside of Boston have a large Russian population that has grown by leaps and bounds since the fall of the Soviet Union in the 90’s. Always curious about the culture of my new environment, I thought this tour would be something fun to do while Lee was in Asia.

I can’t say that I’m crazy about the little Russian food that I’ve been exposed to. My impression of Russian food involves a lot of starch and carbs, and vodka. I won’t say this tour entirely disabused me of that perception. There are definitely a lot of starches involved in Russian food, but after this tour I can say they are pretty yummy starches. And they definitely stick to your ribs! I was thoroughly stuffed by the end of the tour.

We met at the Whole Foods store on Washington St. in Brighton. I was a little late and missed the introduction to the tour, because I once again got lost trying to take the Storrow Dr. exit off of I-93. This is getting to be a bit of a joke, since it seems that every time I try to go this way I manage to take the wrong turn. At least I am becoming familiar enough with Boston that I knew the general direction that I wanted to go and managed to get there eventually, although I know I went out of my way, since at one point I ended up down by the Public Garden. Mind you, this is WITH a gps. Hell at this point I’m not sure that I might not do better without a gps! Oh well.

I did get there in time to find the tour and enjoy our first sampling of Russian Food, which was, what else, Lox with cream cheese on rye bread. Now why this was Russian food and not Jewish food beats me unless the Russians stole if from the Jews, or vice versa.

We also got to sample Kefir, the fermented milk drink, which I had no idea was Russian either. I thought it was Turkish, or maybe Hippy food. The last time I had tried Kefir was back in the 70’s and I have to say it has improved since then. Yuri, our tour guide, said that the Kefir sold in the US is sweetened to cater to American tastes. Maybe that was it.

Our next stop was a Russian grocery store called Babushka Deli. Lots of very Russian food could be found in this store. Yuri told us that many Russians will do all of their shopping at the same little grocery store. Much of the food labels were in Russian, the deli case held lots of Russian delicacies, and piles of rye bread were available for sale.

Here we were able to try blini with caviar and a Georgian bread stuffed with cheese. We had red caviar because the black stuff is currently over-fished and very expensive. I loved this food sample. The blini are basically crepes, light and sweet. The caviar was salty and the combination was delish! I didn’t like the Georgian bread as much. The pastry itself was pretty heavy, and the cheese was stinky! I still ate it all though, so it can’t have been too bad.

Next we took a walk, crossing the line from Brighton into Brookline. We stopped into a restaurant called The Fireplace. Here we were seated at a table and invited to sample Russian vodka. Yuri told us the brand, but I forget. In my limited vodka experience I thought it was pretty tasty. We were given pickle and butter sandwiches, and taught the proper way to drink vodka and eat pickles. First, you blow air out through your teeth, sharply. Then, you take a sip (or slug) or vodka. Then you bring the open-faced sandwich up to your nose and inhale the pickles, and then take a bite. Chew and swallow your pickle sandwich bite and repeat. It did make the pickles taste really good. I guess I should stop and smell the pickles more often!

After the Fireplace we went over to another Russian Grocery store called The Russian Village. Here we were introduced to Kvas, a fermented drink, and shown some Russian beer, although we didn’t get to taste either one. That was okay with me since I was getting pretty stuffed.

We quickly headed down a few doors to another little restaurant called Vernissage. This place was uniquely Russian and catered to a Russian clientele that like to have a place to hang out and party. Yuri said that Russians don’t like to just go out to eat. They think an evening is incomplete unless it involves hours of eating, dancing, singing and of course, drinking. We didn’t do any dancing or singing here, but we did get to sample Russian dumplings. They were excellent, small fragrant dumplings made of pork and a tasty liquid, with sour cream for dipping. They would have made a good addition to anyone’s dim sum menu.

Finally we crossed the street to a little European bakery called Athan’s and had a sampling of éclairs for dessert. No, éclairs aren’t Russian, but apparently except for candy Russia stole most of their desserts from France, so it was traditional, none-the-less.

I waddled up the hill to get back to my car in the late afternoon darkness. I was beyond stuffed, but satisfied. I had a good time and got to sample a bit of another culture that was different and yet strangely familiar too. My dad’s family has Russian roots and I kept thinking about him during the afternoon when he would occasionally have a cultural fit and decide to drink some tea in a glass. And I practiced the Russian toast that Yuri had taught us – Za zdorovie! To your health!

Mid-Winter Musings

2012-01-09T09:42:00.006-05:00

Yesterday morning I went for a run around the lake. I’ve recently learned that Arlington Pond has a very interesting history. It’s one of the few artificial lakes around here. It was created as part of an effort to increase the power available to the textile mills in Lawrence. So on the other side of the lake there is a Mill Pond Road, an Arlington Mill Road. As I jogged along I tried to imagine what this area looked like back in the early 1900’s, when Arlington Pond was a rural vacation destination, dotted with small cabins or “camps” as they are known up here. It’s really not that hard to imagine, since quite a few of those cabins remain here and there, in various states of disrepair. It’s one of the things that makes Arlington Pond so fascinating. It’s such a strange combination of tackiness, wild beauty, and opulence. Do we live in a charming New England village? A wild spot of natural beauty? A hard-scrabble Yankee blue-color enclave? Well, yes.

It was cold, but there was no wind, and it was sunny. About three miles into the run I heard a loud flapping noise overhead and watched in amazement as a hawk landed on a tree branch directly above me. I almost fell over, looking up at such a large bird from a unique perspective. Above the perched hawk other hawks glided in the warming air currents. The simple beauty of the sight made me smile.

Farther on another seemingly beautiful sight left me with mixed feelings. As a college student in Missouri I fell in love with AmericanBittersweet. When we first moved to New England over two years ago I was thrilled to find bittersweet growing prolifically everywhere I turned. But my classes at the New England Wildflower Center have made me a wiser plant-lover. I have discovered that bittersweet is a very destructive invasive plant in this area, that grows as a vine and kills the other plants and trees it twines itself around. Now when I see bittersweet growing I also see the dying tree it is growing upon. But I still think that its orange and red berries are so beautiful. It’s like some crazy candy bar that I know is bad for me, but I still want it. I’m bittersweet-conflicted I guess!

At around mile four I heard a loud knocking sound off to my right. I looked into the trees, hoping to spot a woodpecker, and I did. It was a pileated woodpecker. I still find them thrilling to see. They are so large and striking. They seem much more common now than they were back in Missouri in the 70’s. But they are still uncommon and another piece of natural beauty that makes me glad I live here.

Toward the end of the run, crossing the little bridge close to our house, I could see flocks of mallards huddling in the small pools of water where the lake has still not frozen completely. This is such a strange winter. It has been warm, unseasonably warm, with no snow to speak of since the freak snow storm we had around Halloween. I have been startled, however, that people are starting to go out on the lake, skating and playing impromptu games of hockey. There was even a snow mobile out there yesterday. I know most people are very careful and test the ice before the venture out, but it still surprised me. The lows have been in the 20’s now for a couple of weeks, but the highs have frequently been in the 40’s during the day, with even an occasional 50 degree day. I guess it must be the days and hours below freezing that count. I’m still not about to take my snow shoes and go out there though; not until the snow mobiles are all over the lake and the ice fisherman are out. Surely eventually winter will arrive. We can’t go a whole season without some snow! I'm not ready to experience a winter like the last one any time soon, but a little snow would be nice.

A Playdate for Harper

2011-12-20T17:57:00.001-05:00

On Friday Harper and I hopped in a taxi and drove WAY uptown. She had a doggie play date with a Wheaten Terrier 5 month old puppy, belonging to an old high school friend of mine. He lives off of 215th street. I didn't even know there WAS a 215th Street in Manhattan! As we have made these occasional trips into the city from New Hampshire, I would see the sign for the Cross Bronx Expressway after the George Washington Bridge, and think that was the end of Manhattan and the beginning of the Bronx, but it's not. 215th Street is the very northern tip of Manhattan, but it is still city, with lots of apartment buildings, traffic and shops. There is even a subway stop right by his apartment.

I feel kind of silly now, but it did feel like we were driving out of the city and into the country. Once again, New York reminded me of Hong Kong, with the city center that everyone knows about and where all the tourists go, and then the outlying areas that are more quiet and peaceful, but still part of the city.

The taxi dropped us off right by Bob's house and we started walking toward a very nice nearby park. Bob's puppy is SO cute, just a big (40 pounds already) bumbling, rolly-Polly ball of energy. He bounded along excitedly; Harper seemed quite dignified in comparison. We took the dogs to a nearby dog park and let them go.

Their playing styles could not be more different. Teddy bounded around, chasing and wrestling with other young dogs, rolling all over the place with abandon. Harper greeted other dogs curiously, and a bit cautiously. She loves to run, and depending on the other dogs, this can be great, or it can be a little scary. In some bigger dogs she seems to invoke a prey instinct. I don't like it when big dogs chase her, although she is too fast and clever for most of them to catch her, and if an aggressive dog starts getting too close she zips over to where I'm standing or ducks behind a bench or a rock, making her getaway.

The best situation is if there or other terriers for her to play with. Teddy was too young; he just annoyed her and she ignored him for the most part. But soon a Jack Russell entered the dog park and they had a wonderful time chasing each other and running as fast as they could all over the park.

Eventually there were so many dogs at this particular park that some of them were getting into fights so we decided that it was time to leave. It was time for Harper and I to make our way back downtown anyway.

There aren't very many Yellow Cabs available that far uptown, so Bob showed me how to hail a livery cab. They are basically town cars that cruise the areas of the city where the yellow cabs don't go. They don't have meters so you have to negotiate your fare. I knew how much it had cost me to get there, so that wasn't really a problem. But the first livery cab I entered wanted too much money and my haggler's instinct from Hong Kong kicked in. I told him I wouldn't pay that much and got out of the cab.

At first I started walking a bit. I'm not sure what I was thinking. I couldn't take a bus or the subway with Harper, I had to take a cab. And it was WAY too far to walk! I was sort of looking for a yellow cab. There were a few, but none of them were going the right direction and they didn't seem interested in picking up a woman and her little white dog.

Finally I tried hailing another livery cab. The second car was much more accommodating. His English was fairly limited and he didn't know how to get down to the Village, but his price was right and he didn't mind me giving him directions. As we left the cab he said "God bless you lady" so I told him God bless you too!

New York City Part III: The Highline, The Daily Show, and Inverted Umbrellas

2011-12-19T07:41:00.001-05:00

On Wednesday, the rain that had started lightly misting Tuesday evening began in ernest. Rain or no rain, lingering cold be dammed, my plan was to go running on the Highline, so off I went.

Wow. Wow! I'd read about the Highline, and thought it sounded neat, an urban rail trail park, winding it's way through Manhattan, but the reality is much better than anything I had fantasized about. I ran the entire thing; it's not very long. It starts in Chelsea, near the corner of Ganstrovoot Street and Washington. Following the old elevated train tracks, it winds along, approximately following 10th Avenue, ending somewhere around 29th street. There are plans to extend it further, and I'm looking forward to seeing how that evolves. But in the meantime the part that is finished is very, very nice. A wooden path meandered through plantings of wild flowers and other native plants. Here and there small trees and benches dot the path. Occasionally the old tracks wander straight through an old building (perhaps a former station?) providing shade, and shelter from the rain, and apparently in the summer a venue for concerts, food carts, and other shopping venders.

I enjoyed my run thoroughly. It's too bad dogs are not allowed on the Highline, but I do understand why. It's just not very big and bouncing labs and frisky poodles could easily overwhelm the space.

By 2 o'clock it was time to begin my quest for getting us into the Daily Show. I had decided that this visit to New York we should try something different. Why not see what it's like to go to a tv show instead of a play for a change? I don't watch that much tv; in fact I don't think I've ever actually watched the Daily show in its entirety, just clips played on Morning Joe, and occassional postings on YouTube or Facebook. But Jon Stewart is clever and funny, and his politics jive with mine, so why not?

I reserved our tickets online, and then read the instructions. Just because you have a ticket doesn't mean you'll necessarily get into the show, cause they overbook. So they tell you to be there at 2 pm, to get a ticket NUMBER, and then come back at 4:30 to pick up your ticket and see the show.

I also read a few blogs about the experience of getting tickets, and found out that just because you are first in line it doesn't necessarily mean you'll get the best seats. They put you wherever they want in the audience, using some mysterious formula of looks age and number of people that want to sit together. So I wanted to get there on time, but not real early or real late.

I arrived at the studio around 2:15 and there was already a long line. It was beginning to rain harder, but fortunately there was an awning to stand underneath. I ended up with tickets number 101 and 102. But now I had to meet Lee somewhere and kill some time until 4:30. We ended up hanging out in a bar across the street from the studio, a very New City City feeling thing to do.

Eventually we got back in line, went through the very extensive security that involved removal of anything metal, including jewelry, and were ushered to what turned out to be two VERY nice seats, right on the aisle, about 4 rows from the front. We could see around the cameras just fine.

We had to sit there waiting for about 30 minutes, as the music got progressively louder. Eventually the comedian that was supposed to warm us up came out. He was very funny, but I found it difficult to get very excited about practicing yelling and clapping as loud as we could. I did appreciate that he explained that our screaming was necessary to the success of the show, but I still resisted. It's one thing to yell at a basketball game...

Anyway, Stewart, when he finally came out was charming and funny and very polished. I was really impressed by his professionalism; his ability to spit out his little segments without a single stumble or gaffe. We even got to see them do the taping for the international edition, and to retake a few things that they wanted to alter slightly. I really enjoyed that part; watching the inner workings of a tv show.

Oh, by the way, the guest was Ralph Fienes.

Before we knew it the show was over, and we were back out on the street, in what was quickly turning into a howling storm. Fortunately the restaurant where we were meeting friends was only a couple of blocks away. Lasilhouette is a modern French restaurant. The food was delicious. I had the fillet and spare ribs, and an outrageous profiterole for dessert. It was more like a giant profiterole sundae, not that I'm complaining, mind you!

After dinner we were able to quickly grab a taxi back to Christopher street. The wind had picked up and the rain was coming down harder, but Harper needed to go potty, so out we went, one more time.

By this time the wind was blowing at a gale force velocity. My umbrella blew inside out and flew away, just like in a cartoon. In fact, umbrellas were blowing all over the place, as party-goers, and sodden dog-walkers scurried along the streets. Harper bravely trotted on, and I doggedly made my way toward the Hudson River Park, where there was enough grass to encourage my country dog to do her business. By the time we got there the rain felt like little needles and the wind was blowing sideways. Fortunately, Harper found an accommodating bush and we made our way home, wet and sleepy. It had been quite a day!

Mizzou in the City

2011-12-18T07:36:00.001-05:00

On Tuesday Lee went to New Jersey to work and Harper and I stayed by ourselves in the city. The predicted rain had moved in so Harpr was not crazy about going for walks, but I put on her raincoat and told her not to be such a baby. That evening Lee and I went to Madison Square Garden to see Missouri play Villanova in the Jimmy V Classic. It was just so strange that Mizzou happened to be in New York City right when we were there.

I've never been to the Garden. To tell the truth we weren't really sure where it was. But it was very easy to find (as it should be, it's huge). Right next to Penn Station, an easy subway ride away. We found our seats and before too long the game began.

Mizzou has a new coach, since Mike Anderson left for Arkansas. Frank Haith, the former Miami coach, is a big surprise. Many fans were not very excited about the choice that was made when picking our next coach. Miami was a terrible basketball team when Haith became their coach, but he took them from terrible to decent in the 5 or 6 years that he was there. But no final fours or elite eights are in Mr. Haith's resume, so Tiger fans were disappointed and suspicious. But so far this team has really been great. They are undefeated and ranked, and defeated Villanova handily.

Villanova is in Philadelphia, so they had quite a lot of fans there. But Missouri was surprisingly well-represented. I found myself wondering how many of the people surrounding us were former journalism majors.

It was fun cheering for Mizzou, yelling M I Z -Z O U and watching them win. But I missed the band and the full arena screaming for the Tigers. It would be great to go see them play in Columbia again some day.

New York City Part I. apartment in the Village and the 9/11 Memorial

2011-12-17T18:32:00.001-05:00

We drove into New York from new Hampshire on December 4th. The drive went very smoothly until the Cross Bronx Expressway when an accident on the Hudson River Parkway slowed traffic to a crawl. Lee employed his best Hong Kong driver techniques, but all the drivers around us were using their New York City mojo, so it wan't as effective as it sometimes is. HK driving means if the nose of my car is ahead of the nose of your car I win, but New York City drivers don't admit defeat that easily. Finally the traffic eased and we made it the rest of the way into Greenwich Village.

We found a parking spot right in front of the apartment, at least for the night. Streets in this area of New York have a complicated system, that involves having to move your car for a couple of hours on certain mornings. We would have to move our car in the morning, but we would worry about that later. First it was time to see where we would be living for the next week.

First surprise, an apartment on the 4th floor, and no elevator! Hey, we're in good shape, but it sure makes you think carefully before you head out for the day. Next surprise, this is a VERY small apartment, and the decor is mid-century modern, i.e. sixties orange and avocado green. But it's clean and very quiet, and right in the middle of the Village, close to the Hudson River, Washington Square, and tons of restaurants.

We take Harper on a short walk over to the dog park in Washington Square. She is happy to be free and delighted to find a few other dogs to play with. But we're hungry so this is a short visit.

We decide to go to Momofuku for dinner. It doesn't require a reservation
And I know Lee will love the food. We sit at the bar and watch a very talented sous chef whip up various dishes. She makes a grilled octopus look simply heavenly, but we have already decided on brisket buns, spicy rice cakes (not your mama's rice cakes, let me tell you), and a miso ramen noodle bowl. We'd like to eat more, but there is simply no room.

We return to the apartment and take Harper for a long walk along the Hudson. She is very happy to see green grass. Although she loves seeing so many dogs and people when we are in the city, she is really a country dog at heart.

Monday was sunny and mild, unseasonably warm for New York in December. I had tickets to visit the 9/11 memorial at 2 pm. The site just opened to the public for the first time on the 10th anniversary of the attacks. Up until now I had no desire to visit ground zero. I consider it a gravesite, and it didn't seem right to go just to gawk at a giant hole in the ground. But I read about the design for the memorial in The New Yorker. It sounded very moving and beautiful. They limit the number of people allowed on the site at a time by issuing tickets.

It was an easy subway ride down to the site of the memorial. Once down there it was very crowded. Everyone was standing around, trying to figure out how to get tickets, how to enter the site, taking pictures of the World Trade Center buildings rising against the brilliant blue sky and puffy white clouds.

As former Hong Kongers used to massive crowds, we had no trouble winding our way to the entrance at the appointed time. The security to enter the site is elaborate. We must have gone through at least 5 checkpoints where they scanned our tickets and a security scanning as well. Once inside the memorial a sense of peace and sorrow fills the air, along with the sound of falling water and construction. There are two pools, one in the footprint of each tower. The pools contain a series of two waterfalls, one along the edge of each pool, and a smaller one in the center of each pool. It gives the appearance of an infinite disappearance of water.

Around the edge of each pool are the names of everyone that died on 9/11 at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and in Pennsylvania. It's a very sad experience but it's also healing. I kept thinking about that day over 10 years ago, but also about our visit to New York in the spring of 2001. We had gone to see the statue of liberty, and had walked from Battery Park to Wall Street, and then to the World Trade Center. We went up to the top and gazed at the view, then back down and continued walking north to somewhere in Soho where we met a friend for dinner.

When I first heard that they were planning on building a giant skyscraper at ground zero I was appalled. I couldn't imagine that anyone would want to live or work in a tall building right where the airplanes hit their target. But seeing that building rising against the sky I had a different, almost defiant feeling. Ha, I thought, watch us, we just can't be kept down for long. When that building is complete I'll be happy to go to the top to see the view. Yes I will.

Thanksgiving and a Cold and a Car

2011-12-03T10:48:00.000-05:00

I feel like I haven’t had any adventures lately. Poor me! Ever since the marathon I’ve been feeling a little down. I know some of it is the post-race let-down. The cure for that feeling is SUPPOSED to be immediately setting a new goal. After Twin Cities last year I didn’t follow that advice. I was tired and sore and ready for a break. But this year only a week after the marathon I was feeling great, so I signed up for a 5K in Cambridge and started training again. Everything was going great, until a few days before Thanksgiving.

Lee had brought a cold back with him from Asia. Now I have gotten positively smug about illness. Except for occasional bouts of hay fever and a few run-ins with the touristas in Asia, I don’t think I have been sick since we left Missouri. I have attributed this to exercise and supplements and my superior immune system. But what is it they say about pride? Well mine has taken a fall, along with my health. I caught Lee’s cold right before Thanksgiving and for the past week the battle lines have been drawn. I’ve fought back with cough syrup, green tea with honey, antihistamines, and Airbourne. I have tried to continue running, but in the past few days the cold has moved into my chest, which has meant a lack of oxygen and stamina. The 5K in Cambridge is forgotten, and I’m busy feeling sorry for myself and trying to get better.

Thanksgiving was lots of fun, cold or no cold. Last summer when Sarah and I went to Montreal I jokingly suggested that she and Erik host thanksgiving this year and she took me seriously, so off we went to Minneapolis. So did both of our mothers and Daniel; Erik’s mother, grandmother and sister joined us as well. Sarah made an impressive brined turkey. Daniel was afraid she would brine it in the bathtub, but a large bucket worked just fine.

Sarah and Daniel Show off the Beautiful Bird!

The grandmas made the rolls, I made two pies, and Lee made his famous stuffing. Suzanne, Erik’s mother, brought her family’s rice pudding recipe. This isn’t a dessert; we decided it was a Norwegian version of grits, and it was very good. My mother brought her macaroons, Daniel was in charge of the Bloody Mary’s, and Erik set the table.

Joanne and Hilda Make Rolls

Sarah’s house isn’t very big, and in my imagination it got progressively smaller as Thanksgiving got closer. By the time we boarded the airplane, no more than two people could enter her kitchen at one time and the turkey wouldn’t fit in the oven. So when I actually saw her house again it seemed very spacious, and the large old oven worked perfectly!

A Festive Table and Plenty of Room!

The day after thanksgiving it was time to make Lep cookies. For some reason Joanne and I seemed to be the only ones taking this task very seriously this year. Maybe we were just being too bossy, I don’t know! But thanks to us, and a few other occasional helpers, we made over 300 cookies, spread them all over Sarah’s table on newspaper to cool, and then packed them away in cookie tins for everyone to take home with them. As soon as we got home Lee took all but a small number of the cookies and hid them away from me in the freezer. It’s a good thing too. I can eat my weight in Lep cookies any day!

Shortly after we returned from Minneapolis Lee found an offer online from BMW for 0% APR for two years on any certified pre-owned 2008 model car. He started printing off possible cars for me from all over New England. It was kind of strange. I hadn’t really been thinking about getting another car yet. My Subaru has been very reliable and it’s good in the snow. And yet….lately it had been making me nervous. It’s been noisy for a long time. Last year in fact I took it to the dealer and they replaced the transmission under warranty. But it was still noisy, and seemed to be getting noisier. I was concerned that one day this noisiness was going to turn into something serious. Maybe it would be a good idea to trade it in before that time.

Lee found some nice-looking 328xi 2008 BMW’s at the dealer in Nashua, only 10 miles down the road from Salem. We went to test drive them on Wednesday and I picked up my new car yesterday.

I’ve never owned a BMW before. Lee has always been the BMW nut in our family; I always drove the more reasonably priced family car. Well this one is still a family 4 door sedan with all wheel drive, but it’s very pretty, an “Arctic Blue” exterior, and grey leather interior. It’s got all those strange BMW quirks, with radios and other electronics unlike any other car, so that even with the demo from the dealer before I drove it off the lot, I will still have to sit down with the owner’s manual and go through the mysterious buttons and gadgets it contains. I will also have to watch myself. BMW’s are speedy, and I can go nice and fast in one without realizing it. I wouldn’t mind getting in it right now and zooming down the road, leaving everyone else in my wake.

Marine Corps Marathon, October 2011 Washington DC

2011-11-04T20:53:00.000-04:00

A little over a week ago I got up very, very early on a Thursday morning, and flew to Washington, DC. I love Washington, in a remote sort of way. We lived there when I was in 5^th grade, and back then it was so much fun to visit all the monuments and museums. As an adult I still get a thrill flying into this beautiful city and seeing the iconic architectural masterpieces of our government from the air.

In just a few days I was preparing to run in one of the largest marathons in the United States, the Marine Corps Marathon. I had trained and I was ready, or at least I hoped I was. Since I had one marathon under my belt (The Twin Cities Marathon between Minneapolis and St. Paul last year) I felt less like I was entering the great unknown. But still, every marathon is different, and the terrain, the crowds and the weather could make this a very different experience. Was I really ready?

Before concentrating solely on the marathon I had a couple of days to enjoy Washington and the company of my friend, who had kindly agreed to be my hostess while I was in DC. We have been friends for so long, since 8^th grade! Sometimes we don’t see each other for years at a time, but when we do we always seem to fall back into the same comfortable relationship without too much trouble. We caught up on the daily minutia of our lives, enjoyed the birds outside her kitchen window (she is a serious bird-watcher), and even started on a jigsaw puzzle, one of our favorite pastimes from when we were kids.

On Friday I wanted to go into Washington and be a tourist. The last time I had had a chance to do this the kids were small and we stuck to activities that second graders and toddlers would enjoy. So I was ready to try something more adult.

We decided to visit the Library of Congress, which I had heard was an interesting destination. I had no idea what a beautiful building this was! We took a short tour and wandered around by ourselves. I took more pictures inside this building than I did the rest of the weekend.

After a nice lunch at the National Gallery we wandered through some of the rooms, visiting Rembrandts and Vermeer primarily, just because that seems to have been where we ended up. Then we got back on the metro and headed back to Fairfax. This was good practice for Saturday, when I would take the metro by myself to the Marathon Expo.

Saturday dawned cold and rainy. The rain fell in sheets, but I didn’t let myself be deterred. I had to go get my race packet and I wanted to see what bargains I could find in runner goodies at the expo. My friend said that Washington’s Metro has fallen into disrepair, which is really too bad. I didn’t have any problems, however. The signage is clear and easy to understand, and I really like that it tells you when the next train is coming. Buying passes was no problem. The only problem I encountered was at the expo itself. There was a large white tent in front of the DC Armory, where the expo was held, but I never saw the sign directing us to pick up our race packets in the tent before entering the armory. So, along with many other metro riding runners, I stood in the pouring rain outside the armory to get through security, then got into another line to pick up my race t-shirt and packet (or so I thought) and THEN found out that I needed to go to the white tent first! So, I had to leave the armory (in the rain), go through another line in the tent, get back in the security line, and FINALLY back in the line for my t-shirt! By this time I was more than a little crabby and a little worried too. What if the morning of the race I couldn’t find the start? This did not bode well.

But the expo itself was really nice. They had some beautiful Marine Corp marathon clothing. I bought a long-sleeved shirt and nylon jacket. I also bought a beanie with a warm ear-band that would fit underneath my running cap, if the weather was really cold. I even bought a new pair of running shoes in the brand that I like. Not to wear during the marathon, no, wearing a new pair of shoes in a race would be a very bad idea. But next spring when I’m ready to change to a new pair of running shoes, well they’ll be right there waiting for me.

By the time I was back at my friend’s house in Fairfax the rain had changed to sleet and snow. We were having a real nor’easter and the weather report from Boston and New Hampshire did not sound good. I emailed our wonderful neighbors and asked them to let me know if the power was out. Before too long I found out; our power WAS out, and from the news reports it sounded like it was out over much of southern New Hampshire. I sure hoped our generator was running.

Sunday morning, however, dawned sunny, and cold. To a certain extent cold is good when it comes to running marathons. It’s amazing how warm even a cold-blooded person like me can get over the course of 26 miles. But 31 degrees is really cold, even colder than last year at the Twin Cities. And this time there was no Metrodome to hang out in before heading to the starting line. I hoped I would be warm enough.

I had no trouble taking the metro to the start of the race, near the Pentagon. It was very early in the morning and I was surrounded by other runners, so I knew I was headed in the right direction. And it was easy to find the beginning of the race too, just follow the hordes of runners. If I was going the wrong direction, well so were 20,000 other people.

I found the huge assembly area, lined with porta-potties and UPS trucks. I peed, took off my warm-up suit, put it in my bag for after the race, and handed it to the proper UPS truck. I put on my garbage bag, over my two shirts and arm sleeves, but I was still cold. Last year it was 10 degrees warmer at the start and the garbage bag worked great, but not this time. I was shivering.

I peed one more time for good luck, and headed to my start position, way back in the happy runners with a predicted time of 5:30. I found myself a good place toward the side and settled in to wait for the race to start, trying not to shake too much with the cold. Gradually my toes turned numb and my shivers turned to shudders. The woman next to me kept asking me if I was okay. I wasn’t, but her question didn’t help.

I watched the fighter planes fly overhead, and the parachutists float to the ground. I heard the national anthem and the starting gun go off. The race had started, but back at 5:30 we still had to wait. Finally after around 15 minutes we started to move. The race began at 8 AM, but it took until 8:25 for the slowpokes in the rear to cross the starting line. Here we go!

It’s funny what I remember from over 5 and ½ hours of racing. The first 10 miles of this race are hilly, and I remember carefully monitoring my pace up and down the hills. Here my training really paid off. None of the hills were difficult and most of the time I was able to stay with my desired pace.

After leaving Rosslyn, on the Virginia side of the Potomac, we crossed the river for the first time, and ran beside the C and O canal. I remember riding bicycles here when we lived in Washington many years ago. It was beautiful and peaceful without many spectators. I enviously watched the men in the race run behind bushes and trees to pee. The lines at the porta-potties were much too long for me to wait. I did my kegel exercises and continued to run.

We passed through Georgetown. I was no longer cold. My beanie came off and so did my extra shirt, laid carefully on the hood of a truck. Now I was in my pink running clothing perfection; pink shirt, neon pink calf compression sleeves, and lime green arm sleeves. I would be easy to pick out of the crowd! And, I had put my name on the back of my shirt using duct tape. I don’t remember hearing a spectator yell my name, but lots of fellow runners did! “Hi Lynn!” they would shout, as they trotted passed. It always brought a smile to my face.

After Georgetown the hills subsided. Most of the rest of the race was flat. I tried to maintain a steady pace, 12:30 miles per minute, run 45 seconds, walk 30. If I could keep this up for 11 miles I would only have 5 miles left to go.

Now the race headed back along the Potomac, this time out toward something called Hains Point. Once more we were in a semi-rural area. The lines at the port-pottys were still too long for me, but I really needed to go. I started watching the side of the road carefully, for a tree that would be wide enough for my needs. Hey, I’m almost 60 years old and if the guys can do it, so can I. I picked a tree that afforded me enough privacy and scooted behind it, hoping I wouldn’t get arrested. Nobody seemed to pay me any attention, and I felt much better afterwards!

Hains Point was the halfway point of the race. 13 miles! I still felt good and my pace was holding. I knew from experience, however, that the true test of a marathon comes at the end. I wasn’t even close.

At 15 miles we turned toward the tidal basin. We could see the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials, and the Washington Monument in the distance. Now the race ran along the National Mall. I knew I was getting a little tired because my sense of direction was befuddled. I couldn’t figure out which side of the mall we were on, or where the capital was. I concentrated on small things, especially the runners around me. Unlike smaller races, I was always surrounded by other runners in this race. And unlike last year, the people around me seemed to be constantly changing. I saw two girls in matching Mexican shirts. I saw a young girl dressed in pink, with pigtails. I passed some people, and some people passed me. My pace was still steady, but I was eager to reach mile marker 21 where I would have “beaten the bridge” and made my way back across the Potomac. I knew I had nothing to worry about; all that was required to beat the bridge was a 14 mile per minute pace, but my tired brain was still fretting.

At mile 21 is where the true race begins. Last year I was unprepared for what this part feels like. I thought I had hit the wall, but it was just marathon exhaustion. This year I knew that I was in the marathon twilight zone again, but I also knew that nothing could make me stop at this point. Late in a marathon time seems to stop and the miles get very, very long. It takes hours to get from mile 22 to mile 23, days to get from mile 24 to mile 25, and about a year to get to the end of the race. I felt myself slowing down, but I was powerless to speed back up. Once again I lost about five minutes at the very end of the race. This is both somewhat disappointing and at the same time so very interesting. It’s a challenge and a puzzle. How much slower should I go at the beginning in order to have something extra left at the end? How much better can I get, before age inevitably slows me down? When will I run my best race?

A little before mile 24 there was a food station. Now normally I don’t partake of the goodies that are offered during a race. I bring my own goodies (gels and lifesavers) and stick to water, no gatoraide. But this food station offered donut holes, and I was so very hungry that without thinking I grabbed one and popped it into my mouth. Argh! It tasted great, but I was also afraid I might throw up right then and there. Fortunately a water station came shortly afterwards and I was able to choke it down. I told myself that it contained much needed fat and sugar and urged my body to metabolize it as quickly as possible. What madness.

I crossed the finish line in 5 hours and 40 minutes, once again about ten minutes short of the wished for 5:30 goal. I know I should have run the beginning a little slower, in order to be able to run the end a little faster. I know this intellectually, but in a long race it’s so hard to stick to this plan at the beginning, and by the time I hit those last 5 miles, well, it’s just too late.

There are two really wonderful things about the Marine Corp Marathon. The first thing is, frankly, the Marines. They put on a wonderful race. There are Marines all along the course, shouting out your times, encouraging you to keep going. I mean, if a Marine tells me I’m doing good, who am I to argue? The second thing are the spectators. There are enthusiastic crowds and music along almost all of the course. People wave funny signs, gospel music follows marching bands and drumlines. A talented singer from the School of Rock belted out Janis Joplin’s “Piece of My Heart” and so did I. A DJ spun “She Loves You” and I sung along as well. Marathons certainly reduce one’s inhibitions!

At the very end a young Marine shook my hand and handed me a gorgeous blingy medal. I got my picture taken in front of the Iwo Jima Marine Memorial. Heat blanket and goodies in hand, I found my friend and walked, very slowly to her car. I might have come a little short of my elusive 5:30 goal, but I was still happy. Less than 1% of the population has run a marathon, and I was part of that 1%. I might not be fast, but I was very persistent. I knew with any luck that next year I would be doing this again, somewhere.

The following day I headed back to New Hampshire and a massive power failure. Thank goodness for our whole house generator, that kept the heat and some of the lights on, the water running, and the refrigerator cold. My only worry was running out of propane, but the gas company brought me an emergency delivery, and the power came back on in our neighborhood Tuesday morning.

I am recovering much more quickly from this marathon than I did last year. I have already gone running a couple of times this week, and my soreness is almost gone. I don’t want to put aside my running shoes completely for the winter, but it’s time to focus on some other things for awhile, like raking leaves, baking bread, you know. But there is a 5k on December 11^th in Cambridge that ends at a pub….hmmm, maybe one more race is in order this season!

Bar Harbor Maine

2011-10-13T16:58:00.001-04:00

This was our week in Maine, so after Cushings Island Lee and I drove back to get Harper and then headed to Bar Harbor for the rest of the week. I really like Maine, and I loved Bar Harbor. I'm not sure why I find Maine so appealing. It's very pretty, but not grand. The people are friendly, the food is good (an essential ingredient for any Nill vacation). I just like it. It's cool that it's so close, too. Portland is only and hour and a half, and Bar Harbor is only five hours, no worse than Montreal.

I now understand what "down east" means. Most of the east coast of Maine (of which there is a whole bunch) is actually SOUTH of the rest of Maine, hence it's east, but it's also DOWN. Makes sense to me!

Bar Harbor is actually the most popular of a bunch of little towns on Mount Desert Island, where Acadia National Park is located. Bar Harbor is the stopping place for all the cruise ships in search of fall foliage. Since last week SHOULD have been the peak for fall colors there were lots of cruise ships coming in and out of the town while we were there. But Bar Harbor accommodates them just fine, so we never felt overrun by cruisers.

The weather continued it's strange behavior. The leaves were still very late. One night it dropped into the 20's, so I was glad to have my new puffy down jacket. The next couple of days it rose into the 70's during the day. It was very confusing, wearing gloves and a hat the day we went biking, and being able to go out on the water comfortably the next.

We stayed at a dog-friendly b&b called the Balance Rock Inn. It was really nice. Comfortable rooms and right on the ocean. There were a bunch of other people staying there with their dogs while we were there. Harper was very excited by all the other animals. She definitely didn't want to heel on our walks, since every time we turned around there was another dog to greet and sniff. It was very distracting.

Each afternoon, we would head with Harper to the veranda of the Inn and enjoy a cocktail while watching the sun fade against the harbor. Other happy dog owners would also be out there, enjoying the company of their pets. We struck up conversations with some of them and our dogs all got along. It was very enjoyable.

Because Lee's foot was still healing from his run in with a coffee table in a Sri Lankan hotel room, we stuck to activities that wouldn't aggravate it too much. One day we went biking in Acadia National Park. Acadia has these beautiful bike trails that are closed to cars. We got another toddler carrier like we used on Martha's Vineyard for Harper. She still wasn't very happy about it though, so we actually let her out, and because there weren't any cars, we allowed her to run beside the bikes a bit. She loved doing that and would have happily run like that all day, but after around 4 miles we decided that was enough and put her back in the carrier.

The next day we went kayaking in the harbor. This was true sea kayaking, with 1-2 foot swells, which made it fairly adventuresome. We had to wear these waterproof sleeves that hung on suspenders from our shoulders, fitted tightly around our waists, and attached to the opening in the kayak where we sat to keep the sea water out. It worked very well until we got out of the kayaks at the end, and then miss klutz managed to get soaked.

There is a sand bar in the harbor that is exposed at low tide, so we had to go around it. At low tide people walk across the sand bar to a nearby island, and sometimes even drive their cars. And yes, of course occasionally they don't pay attention and get stuck on the island until the tide goes out again.

We also ate at some wonderful restaurants. Once again Trip Advisor and Chow Hound served me very well. The first night we ate at Town Hill Bistro. Located about 15 minutes outside Bar Harbor in the little town of Town Hill, this cozy restaurant had delicious food. I had potato gnocchi and Lee had a lobster stew. They were both wonderful. The next night we ate at a restaurant called Red Sky. It was also located in a small town called Southwest Harbor. This was kind of an interesting place since it catered more to sailors and small cruisers. Red Sky was also very good. This time I had the lobster risotto and Lee had the halibut, which was just melt in your mouth good.

The last night we ate in Bar Harbor at a restaurant called Cafe This Way. By this point I was feeling permanently stuffed. I thought I would just get something light but the waiter talked me into a wonderful lamb dish. Except for hardly being able to move afterwards, I was in heaven.

Now here we are back home once again. My mother is visiting, and Lee has one more week at home before he returns to Malaysia. I will miss hi;, it's been great having him home. By the time he gets back it will be time to head to Minneapolis for Thanksgiving. But I have plenty of activities, including the Marine Corp Marathon in DC, to keep me busy, and Harper to keep me company. We'll be fine.

Cushing's Island Maine

2011-10-05T21:03:00.002-04:00

Five years ago the group of ladies from Texas that I am friends with got together on this island, in this beautiful old house. Back then our friendship was still relatively new. And it was somewhat exotic too, since the friendship had formed over the Internet, as an offshoot of a parent's listserve from the college where Daniel attended his freshman year.

We first got to know each other by chatting about everything you can imagine, usually in emails and instant messaging, more rarely in occasional lunches and visits. We lived far away from each other for the most part, yet in some ways we had gotten to know each other very well. We struggled at times, since we were all very different in some ways, and the nuances of communication sometimes were lost in print.

We had a great time visiting each other 5 years ago, and when the generous woman whose family owned this house suggested doing it again 5 years later, we all gladly agreed.

But a lot can happen in 5 years. People move on with their lives. Illness has stricken several of our members, or their husbands, making it difficult for them to travel. One member died from breast cancer last year. We are fewer in number on the island than we would have hoped, but still, here we are.

Our visit was planned for the first week in October this time, and we hoped that the leaves would be changing so that the ladies that came here from Texas would get to see them. But, it's been a very strange fall here in New England. It's been warm, and wet, and everything is still green. In fact yesterday, our first full day on the island, it rained cats and dogs. Some hurricane swirling off in the Atlantic dumped incredible amounts of water on Cushings Island.

It's hard not to compare this visit with our previous one. We are less silly, and more comfortable with each other this time. We are less excited, but more content. We have fought our battles, settled our disagreements, laughed together, and cried together. We are friends.

This morning the rain stopped, but it was still cloudy, and very wet. I went for a walk on the island, taking pictures of the old houses, and the bits of fall color here and there. It was beautiful and I was feeling both happy and a little melancholy too. As I walked along, taking pictures of berries, rocks and lighthouses, the sun started to come out from behind the clouds. Beautiful light bathed the island. We took pictures of each other, smiling together, and put rocks into a wall for the members that couldn't be with us this time.

Will we meet again 5 years from now? Will we meet here in Maine, or somewhere else? What will have changed in our lives by then? Most of our children have graduated from college. Some have married, and some have even started having babies.

As the sun begins to set on the island I'm sending out good wishes and hopes for the coming year. It's the beginning of the Jewish New Year, so that seems pretty appropriate to me. May we all have a good year, may all our children and families be healthy and happy, and may we continue to enjoy each other's company, where-ever we may be.

To read about our visit to Cushing's Island 5 years ago click here.

Agility Training With Harper

2011-09-16T18:57:00.002-04:00

I swear I should start calling this blog klutzy woman tries activities beyond her coordinated abilities...but anyway...Harper and I have been taking Agility Training classes. This is a fun activity and a good way to bond with my dog. People get very involved in doing this, going to agility trials, getting ribbons and medals, etc. I think Harper would actually be very good at this if she had a different owner. She is smart, enthusiastic, energetic, and loves anything that involves hot dog treats! Unfortunately however, she's my dog, and this is the sort of thing I will never be good at. But we'll keep doing it just for fun. Who knows, maybe someday I'll be able to remember which hand I should have the clicker in, and how to get out a treat in a timely fashion!

Nadine, our instructor, took this little video of me and Harper doing a short course today. The "weave" around the little poles is really hard for me; I drop a treat, Harper goes into the poles, I click to reinforce, drop another treat, Harper goes into the next set of poles, I click, and on and on. Too many things for me to do at the same time! She loves the tunnel and the jumps. We're not quite sure what happened in the jumps, her leash either caught on a jump or she choked on a treat! But she was okay, whatever it was.

Nadine wasn't sure how to use my camera, but she did a great job taking this little video and I really appreciated it! That's Bentley, Amy's dog, at the end, smiling at the camera.

10 Years Ago Tomorrow

2011-09-10T21:36:00.001-04:00

10 years ago tomorrow. Everyone in the US know where they were, and what they were doing when they first heard the news. In Columbia, Missouri it was a little before 8 am. I was pulling in to the parking lot at work, listening to NPR. The announcer said there was a report of a small plane crashing into the World Trade Center. Huh, I thought, and turned the car off.

I sat down at my desk, and went through the normal morning routines. About 45 minutes later I went upstairs for a meeting. A large group of people were gathered around a radio. One of the secretaries turned around and looked at me. "Pancaked. Just pancaked," she said in a heart-broken voice. I had no idea what she meant.

10 years ago. I was 49 years old. I had lived in Columbia, Missouri for almost 30 years, and thought I would live there forever. My daughter had just left for her freshman year at the University of Wisconsin. My son and my niece were sophomores at Rock Bridge High School, and my nephew was a 6th grader at Gentry Middle School. We lived in a big house out in the country. I was a computer programmer for the University of Missouri. We had a lab puppy named Marley. I rode horses, went for long walks, had a huge garden.

10 years ago. One of the first things I did was call Sarah. "Are you okay?" I asked her anxiously. "Mom," she said patiently. "I'm in Wisconsin". Then she paused. "This is big, isn't it," she asked. "Yes," I replied. "This is big. This is your generation's Pearl Harbor."

10 years ago. I cried and cried. I thought there would be a draft, and all of Sarah's young man friends would have to go off to war. I was thinking in simplistic terms, not imagining an enemy that would be so hard to find.

10 years ago, I wandered through Walmart, looking for an American flag to buy, but they were all sold out.

10 years ago, I stopped by the synagogue, tried to pray, but could not. I walked instead to Francis Quadrangle on the University campus. It was quiet and peaceful, a beautiful Missouri September day.

I don't know how to express the magnitude of the changes that 10 years have brought. I can leave it to the pundits and politicians to describe the changes we have experienced as a nation. I can't even fully fathom all the changes that have occurred in my own life in the past 10 years, let alone the entire country. I can't even figure out how to end this blog entry.

There is a full moon tonight. When I took Harper out to go potty before bed we looked up at the sky, smelled the clean clear air. There was a little sharpness to the wind, the first taste of fall.

10 years ago tomorrow was a beautiful clear blue September day. And tomorrow will be another beautiful day. I plan to go for a run, visit the farmer's market, take Harper for a walk. I plan to live my life, and that's the most fitting tribute any of us can make. We can live.

Luck

2011-09-03T08:38:00.001-04:00

I thought I really was lucky when it came to my return flights from Malaysia to the US. Two days earlier and I would probably still be in Malaysia. Hurricane Irene had caused all the flights into Newark and Boston to be cancelled over the weekend, but I wasn't leaving until Tuesday. The airports were open, and Hurricane Irene had become tropical storm Irene, missing a direct hit on New York and Boston AND New Hampshire. I really was lucky.

I've become an expect at the extremely long flights from Asia to the US. I know how to manage things to minimize discomfort and sleep at least a bit of the time. I've had to fly economy more times that not, but Malaysia is really far, farther than Hong Kong, so I was very happy to be flying business. There's no such thing as a direct flight from the US to Kuala Lumpur, so that means you have to change planes somewhere along the way, and it usually involves a long layover waiting for your next flight. On the way to Malaysia that meant a 6 hour layover in Frankfort. On the way back, it meant a 9 hour layover at the Tokyo airport, Narita.

Strangely enough, I was able to kill several hours by walking every inch of terminal 1 in Narita, twice. I looked at all the passengers. I browsed throughout the duty free shops, the snack stores with scary candy and fish-flavored chips, the multitude of gates with far-flung destinations. I took a shower, ate snacks in the business lounge, read and played games on my IPad. Eventually 9 hours passed and it was time to get on my next flight.

This was a 12 hour Continental airlines flight from Narita to Newark, then another 2 hour layover and finally home to Boston. The flight from Narita to Newark proceeded without incident. Decent business class food, lie-flat seats. I can't say I slept soundly, but I did sleep some. I never sleep that well on airplanes, no matter what.

We landed in Newark at 4:30 in the afternoon. My body thought it was 4:30 in the morning, but never mind. Immigration, the officer marveled at my fat little passport. That was odd. I mean, it's not like she's never met a frequent traveler before! What would she say to Lee's gargantuan passport, or Sherry Ott's? She'd probably pass away in a dead faint. The customs officer asked me if I was traveling alone. "Just you and Louie, huh?" "Who?" I asked, puzzled. He pointed to my purse, a (good) fake Louie Vuitton. "Oh. haha." I was so tired I didn't really have the energy to get nervous (besides it was 3 years old). I suppose because I hardly reacted he just waved me through.

I went to the business lounge, got some water, brushed my teeth. My flight to Boston was supposed to leave at 6:45pm, so I had lots of time. I checked my email, called my mom. As I was talking to her I noticed the time. Five after 6. Oh hey, I better get going! As I was leaving the lounge I realized that the gate had changed and I had a longer walk than I had originally expected. Oh well, just walk a little faster. I've got a first class seat, no problem, right?

I got to the gate around 20 minutes before the flight was supposed to leave. They appeared to be still boarding so I rushed to the bathroom. Then I proceeded to the gate. The flight attendant took my boarding pass and waved it under the infrared light, but instead of the usual beep it buzzed. "go see the attendant at the gate desk please" she murmured tiredly. Hmmm, what could be wrong?

I soon found out. Finally I came face-to-face with the fallout from Irene. Even though the airports had been open since Monday, airlines were still struggling to have the right planes in the right places. They were using a smaller plane for this flight, which meant there were fewer seats than passengers. My first class seat was gone, and there weren't any seats left in coach either. Yikes. They were asking for volunteers to be bumped from the flight, and somehow this caused a comedy of confusion and distress for several of us forlorn passengers without seats. First a young man that had been ahead of me in line was ushered onto the flight. The man that had offered up his seat was talking agitatedly to the flight attendant. "Wait, if you can't guarantee me a seat on the next flight I can't do this. I have to be home tonight." The young man that had taken his seat was ushered back off the plane. They asked for volunteers again. Once more someone gave up his seat. The flight attendants consulted, and this time I was let on to the airplane and the poor young man was left standing disconsolately at the gate. I got the last seat on that airplane.

Do I feel a bit guilty? Well yes and no. I definitely was a bit late getting to the gate, but there was no reason for me to think that I would somehow lose my first class seat. I felt badly for the young man, but then again, we had paid plenty of money for those business class tickets, so it really was more fair to give that final seat to me.

Well now it's Saturday morning and I'm home, safe and sound in New Hampshire. That long, long journey is over, and my jet lag is starting to recede. It's been a great adventure, living in Malaysia for a month, but I'm glad to be home with Harper. It's late summer, there are still tomatoes in the garden, and the morning temps are dropping into the 50's.

So, was I lucky, or just careless and a little stupid, or maybe a bit of both? Lee's grandmother used to say " you make your own luck." I would mull over this bit of wisdom sometimes. I tend to agree with Granny to a certain extent, but not completely. The people whose houses and cars were washed away in the floods from Irene certainly didn't do anything that caused Irene to swerve farther west, leaving the coastline and New Hampshire safe. But did I cut it a little too close in heading for that gate? Oh yes, I know I did. I can blame exhaustion if I want, and a business class lounge that never made any announcements regarding my flight, but I know the rules. Lucky or not, I was very fortunate to get on that flight. I may or may not be lucky, but I am certainly grateful!

August 25, 2011 - The Batu Caves

2011-08-27T06:15:00.001-04:00

I thought maybe I had managed to save the best KL tourist attraction for last. As it turned out this was true in some ways and not in others. The huge caves were discovered on the outskirts of KL in the mid-1850's and it wasn't long after that the caves were adopted by the local Indian population as a Hindu shrine. I tried to find out WHY the caves were adopted this way - is it common for Hindu Temples to end up in magnificent natural settings? But for now that question remains unanswered.

The natural setting of the caves is indeed awe-inspiring, but the manmade embellishments are a mixture of the sublime, the shoddy, and the ridiculous. The 280+steps leading to the cave are, from a distance, beautiful and intimidating. Upon closer inspection the steps were narrow and dirty. The railings were rusted and worn, with trash strewn along the grass on the sides of the lower steps.

But the huge golden statue of the Hindu god lord Murugan, and the wonderful views from the top of the stairs were lovely. The actual cave is just huge. After I climb the initial set of stairs, I enter a large cavern. Water drips from the ceiling, and sunlight spills through an opening high above the cavern floor. The walls of the cavern hold various Hindu temples, shrines and statues of gods. At the other end of the cavern another set of stairs climbs to a second opening. This second cavern is bathed in sunlight from an opening high above. Monkeys wait for handouts and yet another shrine sits along the wall.

After I walk back down the steps I decide to pay the 15 Ringit to visit something called the Cave Villa. This turns out to be a series of lurid paintings depicting scenes from the Bahatva Gita, the Hindu scriptures. The guidebook describes these paintings as psychedelic and that seems right. They were pretty in a garish sort of way, but altogether too touristy for for my tastes.

The thing about the Batu Caves is that in spite of it's strangely kitschy nature, it's also an important religious shrine. During the January festival of Thaipusam, over a million people line the streets of KL to watch the religious procession from downtown KL to the Batu Caves.

I don't know very much about the Hindu religion, and I think some of my distaste is due to ignorance. Maybe if I knew and understood more about the philosophy behind the statues and paintings I could appreciate them more, instead of turning my snobby little nose up at them!

August 23, 2011 KL Factory Day

2011-08-25T22:39:00.001-04:00

Balan and Kumar were going to take me to the Batu caves today, but it was cloudy and rainy, so we decided to save that for Thursday. Instead they took me to several factories where I could see Malaysian products being made.

Me in Front of Towers of Tin at the Pewter Factory Museum

First we went to the Royal Selangor pewter factory. Pewter is a tin alloy, and tin is a raw material readily available in Malaysia, so it makes sense that pewter would be manufactured here. The factory included a little museum about the history of pewter in Malaysia. We couldn't see the actual factory in action, but we were taken around to several model work stations where we could watch sample products being made. We even got to try our hand at pounding little dents in a pewter mug. Of course I was impossibly bad at this. Good thing I don't have to try to make my living with my hands.

Then, of course, we are taken to the gift shop. I actually wanted to buy a pewter bowl here, and found one that was just what I was looking for. It's very heavy; I hope I can fit it in my suitcase!

Next we went to a batik factory. I was able to see handmade batik fabrics being made. The artists draw with the hot wax, then apply the paint within the areas defined by the wax. Finally hot water is used to remove the wax and leave the distinctive white lines between the areas of color.

Once again, after the factory I'm taken to the gift shop. I decide to buy a zip up batik shopping bag, and a Malaysian sarong, called a pareo. They throw in some instructions on tieing the pareo, which I will need if I want to do anything with it besides wrapping it around my waist.

We make one more stop at a chocolate factory, which should have been right up my alley, but when we arrived it was overwhelmed by a horde of Chinese tourists, being very Chinese, so I didn't stay long. Pushing and shoving in order to get my share of the durian chocolate is not my idea of a good time. After a free sample of some tiramisu chocolate drops I was ready to call it a day.

August 21 2011 - Langkawi, Kayaks and Cocktails

2011-08-23T02:44:00.001-04:00

Let's see. When I left off we were about to make our way to the adult pool, a somewhat Romanesque extravaganza, with private cabanas overlooking the sea. We settled into our lounge chairs, exploring our temporary abode. The chairs were covered by thick fresh towels by our attendant. The water was cool and inviting, and I was feeling warm, so in I went, paddling back and forth, occasionally stopping on the steps leading to our cabana to grin at Lee, relaxing on his chair. Finally I felt cool enough to get into my chair too, but it wasn't long before I was ready for something else, like a cocktail. I settled on a tropical punch concoction. When it came I started guzzling it way too fast because I couldn't taste the alcohol. Lee actually got worried about me and told me to slow down! Well he knows me and my tolerance for alcohol, and of course he was right.

The next morning we decided to order breakfast from room service. The service at this hotel is very, very good, and our breakfasts came in short order. We settled in to enjoy our food and we were having a pleasant time, when a noise made me glance up at the gutters along our roof. Three small monkeys were eyeing us cannily, with more monkeys watching from the nearby trees. Well, we know what this means! We quickly start moving the food inside. I have no desire for a confrontation with a macaque, even if they are smaller than the ones in Hong Kong. As we're moving the food inside, we discover that our second balcony door is open and several monkeys are getting ready to make an advance in that direction. We slam it shut, and eventually they turn away in disappointment.

Then it's time for our morning activity, a kayak trip along the coast to see the mangrove swamps. It's low tide so we can't get right into the mangroves, but it's still a very nice little trip. Peter, our guide, is an Austrian that came here for a vacation 13 years ago, and never left. He was very knowledgeable about the mangroves and the various birds we saw during our excursion. He gave us some pointers on kayaking too, which helped me improve my technique. I'm hoping this will help me the next time we go kayaking on Arlington Pond. We'll see!

Another rainstorm is coming our way, so we hop back onto the launch that brought us and our kayaks to the mangroves. Peter says that the open sea will get very choppy because of the storm, so he opts for returning to the resort via a nearby river.

This turns out to be very interesting. The river is a sanctuary for aging sailboats, rusting away on their moorings. The sailboats hail from ports all over the world, including Australia, Europe, Canada and the US. Almost all of them look very hard used. They are a far cry from the beautiful boats depicted in Lee's Cruising World magazines. I imagine that these boats have been to many countries before they ended up on this lonely river in Langkawi. Peter tells us that in fact some of them have been abandoned by their owners, who running out of either money, energy, or both, have left them here to decay. It's strange and kind of spooky.

There are also a lot of other tourist launches traversing this river. The other launches feed the monkeys that line the banks, looking for a handout, and throw raw chicken into the water for the Malaysian eagles that swoop down and carry the pieces away. Peter looks on disapprovingly, since this behavior by our fellow humans messes up the local ecology.

Later in the afternoon I indulge in a "Marine Wrap" spa treatment. After an exfoliating scrub, I am covered in a luxurious mud, wrapped in cloth, given a wonderful head massage while the mud dries. Then once the mud is rinsed off, a "firming" lotion is rubbed into my skin. I exit the spa feeling relaxed, glowing, and well, yes, with firm skin.

This morning, our last day at the resort, is my day for a long run. It wasn't too hot when I started my run, but it was very, very humid. It took two circuits along the beach and through the resort to get to 6 miles, and for the last two miles I had to slow down some, because even staying in the shade, it was so humid that I could feel my body really struggling to stay cool.

This was a really nice, relaxing vacation, even though it was only two nights. I know it was good for Lee to have a break. He's been working really hard. And I was happy to finally visit Langkawi, which certainly lived up to my expectations!

August 19 2011 City Tour and Welcome to Langkawi

2011-08-22T08:13:00.001-04:00

Here I sit on our beautiful private balcony at the Four Seasons Resort on Langkawi, a small island off the coast of Malaysia, watching the rain come pouring down. The thunder is rumbling, the water is streaming down the sides of the palm trees. We have our very own piece of beach, and before this storm blew in we could see Thailand in the distance.

This resort is absolutely beautiful. It's not huge, but it's big enough that each guest can have a complementary mountain bike for the duration of their stay, if they choose. Or, you can call a golf cart to take you to dinner, or you can stroll along the beach, whatever you please. Pebbled paths lead in all directions. There are restaurants, pools, a spa, a fitness center, yoga classes, kayak tours, hobie cats. There's even a little 9 hole putting green!

We flew in early this morning from KL. Lee had us met by a Mercedes coupe, just to start the coolness of this vacation off on the right foot. After a short tour of the facilities, we ate lunch overlooking the beach, and signed up for our activities for tomorrow. The rain is starting to let up, so soon we're going to head to the adult pool on our bikes. I'm excited in my little-kid-at-the-start-of-a-vacation way, and Lee is laughing out loud as he starts reading Dreaming In Chinese, by Debra Fallows, a great book if you've ever lived in an Asian country or attempted to learn Mandarin or Cantonese.

Yesterday Balan and Kumar took me on a "City Tour" of some of the major sights in KL. I can now check off my list the Theon Hou Temple, The King's Palace, The National Museum, the old train station, and the National Monument. I always enjoy getting a taste for how people feel about their country. Malaysians are passionate and proud of the peace and unity they have achieved in a place with such diversity in cultures and religions. It's not perfect by any means, and they certainly have their problems, but then what is?

The Theon Hou Temple sits high on a hill overlooking KL. It's very colorful and ornate, and is currently being renovated by hoards of workmen with tiny paintbrushes. The garden includes a set of statues depicting the different signs of the Chinese zodiac. My dragon is the best one!

The King's palace is closed to the public except on a few major holidays, but you can take your picture with the guards, and the guard's horse too, if you want. The title of king is passed from the prince of one province to the other every 5 years. Malaysia is a constitutional monarchy, so the king is only a title, but it's a nice system that spreads the honors around and prevents any jealousy between different parts of the country.

The old train station is nice, airy and clean. It's still used for some trains (I saw a sign for Batu Caves), but most trains go through the new station now. I'm spoiled by our drivers so I haven't tried the public transportation here. It gets mixed reviews. Some people say it's okay and some say it's not that great. I think it might be like Boston, where it depends where you want to go.

Finally the National Monument is a war monument, on another hill overlooking the city. It's peaceful, serene, and at the time of my visit, at almost 1pm in the afternoon, very, very hot. After that it was time to go back to the apartment, eat some lunch, and hide from the heat.

KL Bird Park

2011-08-17T09:11:00.001-04:00

On Tuesday I went to the KL Bird Park. It's supposed to be the largest aviary in the world. It's very nice, it you like birds (which I do). Many of the birds are allowed to fly freely within the netted area, and they are so used to humans that they stroll right by you nonchalantly, so it's easy to get good pictures.

Birds are so expressive, and so smart, in their own way. What I want to know from my serious bird-watching friend (you know who you are), if you see a bird you've never seen before in a place like this, is it fair to add it to your life list? Probably not....

Here are some of my best pictures, but go check out the rest of my bird park pictures on Picasa.

The ostriches are kept in an enclosure because they are aggressive.

I could have gotten my picture taken with a bunch of birds, too, but I declined the opportunity.

The bird show invoked memories of the St. louis Zoo, many years ago.

The parrots really enjoyed the slide, or maybe it was the food reward.

This puzzle was a piece of cake.

August 16 2011 Sari Shopping

2011-08-16T02:52:00.001-04:00

When Kumar, our Indian driver, was taking me home from the Islamic Arts Museum, he told me that he would take us to Little India this weekend. "And madam, you should buy a sari!" "But what would I do with a sari?" I protested. "Sure, they are beautiful, but I would never wear it." I dismissed the idea. A sari? Ridiculous!

But on Sunday, Kumar was as good as his word. He picked us up and drove us to Little India, near KL City Center. This is the second time I've been to a Little India, having also gone to the one in Singapore. There are actually several Little India's in KL. There is also one in the Klang Valley, but this one is closer to our apartment.

Little India is bright and colorful, and LOUD. Indian pop music blares from almost every store. The sidewalks are crowded with Sunday shoppers, buying fruits and vegetables, spices, flowers and clothing. We pass a couple of sari shops, and Kumar looks at me expectantly. "Madam, would you like to go in and look?" but I resist. I know once I'm inside one of these shops, I'm a goner.

Finally, I give in, and you can guess what happens. Before I know it I'm placed in front of a mirror, and yards and yards of pink spangly fabric are whipped out in front of me. It really is pretty, how did they know pink is my favorite color?

First I put on a pink cotton skirt. The salesman cinches it tightly, too tightly I think, until I realize that it has to be tight for what follows. Then the sari fabric is wrapped around my waist firmly several times. THEN the salesman gathers the remaining fabric, from the point where it is wrapped around me to the point where the spangles start, into pleats about the width of his hand. He ends up with maybe 15 pleats, and THIS is tucked into the waistband of the pink skirt, which is why it has to be so tight. Then the remaining spangly part of the sari is draped over my shoulder, and wa-la! I am wearing a sari!

It's very pretty, but I feel a bit like Indian Barbie. I check the price. 165RM, divide it by 3 to get the price in US dollars.... And Kumar gets them to take 5RM off the price...and they add a pink Indian blouse and some bangles....and what if I DO get invited to an Indian wedding someday....or a Halloween party....oh, what the heck!

Kumar is very pleased. I don't really understand why he was so hell-bent on me buying a sari but the deed is done. I hope I DO wear it sometime. Maybe I'll start a trend in New Hampshire. Who I am kidding. It's hard enough there to find an excuse to wear a dress!

August 12 2011 A Little More Melaka

2011-08-12T04:30:00.002-04:00

Okay, I've had it with this hotel. This morning Lee didn't need to be anywhere early so we took it easy (well yes after a workout at the gym), ate a leisurely breakfast, and got ready for our particular activities. Last night my plan to stroll along the river and try some real Melakan food failed miserably. It was virtually deserted, which of course felt unsafe, and after walking for 20 minutes I realized that it was far too far to walk in the stifling Melakan heat. I spent about 45 minutes walking about, trying to look all purposeful and alert, and getting absolutely nowhere. I ended up back at the hotel, had a stupid salad for dinner, and went to bed annoyed and grumpy.

So this was my last chance. The plan was to store my bags, get a taxi, tour a museum, find some authentic food. But of course first I have to get in the elevator, and that's where my plan ran into a wrinkle. The elevator wasn't working. We call the front desk, and they say they are working on it. Fifteen minutes or so go by. We call again. People are tromping up the stairs, but that doesn't appeal to me. Lee tells them to bring a bell hop. The bell hop arrives when the elevator starts working again. They take my bags up to the club floor, only to find out I can't store my bags there. So I take my bags down to the lobby and finally get them stored.

I get a taxi and off we go. He gets me close, but doesn't really know what I'm talking about when I say I want to go to the Baba Nyonya Museum. What is it with this town? But I find the museum just fine on my own and get there just as a tour is starting.

The Baba Nyonya Museum is a real Melakan house, built by some of the first settlers of Melaka, Chinese men and Malay women. It's actually three very narrow houses put together. It's filled with interesting antiques and our guide is good; she knows the house's history very well. I'm happy to be in a group of American and Chinese tourists. I make friends with the Americans, who live in KL, and we may make plans to meet later this month, maybe at the Batu Caves in KL.

The Chinese are kind of cute. I'm assuming they're from the mainland, because they are speaking Mandarin. It's funny, I can't speak Cantonese or Mandarin but I know what they sound like. Only a few of them speak English, so they are translating for the others, so sometimes there's is a delayed bit of laughter as the tour guide's jokes get to them a little late.

After the museum I wander around the streets of the historic district for a little bit. I go into antique stores and see nice skirts and blouses made with traditional Malaysian batik, but I know I won't wear it so I resist. I do buy some batik quilted pot protectors and a funny hat / fan. Oh heck, I've got to do SOME touristy things!

Then it's time to find a place to eat. I settle on a little Chinese restaurant called Nancy's Kitchen that serves Baba-Nyonya food, which is a mixture of Chinese and Malaysian Crusine. I choose a Nyonya laksa, which is Malaysian curry. It's very good, and a whole lot better than the crap I've been eating at the hotel!

Well now I'm stuffed and sitting in the lobby, waiting for a car to come and take me back to KL. I have to go by myself, since Lee has to work until late this afternoon and I don't want to wait that long.

I think Melaka has a lot to offer, and there is more I'd like to see and taste here, but I think next time we should skip the Renniassance and stay at the Majestic Hotel instead.

August 11 2011 Melaka

2011-08-11T04:30:00.001-04:00

Yesterday we were picked up at around 7 am for our drive to Melaka. Depending on traffic, Melaka is around an hour and fifteen minutes from KL. Our driver was a little late because there was a big traffic jam due to an accident, but once we got out of KL the roads were very good and we zipped right along. Drivers here tend to hedge their bets and drive ON the white lines of a multi-lane highway, instead of within them. I find this a bit un-nerving, but Lee says it's a common practice. Before too long we're in Melaka. This is a city in the southern part of Malaysia, on the coast. It was the first port settled by Westerners in Malaysia, and it's heritage includes Portugese, Dutch, British, Chinese, Indian, and indigenous Malay. It's really a melting pot!

We're staying at the Renaissance Hotel, a somewhat shabby 5 star establishment. The service is good, typically Asian, but the rooms are a bit worn at the seams, and the tap water is occasionally a bit brown. As long as I don't drink it, though it doesn't bother me.

Lee is working (that's why We're here) so I'm on my own. I'm scheduled for a guided tour of the city at 2 pm. Although probably not a necessity this turns out to be worthwhile. I get a good overview of what there is to see in Melaka, and I can go back later and poke around on my own. In a little less than three hours we see a lot of the city. We walk around the historic center of the city, seeing ancient mosques, Hindu and Chinese temples, antique shops and chicken rice stands. It's pretty hot so it's nice to have the air conditioned van to go back to periodically.

We look at the old Dutch government buildings and climb the little hill to the remains of the Dutch cathedral overlooking the city. I love the old grave markers leaning against the cathedral walls and lining the floors. It's seems strange to be walking on someone's grave, even if it is 500 years old. But little cats sleep on the tombs undisturbed so I guess it's okay for me to trod the stones.

A storm is blowing in and the weather cools off a bit. A couple of days ago in KL I heard thunder for what seemed like hours, and then it spattered rain for about 5 minutes. This time isn't very different. The sky darkened, the winds blow, and a light drizzle begins, and soon ends. It cools things off however, which is nice.

We visit a famous well, with hordes of Chinese tourists, since apparently this well features prominently in their mythology. The guides show us some rather dubious magical properties of the well's water, but I'm not impressed. I like the nearby Chinese cemetery with thousands of crumbling graves better.

Now this morning I really had a great time. I went on a bike tour in the countryside outside Melaka. It lasted about 4 hours and during that time we saw rubber plantations, palm oil plantations and rice paddies. We sampled padaman, and red and yellow rambutan straight from the trees. We smelled the leaves of pepper plants, curry plants, and tarragon. We saw rubber being harvested. We saw giant lizards and bright blue kingfishers. We pedaled through prosperous villages where the people make a good living from palm oil and rubber, and can grow just about any vegetable you can imagine. Our tour consisted of me and a bunch of 20-somethings of French, Dutch and Canadian persuasion. I had no trouble at all keeping up with the young folk!

I felt a little sorry for our guide. He was lots of fun and full of interesting facts and stories, but he is Malay and Muslim so he can't eat or drink during our 20k tour. And it's hot. He's definitely ready for a break by the end. He is an excellent example of the benefits of water for keeping up one's energy in a hot climate. After all, I haven't eaten anything since morning either, but I'm drinking lots of water, so I feel just fine.

I highly recommend this tour if you ever find yourself in Melaka:

http://www.melakaonbike.com/services.html

Now here I sit by the hotel's beautiful rooftop pool. The water is not at all brown, so I think I'll be going in shortly. This evening Lee has to work so I'm hoping to get out of the hotel for some real Malaysian food, if I can find my way around without getting lost. We shall see!

August 9 2011 - KL Tower and The Islamic Museum

2011-08-09T08:52:00.002-04:00

On Monday I went to the KL Tower, a space-needle-like object that juts prominently into the KL skyline, with a bulbous observation platform on top.

Like the 101 building in Taipei or the Sears tower in Chicago, one of the best things about going up one of these towers in an unfamiliar city is getting to see landmarks in all directions and getting better oriented to where you are. That was definitely the case with the KL tower. You are handed a free audio tour as you enter the viewing platform and between that and the pictures with labels at each window, I was able to pick out quite a few items from the guidebooks.

It was a clear sunny day, and easy to see in all directions. Although the neighborhood where we are living, Mont Kiara, is quite hilly, most of KL is flat, with strange hills jutting up here and there, and small mountains in the distance. And although at street level it's somewhat decrepit in places, there are a lot of really beautiful governmental and religious buildings. There are a lot of nice rooflines in KL!

The KL Tower is right in the middle of the city, but it is surrounded by a well preserved old growth forest. After going up the tower I wanted to walk around in the forest for a bit, but once again I was attacked by mosquitoes and had to retreat. Well today I bought some repellent, so hopefully this problem will soon be in my past.

Instead of walking in the forest I had to settle for the cheesy little zoo in the basement of the tower. It actually had a fairly extensive collection of snakes, several large, grumpy looking lizards, a pen of turtles, planning their escape, and several monkeys that were having a fine time threatening one another and the guards.

Today I opted for an activity that didn't require stumbling around in the heat, so I went to the Islamic Museum. Our drivers, who are Indian, seemed puzzled about why I wanted to go to this particular museum. They said they had never had a guest want to go there before! I found this rather peculiar, since it is a highly rated attraction in the guidebooks and on Trip Advisor. I think they were a bit put out, maybe because I haven't been to Little India yet and perhaps they thought I was showing favoritism. I'll have to try to correct that soon.

But the museum was beautiful. The exhibits were interesting, but the building itself was the real attraction. Cool, quiet, with a glittering inverted dome, a peaceful courtyard with a blue tile fountain, it sits close to the bird park and the national mosque. I enjoyed learning more about the history of Islam and looking at the various artifacts. I especially liked the jewelry and the clothes. I don't know how someone could actually stand wearing one of those ornate headdresses or gem-encrusted breastplates. They looked incredibly heavy.

Now tomorrow it's off to Melaka. Wonder what that will be like!

August 7 2011 - Din Tai Fung and Chinatown

2011-08-07T05:24:00.002-04:00

Good news! I now have a converter plug for my camera memory card so I can add some pictures to these blog posts.

August 7 2011 - on Saturday we were mostly lazy, but we did go to Din Tai Fung, heaven on earth for dim sum lovers. The Din Tai Fung in KL is in the Mid City Mega Mall, an immense mall, even by Asian standards. The most interesting thing to me in the mall were the shops with fashions for muslim women. Malaysian Muslim ladies don't wear burkhas, but they do dress modestly, with knee-length long-sleeved tops, long pants, and scarves that cover their hair. But the scarves and tops are patterned and colorful. It kind of made me happy to see them being able to express themselves with fashion within the confines of their religion.

This morning I slept until almost 7am. This was very good for my jet lag, but not so great for my morning run. Actually it really wasn't that bad. My long run was "only" four miles. I'm of course not acclimated at all yet to the heat, and this neighborhood is very hilly, so I ran very slowly, and except for being very sweaty by the end it wasn't too bad.

We decided to go explore Chinatown today. KL's Chinatown is not very Chinese. We visited a mosque, wandered through Malaysian hawker stands, and admired the art deco and colonial buildings in their crumbling grandeur. I only saw one or two signs in Chinese, and the only Cantonese I heard was in the taxi on the way there on the radio!

We thought about eating at the hawker stands, but this isn't Singapore and it just looked extremely unsanitary to me. Instead we opted for a restaurant called The Old China Cafe, which served primarily Malaysian food. I got a coconut curry dish that included fried anchovies, chili sauce, cucumbers and half a boiled egg. It was different, but very good. After that we were ready to return to the apartment. After all, we have all month to explore this place!

August 6 2011 Kuala Lumpur

2011-08-07T05:21:00.002-04:00

First of all, my apologies. I didn't bring the right plug for my camera, so I have no way to transfer my pictures to my blog until I get home. I decided I didn't want to wait a month to create blog posts, however, so I'll post as I go, and add pictures later.

Boston to Frankfort to Singapore to KL. All in all it's safe to say that was almost 2 days of traveling. I left Boston on the afternoon of the 3rd, and finally arrived in KL the morning of the 5th. But flying business class, it's really not that bad. Just having a roomy seat that lies down makes all the difference in the world. It was kind of fun flying two different airlines. I flew Lufthansa from Boston to Frankfort, and Sing Air the rest of the way. Both had comfortable seats, decent food, clean, quiet lounges. I took a shower in the lounge in Frankfort, and that helped. I have to say the food on the Sing Air flight was really good, just like I heard.

My luggage arrived in KL, which was a good sign. My phone worked right away, so I was able to call Lee and let him know I had arrived safely. And Balan, our driver, met me when I came out of customs, waving a sign with my name on it and shouting "Nill!"

It's a long drive from the KL airport to Mont Kiara, the suburb where Lee's apartment is. I soaked up the jungle vegetation, the clusters of high rise apartments, the left side driving traffic.

Lee's apartment is very nice. I unpack, eat leftover meatloaf for lunch (I've missed my husband's cooking!), and decide I should do a little exploring.

First I check out the exercise room. Two treadmills, an elliptical, weight machines and free weights; it will do for rainy days, weight-training, and times when the heat drives me indoors. I turn to leave, and realize I have no idea how to open the doors! The building doors are secured by an electronic pass, which let's me in to various area, but then how do I get out? Fortunately there was a man on one of the treadmills, or I might be there still. He showed me how to press the large black button to make my exit. Thanks goodness!

Then I check out the pool. It's huge, beautiful, and deserted. Ancient plastic lounge chairs disfigured by the remains of black mold, sit here and there in the grass. The water looks cool and inviting. I sit down in the shade of an umbrella and open my book. Ow! I slap away what I think is a biting fly and continue reading. Ow! yikes, ow again! Finally I look down and find myself being attacked by mosquitos! Well this won't do! Next thing I know I'll have dengue fever! Don't they spray around here?

So now what to do? Sitting around the apartment until Lee gets home is not a good idea. I need sunshine and activity to help myself stay awake and fight jet lag. Lee has left me directions on how to walk to a nearby mall, so that's what I decide to do.

It's warm and sunny out, but not overly humid. if I stay in the shade while walking as much as possible it's not too bad. The is a lot of construction going on, and a lot of traffic too. The streets are tree lined and hospitable, however, with plenty of foot traffic. I stop at a coffee shop for an iced latte. I wander around a large courtyard lined with restaurants. Children shriek and play in a fountain. I peek into the mall, but decide that I will save it for another day. Lee will be getting home soon and it is time to go back.

While taking a shower I hear Lee enter the apartment. It is so nice to see my husband! We chatter about things companionably. I take a short nap, and soon it's time to go to dinner and do a little exploring.

We choose a Vietnamese restaurant close to the city center. The traffic is terrible, as everyone is rushing home to break the Ramadan fast. Lee explains the vagaries of KL taxis. The blue taxis are regulated strictly, with newer vehicles and standardized meter fares. They are the most expensive, approximately Hong Kong taxi fares. The red taxis are more fly-by-night. The vehicles are older. They have meters but they may try to scam you, so Lee says always ask a red taxi if they use the meter before you get in, and be sure that you have small bills, because one of their favorite tricks is to say they can't make change. They cost half as much as the blue taxis, but you have to be careful.

We take a red taxi to the restaurant and it's fine. He takes the back roads and avoids the worst of the traffic, but it's still pretty bad. KL traffic is worse than Hong Kong, better than Bangkok, maybe.

The restaurant is in a western expat area, with lots of guest houses, foot massage parlors, and cafes. As the sun sets, we eat spring rolls, beef noodle salad, caramel chicken, and drink beer. The restaurant is good, but it's not Nha Trang, or even Pho 88 in Lowell.

We take a blue taxi back, and he regales us with tales of police corruption in Malaysia. We pass a night market, teaming with food stalls and crowds of people. I want to go there! We pass stages where pop singers blare. Trees are strung with tiny strands of drooping blue and white lights. It's very pretty, and looks a bit like Hannukah decorations, but don't tell the Malaysians I said that!

Anticipation

2011-07-30T10:23:00.000-04:00

In less than 5 days I leave for Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. In May Lee retired from 3M and promptly signed an 18 month contract with another company. This company hired him because of his extensive experience in Asia, so of course this job involves a lot of travel. He is currently over there, and has been there since the beginning of July. So, for the month of August, I’m going there too.

I can’t wait to see my husband, and I’m curious about Malaysia. We never managed to go there when we lived in Hong Kong; other destinations always had a higher priority. But now I’m going to have plenty of opportunity to explore Malaysia. On this trip I will primarily hang out in KL while Lee is working, but I’ll also accompany him on a business trip to Malaka, and we have planned a weekend in Langkawi, and also one in Hong Kong.

I’m a little anxious about leaving the house for so long, but we have a security system and our neighbors will keep an eye on things (so all you thieves reading this beware…). I wish at least a few tomatoes would ripen before its time for me to go. They are pale, but not even pink, at least not yet. The only positive thing about that is there will probably be plenty of tomatoes ready to pick when I get back. And cucumbers, beans, eggplant…

I will miss Harper a lot. She is such a great little companion, always up for whatever is on the agenda. I wish I could take her with me where-ever I go, but grocery stores and restaurants don’t want little dogs around, and in the summertime I can’t leave her in the car very often. She loves to GO, but she also loves it when I leave and she gets some sort of treat to make up for my absence. And even though I feel guilty about leaving her for so long, she will be beyond excited to be at Diane’s again.

I’m not looking forward to this long, long flight, even though I get to fly business class. 7 hours from Boston to Frankfort. 6 hour layover. 12 hours from Frankfort to Singapore. 2 hour layover. 1 hour flight to KL. That’s 28 hours total, not counting time at the beginning and end of the journey. On the way back I fly through Narita (Tokyo): 7 hours from KL to Tokyo. Almost a 9 hour layover (sheesh, what am I going to do in Narita for 9 hours? Its not enough time to go into Tokyo…). Tokyo to Boston, 16 hours, including changing planes in Newark. Crazy. We’re planning on doing this again this winter. Hopefully I can find better flights next time.

But once I get there it will be fun to explore a new city and the surrounding area. I’ll have a car and driver at my disposal and the area that Lee’s service apartment is in is supposed to be nice. It will be hot, humid and tropical, but that’s okay. I’ve done that sort of weather before. Lots of cool, loose clothing, and sweaters for the intense air-conditioning I’m sure to encounter.

I’ve been reposting all of my blog posts from Hong Kong into a new blog on blogger.com. It’s fun re-reading them as I go. I’m only up to July of 2006, so in my posts I’m still a newbie, exploring Hong Kong, learning about hiking and the beaches, still thinking I’m going to be able to speak Cantonese! Click on the link on this page if you want to explore what’s out there. I’m determined to get all of the Hong Kong posts there before I leave for KL.

Montreal

2011-07-22T12:32:00.001-04:00

I've had several people complain that they've looked at my blog and there STILL isn't a post about Montreal! Well, I hate to disappoint my readers, whoever you are, so I'm putting off my house-cleaning just for you. I hope you fully appreciate the sacrifice I'm making!

Unlike the recent post about our sailing trip, this vacation is described in a single post.

Tuesday, July 12th - Harper and I drive to Logan and pick up Sarah. Our first stop is to drop Harper off at Diane's. As usual she is delighted to be there but I feel vaguely guilty, leaving her again so soon. She was so happy to see me when I picked her up after our trip to Missouri, and here I am, leaving her again after only 2 days. Oh well it can't be helped, and I know she's in good hands.

The drive up 93 and then 89 is green and hilly. The Green Mountains and then the White, are not quite mountains, but are more than just hills. The border crossing into Canada is uneventful. Almost immediately the hills turn into flat farmland, the interstate into country roads. Just outside Montreal the traffic grinds to a halt. Construction, road repair, we crawl into the city.

Le Petit Hotel, Rue Saint Paul in the Old City. I remember this from our last trip with Gail and Michael. Dinner at Cafe Boris, outside on a leafy terrace. It dawns on both of us that thanks to the New York Times we have somehow managed to snag a wonderful boutique hotel in the heart of the old city of Montreal. Our location couldn't be more perfect for the things we like to see and do.

Wednesday, July 13th. Bikes! Along the river, then across the bridge, past Habitat, to the Biosphere. Such wonderful memories of Expo 67, the pavilions belonging to all the different countries, Labyrinth, an elaborate exhibit featuring one of the very first split-screen movies, the food, the lines, the bus... Wet clothes and sleeping bags, Niagara falls, James bond movies. Back to biking...we have a bit of trouble figuring out the way back to Montreal from Ille Saint Helene where the World's Fair was held, but a bus driver honks and waves us in the right direction over the bridge safely. From there we bike over to the Latin quarter. A curtain of bright pink balls makes it clear exactly where we are. We sit outside for lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant. We intend to bike along the Lachine Canal but clouds and rain dissuade us, so we turn the bikes back in.

We have dinner at Pinxto, a restaurant which serves basque tapas. They are all delicious. We order an entire bottle of wine by mistake. Its a good thing Sarah has her father's genes, but I do my part, to the point of feeling a bit hungover the following morning.

Thursday, July 14th. Bagels and Mont Royal our goal. We buy a day pass for the metro since we are ready to venture further afield in this city. Our first destination is Viature Bagels for our first taste of real Montreal bagels. These are not the same as New York City bagels, but they are good in their own right. I'd describe them as slightly sweeter, and more cake-like. Don't turn up your nose until you've tried them!

My idea is to take the bus to the top of Mont Royal, but our waitress pooh-poohs that so we walk. It's not steep at all, I was afraid it would be something like The Peak in Hong Kong, but this is a gentle incline, runners are jogging up it. Only thing is, is HOT. We are very sweaty by the time we reach the top.

Beautiful views of the city, but we decide to take the bus back down. After a break at the hotel it's off to the Latin quarter again to do a little shopping. Retro sixties design stores, graffiti, piercings, trash. We decide to take the metro a few stops over to McGill and enter the massive city underground. After pedicures and a short nap, I'm rejuvenated.

We have dinner at a real French bistro. Sarah has quail, I have calf livers. Heavenly food.

Friday, July 15th. Shopping day. Sarah does the initial research, I plot our course. First up to Sherbrooke Metro stop. For a second day we buy 1 day metro passes. A great bargain since it includes the buses. We wander up and down Saint Denis, Saint Laurant, and all the little streets and shops in between. Its fun talking to shop girls, marveling at how easily they switch back and forth between English and French.

We find a little sandwich shop for lunch, sitting in the shade on the sidewalk. Its cool in the shade but the sun is fierce; we have to move our chairs to avoid it.

Then over to the Peel Street Metro stop. This is an area more like 5th Ave. We suddenly get in the mood to buy instead of merely browsing. With a silk blouse for me, and yellow shoes for Sarah, our shopping day is complete.

Dinner is at a charcuterie. Half glasses of wine, meats, olives, cheeses. Many dishes passing by look great but we simply can't eat any more.

Our taxi ride back to the hotel goes past a cheering soccer stadium surrounded by dozens of buses and bathed in the light of a glowing full moon. Late at night a fight breaks out near our hotel, but it only wakes me briefly.

Saturday, July 16th. Off we go to the Laurentians. I have vague memories of only French being spoken and misty mountains from my trip to Expo 67. The first difference I notice is the traffic. Apparently it's not unlike Minnesota or even New England, but everyone in Montreal seems to be headed to the mountains. We just crawl along, and the drive takes twice as long as it should. Oh well, what are you going to do?

Second difference, the Laurentians are Not the Swiss Alps, by any means. Think Ozarks, with a heavy French accent.

It IS very French, although most people speak English, quite a few of them struggle to find the right word. Funny since half the time if they tell us what the word is in French, we can figure out what it should be in English. Rutabaga? Same. Eucalyptus? Why, pretty much the same too! Go figure.

Our b&b is quiet, serene and a bit new age-y. Crystal Inn, Mont Tremblant. Maggie and John are as nice as can be, and their breakfasts are awesome! Portabella mushroom omelets one day, berry crepes the next.

Here Sarah and I outdo even our ability to consume vast quantities of food, with two traditional French dinners. The first night's dinner is very fancy with boulliabase and a chocolate dessert that just about does me in. The second night is much lighter, with some of the best lamb I've had in a long time, and fruit compote for dessert.

On Sunday we go kayaking on the Rivere Rouge. We choose the 3 hour trip. There is not much current, but its such a nice change from the city and a good upper body workout! Afterwards we go to a place called Spa Scandinave. This is a Nordic spa. You might have heard of these places. The idea is to spend 15 minutes in a hot environment - a steam room, a sauna, a hot tub, etc. Then 10-15 minutes in a cold environment - a cold waterfall, pool or even the river. THEN 15-20 minutes relaxing. Repeat this as many times as you want! Well we have a fine time. Sauna-cold pool-solarium. Hot tub-cold waterfall (yikes!!!!)-chair by the fire. Steam room-river-yoga mat in the sun. By the last circuit I could barely make myself rise from the chair, so I decided that was enough. It was wonderful though and I would love to do this again. I wonder if there is one somewhere in The Boston area?

And so on Monday I took Sarah to the airport in Montreal and drove back to New Hampshire by myself. I was happy to see Harper, and actually very relieved to know that I would be home and going nowhere for the next 2 and a half weeks! And I have to say, the mountains in Vermont and New Hampshire are really beautiful and deserve more of our attention in the coming months and years.

Elsie's Box

2011-07-09T15:33:00.000-04:00

My mom has a sweet friend that she plays mahjong with every week. Elsie just turned 95, still lives in her own home and takes care of the flowers in her yard.

Last week while I was in St. Louis visiting my mom, we went to visit Elsie. My mom wanted to take her some flowers for her birthday, so off we went.

Elsie was delighted to have visitors. She and my mother are good friends. We put the flowers in a vase, admired Elsie's garden, and chatted for a bit.

Then my mom said to me, "did I tell you about Elsie's box?" I said no, I didn't think so. "Elsie, tell Lynn about your box!" my mom exclaimed. "it's just the most incredible story."

This is the story that Elsie told us.

Elsie came to the United States in 1938, the same year as my mother. Her story is similar to my mother's in that she had relatives that had emigrated to the US in the 20's, thereby making it possible for Elsie to escape from Nazi Germany. She joined her brothers in St. Louis, fully expecting her parents to join them shortly. But Elsie's father was ill, and was denied a visa by the Germans. Elsie's mother would not leave without her husband. Eventually, they were deported, and died in the Theresenstad concentration camp.

This would be the end of the story of Elsie's parents, I suppose, except for one thing. Before they were deported, Elsie's mother filled a large box with cherished family photos and a set of gilt-edged prayer books. Then she took the box to one of her non-Jewish neighbors and asked them to keep it for her.

Of course, Elsie's parents never returned to claim this box. But the woman that they gave it to kept it. She wasn't sure what to do with it. She didn't know that Elsie's parents had living relatives in the US, or if she did, she had no idea how to find them. So she continued to keep the box safe, until she passed away in 1987.

Her children found the box among her things. They had no idea who the box belonged to either, but the Jewish prayer books were a clue. They decided to try to find their rightful owners if they could.

They enlisted the help of Joachim Hahn, an expert on the history of the Jews of southern Germany, hoping that he might be able to point them in the right direction. He helped them figure out that the box must belong to a Jewish family from the small town of Buettelborn. They went to Buettelborn, intent on finding someone that was alive before the war, who might know who the people in the photos were.

Now, the series of events connecting Elsie with the long lost box gets increasingly amazing. Joachim Hahn finds Marie Beisswenger, who just happens to be a dear childhood friend of Elsie's, still living in Buettelborn. Marie Beisswenger takes one look at the photos and exclaims, "but of course! That's the Hirsches! I've just returned from visiting their daughter in the United States!" It wasn't too long afterwards that Elsie received a letter informing her of the existence of the box.

One day in May Elsie opened her front door to find a package from Germany on her doorstep. It was the box, over 70 years after her mother had given it to her neighbor for safe keeping.

My mother and I sat there silently, as Elsie finished her story. There were tears in all of our eyes. Finally, my mother asked, "could we see your box, Elsie?"

Elsie smiled through her tears, "why, of course! Come with me."

Elsie led us into the family room, where a large yellow box sat on the floor next to the fireplace. Tenderly she took out the old photos and the prayer books, and passed them around for us to view. There were pictures of Elsie and her brothers with their parents, cousins, aunts, uncles and friends. The prayer books were beautiful and in very good shape.

I don't know what Elsie's mother was thinking when she packed up this box, but I can guess. It was no secret that Hitler would have been happy to see the Jews erased from the face of the earth, although even in the late 30's no one really suspected that plans for the Final Solution were already being put in place. But what better way to try to insure that even if all the Jews disappeared, their memory would endure. Here we are, those photos say. This is our religion, this is who we are. Recognize us. Remember us. We refuse to be forgotten.

Elsie's story, and the contents of the box are being preserved the the St. Louis Holocaust Museum. The story of Elsie's box was featured in the May 25th issue of the St. Louis Jewish Light, and I used the story in the Jewish Light to make sure I got the names and details right in this story.

Many, many thanks to Elsie for sharing her story and her box with us, and permitting me to write about it here. By writing about Elsie's box and sharing it with my readers, I am honoring the memory of not only Elsie's parents but all of those that were murdered 70 years ago. Yes we are still here, and no you will NOT be forgotten. I promise.

Sailing Day Six - Back to Fairhaven

2011-07-05T10:56:00.000-04:00

So this is it; the last post about our trip. Unfortunately I don't have pictures for this last day; I guess I was busy! My niece and my sister-in-law took lots of pictures too. Maybe I will be able to post Some of their's eventually.

We have lots of wind for our last day of sailing. Five days of experience mean that we start out with only our mainsail raised. Once we are out in the bay, we even put a reef in the mainsail, to decrease the amount of sail even further. The wind is blowing 17 knots, or more, and there is some chop as well. This makes for a bit of a bumpy ride, as we head upwind.

It's clear and sunny, and the wind is good. Navigation is surprisingly confusing though, because there are SO many navigational aids in Buzzard's Bay, since it has a large shipping channel, and lots of ports. And because of the chop it's hard to keep the binoculars steady so that we can read the numbers on distant buoys. So we have to keep double-checking our position, using both the chart and the gps. This requires frequent trips below. I actually start to feel a bit queasy between the chart and the chop and the binoculars.

We make it back to Fairhaven and unload the boat by 3:30 pm. It's been a great trip, but I think we are all ready for showers and a regular kitchen. Lee and I both learned a lot on this voyage. My confidence has increased, even if my nervousness is not yet much diminished. I'm willing to try this again sometime, and I'm sure if Lee has anything to say about it I'll get plenty of opportunities.

Sailing Day Five - Wood's Hole and Hadley's Harbor

2011-07-04T09:24:00.000-04:00

Wood's Hole is the main passageway between Vineyard Sound and Buzzard's Bay. It is relatively narrow, with several turns, and a strong current. Worrier that I am, I make sure to read all about it in our navigation book the night before. This has both good and bad points. It's good because I know what we should and should not do. It's bad because the scary-sounding warnings put me on high alert. No fog! Avoid times of maximum current! Okay, let's go.

We don't get very far toward our first mark as we head across Vineyard Sound before we head into what appears to be a large fog bank. "I think that's fog", I comment anxiously. Lee isn't convinced, and besides we're still quite a ways from Woods Hole. I'm like the boy who cried wolf to him on a sailboat, since I nervously see danger at every turn.

Of course it IS fog, so we have to turn around. Our plan at this point is to zig and zag between a couple of marks until it lifts, which fortunately doesn't take that long.

The second thing that happens is that the wind picks up. It's not long before it's blowing 15 knots or more. We have both our jib and mainsail up, and this turns out to be a little much for our group of inexperienced sailors, not to mention the dishes that we left drying all over the kitchen counter that proceed to go flying across the galley when we start to really heel. Well, sheesh, Lee and I ought to know better than that!

Once we drop the jib and sail with only the main, things become much more manageable. We sail the remainder of the way across the sound without incident.

I'm steering, so Lee goes below to plot our course through Woods Hole. There's a series of markers, and two different passageways we can choose. Lee chooses what appears to be the larger passage. He has been through Wood's Hole before during his cruising course and for this I'm very glad, because at first glance it is intimidating indeed. The ferries streaming past us in the narrow passage don't help.

Lee has written navigational notes on a post-it note, but when we change positions and he takes that helm they make no sense to me and of course I have to go look at the chart. But we do okay. We check off the markers one by one, changing our heading at each turn until we are through the hole. Yay! We made it! The entrance to Hadley's Harbor is now in view.

Hadley's Harbor is quiet and serene. A string of small private islands surround the harbor, where a few mooring balls are available for free, first come, first serve. We have no trouble getting a place to moor, however, since it is still early in the season.

It's beautiful here. Rustic old houses peek through the trees. Children swim and play on a distant dock. Little wooden boats and grand yachts calmly share this space.

It's time for Harper's evening walk, so Lee and I jump in the dinghy and head to shore. There Harper encounters her first live horse, as it comes ambling down the dirt path. No bridle and no human accompany the horse, but then I guess on a quiet little island there's no need to worry about it running away.

Harper watches the horse with interest, and respect. Then the horse snorts loudly as it passes by. Harper jumps about a foot, and then trots on nonchalantly, preserving her doggie dignity.

A little further on we come upon a doe and her fawn. They see us right away, so I stop and watch them for a bit. When we continue to walk toward them they turn and disappear from our view.

I don't think Harper ever sees them, but when we get closer she can certainly smell them. She goes into a bit of a frenzy, sniffing madly, but the deer are long gone.

The wind rocks the boat gently this night. Our last day will be a 15 mile trek back across Buzzard's Bay to Fairhaven. With the amount of wind we're getting, this should take no time at all.

Sailing Day Four - Bicycles and Bluefish

2011-07-03T10:54:00.001-04:00

Tuesday was our off day; no sailing for us. The plan was biking and fishing, biking for Lee, Mary, Harper and I; fishing for Mark, Blake and Elsa. We got one of those kiddie carts that attach behind a bike for Harper, and off we went.

Thirty-four years ago, when Lee and I spent a day on Martha's Vineyard, we rented bikes. I can't remember exactly where we went. I remember winding country lanes, sunny skies, and that's about it.

The first difference we noted was the traffic. There are so many more cars now than there were back then. Some places we could find bike routes that made our ride much more pleasant, but some places there was no choice except to share the road. Fortunately drivers on Martha's Vineyard are used to bikes.

We rode from Oak Bluffs to Vineyard Haven, and part of the way to Edgartown. The big tire bike ride smoothly. Harper is a good sport about the cart. She watches all the activity as we ride by, and charms everyone that she passes.

In Vineyard Haven we find a shady park, perfect for letting Harper chase a ball and play. At first she is happy to run madly after the ball and bring it back to be thrown again. But then she suddenly either sees or smells something and off she goes! This is not a very big park, but there is a street, and cars off to one side. Harper crosses the street, with me close behind. "Come Harper! Harper come! Harper! HARPER!!" She's not completely ignoring me, but she isn't coming either. Finally she decides that she is ready to be a good dog, and comes to me, wagging her little white tail. It's very hard not to yell at her like an errant child, but that will do no good with a dog. I tell her what a good dog she is, and gives her a treat, but it's back on the leash for her.

We mosey back to Oak Bluffs. In the meantime, Mary has been texting the fishermen. It's sounds like they have had a good day. Blake has caught a 12 pound bluefish and we have our dinner for tonight. The others had strikes, but nothing landed. They had fun though.

A peaceful dinner by candlelight in the cockpit completes a very pleasant day. Tomorrow we head to Woods Hole and Hadley's Harbor, and what may be a challenging passage. We have to check the tide tables carefully, and watch for fog. The ebb tide is at around 3:15 pm, so we plan to head through the hole around two, visibility permitting. We'll see how much we have learned in the past four days!

Sailing Day Three

2011-07-02T20:38:00.000-04:00

Monday dawns bright and beautiful. The fog is gone and we can see the little island of Cuttyhunk clearly. What a cute little place! It's hard to believe that the day before we couldn't see a thing.

We have a long way to go today; all the way to Oak Bluffs on Martha's Vineyard. We decide to just motor until we get through Quick's Hole, the nearest passageway between Buzzard's Bay and Vineyard Sound. We check the tide tables, because we don't want to go through the hole when the current is going against us, or when the current is with us, but going at full tilt. The median point between full ebb and flow is best. There isn't much wind, so that isn't a factor, and we're getting more confident about navigation. I know how to find our direction on the chart, and set a bearing on the compass.

We make it through the hole without incident. Once we are clear of the land it's time to raise the sails. But guess what? There's almost no wind. We end up turning on the motor and motor-sailing, because otherwise at less than 2 knots it would take us all day to reach our destination.

But it's a beautiful day. The sun is bright and hot, and puffy clouds decorate the sky. We see lighthouses, wind turbines, big yachts and fishing boats. The few sailboats we see are all motor-sailing, just like us. Oh well.

Past Vineyard Haven we find our destination, the tiny harbor of Oak Bluffs. We have a slip reserved here for two nights. That means shore power, showers, and a day off the boat, exploring the Vineyard. Lee and I have been here many years ago, before we were married. We took the ferry from Woods Hole and rented bikes for a day. But that was 34 years ago and things have changed. There are many more cars, people and tourist shops, it seems. Well, we're ready to be tourists instead of sailors for a day; at least I am!

Sailing Day Two

2011-07-02T16:15:00.000-04:00

We wake up in the morning with big plans to get on our way by 10 am. Only one problem; we discover that the dinghy does not have a motor. Because we do not want to have to row to shore when we are on a mooring ball, the Boston Sailing Center has to bring us one from Boston. Oh well. Harper needs a walk, and we all need showers.

One walk and several showers later the motor finally arrives. We head back to the boat. As we are making plans for this day's adventures we discover that we can't find the life jackets. We systematically tear apart the boat, searching for them. An hour and several increasingly furious calls to the sailing center go by. We eat lunch. I'm for a sailing rebellion, where we depart life jacketless and let them figure out how to make us legal. Lee is more practical, noting that if we are stopped by the Coast Guard we are the ones that will get in trouble. Finally we find them, stuffed into the upper inner cushions in the main cabin, not a likely or appropriate place. But thankfully only a couple of hours later, we head off on our next sail.

Our next destination is Cuttyhunk, a small island on the other side of Buzzard's Bay. For the first several hours the sailing is dandy. We're sailing into the wind, so we can't head directly toward our destination. And we have to pay close attention to our navigational aids. It's kind of fun, watching for buoys, and checking our position on the charts.

But then, rather suddenly, the fog starts to roll in. It goes from somewhat foggy to "I can't see anything" in a manner of minutes. At first we use the navigational headings and as long as we arrive at the next buoy appropriately we're not too concerned.

But then it's time to change our heading and head toward Cuttyhunk harbor. The fog is getting worse and it's just not a good idea to continue to sail. So down come the sails and Lee starts following the gps. Thank goodness for modern technology! Lee says "we should see xyz in a moment" and then like magic, xyz appears out of the murk. We even make it through the channel and into the harbor without being able to see a thing.

It's easy to pick up a mooring ball here; they have big sticks attached to them. And it's nice; this harbor is very well protected. Lee and I take Harper in for her walk; Cuttyhunk is just as cute as can be. We enjoy a good dinner of steak tips and salad quietly floating on our mooring ball in the fog. Tomorrow we sail across Vineyard Sound to Martha's Vineyard. With two days of experience under our belt we should be ready for our next challenge. We have to watch the tides and currents to get through Quick's Hole. Wish us luck!

Sailing Day One

2011-07-02T16:03:00.000-04:00

To get our sailboat, We drove to Fair Haven, a small port south of Boston on Buzzard's Bay. Our first task, besides loading and checking out the boat, involves educating everyone on sailing basics. Lee has taken the cruising course, and has been to most of our destinations before. I have taken the beginning sailing course, but the only experience anyone else has is lake sailing years ago with us in Missouri. Navigation in Buzzard's Bay is not really hard, but you do have to pay attention. There are lots of little islands, rocks and obstructions, and tides and currents. As soon as we feel fairly comfortable, we set out on our first sail.

We sailed to south Dartmouth, the New Bedford Yacht Club. To pick up a mooring here we have to get on the VHS radio on channel 68 and hail the yacht club. There are all kinds of things that I've never really learned to do on a boat, and using the radio is one of them. But with a little instruction I managed to hail the yacht club and request a mooring ball. For some reason this makes me fell more like a real sailor.

I'm on a boat with two excellent cooks, that are vieing with each other for what meal they can entertain us with next. We have Monk Fish and edamame and artichoke salad and roasted fingerling potatoes for our first meal. Pretty good for eating on a boat!

I take Harper for a walk before dinner. The town of South Dartmouth is just as cute as can be, and everyone seems to love Westies. Harper is so happy to see grass and go for a walk. She's happy to be on a boat, she's happy to be off a boat. We just have to watch out for seagulls. They've become her new squirrels.

Bats

2011-06-19T18:55:00.001-04:00

The other night we were sitting in the living room. The TV was on and Lee was lying on the couch, sleepily watching HGTV. He turns that channel on frequently, the better to indulge his home-renovation-dream-house-building fantasies. Harper and I were sitting in “my” chair, which has the best light, so that I could read or do embroidery, occasionally getting sucked into the HGTV story lines. I like Property Virgins because they make me feel house-savvy, and I like Mike Holmes because he is so indignant and self-righteous and the home owners he saves from disreputable contractors are so gullible.

Suddenly something seems to be flying around the living room ceiling. Neither Harper nor Lee reacts. “Lee,” I whisper urgently. “There’s a big bug flying around!” Lee opens one eye, and then another. “That’s no bug,” he says, “that’s a bat!”

Harper Doesn''t Care About Bats

I proceed to cower in my chair. Harper doesn’t move. It’s not a squirrel or a robin, so she’s not interested. Lee gets up and turns on more lights. The bat is now swooping around frantically. Lee opens the front door, and the bat flies outside. What a brilliant man!

Where did it come from? Our fireplace is gas and well-sealed. Lee has been doing a lot of work in our attic increasing the insulation, and hasn’t noticed any holes or gaps. We assume this must be a one-time oddity.

Sunny Living Room Where the Bat First Appeared

But one night just a day or two later, around 3 am, we hear a strange sound. One of the windows is open and to me it sounds like the window shade is flapping. I turn over and try to ignore it. My usual attitude when I’m awake at night is to pretend that I’m asleep. I never want to admit to myself that I’m actually awake. But the flapping sound continues and it becomes harder to ignore. Suddenly Lee gets out of bed. Lee has an amazing ability to go from a sound sleep to fully awake in a matter of seconds. This can be dangerous if the phone should happen to ring at night. He can leap out of bed and say hello before his body has actually fully awakened, causing object to cascade across night stands.

Peaceful Bedroom - The Second Bat's Destination

This time he once again starts turning on all the lights. It is another bat! I bravely throw the blankets over my head and shut my eyes tightly, but my hero once again opens the front door and the bat flies right outside.

That does it, I announced. We’ve got to find out where these bats are coming from. I know bats can be very beneficial, and I’m happy they are outside eating up our mosquito hordes, but that’s where I want them, outside!

I find a company that will come and inspect our house, find out where the bats are gaining access, and then help prevent them from coming back inside. Lee goes up in the attic again and hunts for openings, or any signs of bat habitation, but doesn’t find anything. Then he inspects the outside of the house, and finds several places between the roof and the walls that look like this:

A pretty likely bat entryway, wouldn’t you say? We’re going ahead and having the bat-busters come and inspect the house, but hopefully the problems they find can be fixed by Lee. Apparently, making one’s house bat-proof can be a fairly expensive proposition. But I don’t like the thought of another bat getting inside when Lee is out of town. I suppose if I must I can be the one to turn on all the lights and open the front door, but the thought still gives me the creeps. All I know is that if what happened to a friend of mine happens to me, Harper and I will be checking into a hotel. Well, wait a minute, this happened to them IN a hotel…They had a bat in their hotel room. They chased it into the bathroom, but it got out. My friend woke up to see the bat crawling up the side of the bed, less than 10 feet from her head. Her husband got up, took the screen off the hotel room window, somehow got the bat to crawl onto the screen, and then threw the screen, with the bat still attached, out the window! I don’t think they got a lot of sleep that night.

New Jersey

2011-06-17T11:14:00.006-04:00

We’ve spent the past week in New Jersey. The headquarters for Lee’s new company are in Red Bank and he needs to visit them occasionally to get some “face time” with his new coworkers. Harper and I were happy to come along. Harper is always up to GO whatever that might entail, and I was ready for a break. There are so many things that need to be done around the house right now. By being somewhere else I could put them aside for a couple of days. They’ll still be there when I return.

Harper and I spent a couple of days exploring the Jersey Shore. It’s a very pretty area, very green, with cute small towns. The first day we drove to Monmouth State Park, because it was a beach that allowed dogs. I stopped to eat lunch at a place called Jersey Joes, http://www.jjoes.com/, which sold genuine New Jersey hotdogs. That’s a hotdog or sausage on a large bun with peppers, onions and potatoes. Crazy! It was greasy and delicious, probably the unhealthiest thing I’ve eaten in years. The owner was eager to find out what I thought of their concoction. I could honestly tell him it was delicious, but I didn’t let him know that I felt very guilty eating it. I felt like I was probably clogging my arteries with every bite.

After lunch Harper and I tried to go for a walk on the beach. There was a long pier where people were fishing and you could see the New York City skyline far away in the distance. The beach itself was nasty, full of trash and seaweed. Harper of course thought it was great, but it starting raining so we headed back to the hotel.

The following day I had a day in New York City planned. I didn’t want to take Harper with me; I wanted to be free to do whatever I wanted to do, dog-friendly or not. So before we left I hunted for a doggy daycare or other pet-sitting service in the area. I found a really unique business, Buddy’s Sleepovers and Playdates, http://buddys-sleepovers.com/. They match you with an individual that will watch your dog for a day or even board it, if that’s what you want. They found a really wonderful match for Harper and I. Kathy was delighted to watch Harper for the day, and Harper had a blast playing with her neighbor’s dog and running around her backyard all day long.

I decided to take the ferry to the city. Although more expensive than the train, it took 40 minutes instead of an hour and a half. And it was fun, and beautiful.

The ferry let me out at Pier 11, close to Greenwich Village. From there I needed to get to the Malaysian Consulate to hand in some paperwork for Lee. The Consulate is on East 43^rd Street, up and across town from where I was, so I decided to take a taxi. I had a limited amount of time before I was supposed to meet a friend. Being stuck in New York City traffic always makes me anxious. Maybe I’ve watched too many episodes of Sex in the City, but I’m always afraid I’m going to be late….this was true in Hong Kong too, but I guess since I lived there I learned the best routes to take and what times to avoid. I don’t feel as competent in New York.

But the taxi driver got me to the Consulate without too much delay. Once inside, however, I felt like I was back in Asia. I knew, from the minute Lee asked me to perform this task for him, that the chances that something would go wrong were high. It seems to be impossible to do something related to bureaucracy with an Asian government in anything resembling an efficient manner. The first official I talked to insisted that they didn’t do what Lee needed done. This is after Lee talked to someone at this very Consulate twice to confirm the process! He finally went to find his supervisor, and after some discussion I was able to get half of what Lee needed accomplished. Lee had a copy of a verification form for his University degree that needed to be certified by the Consulate but this they refused to do. They want a copy of his actual diploma to certify. Oh well. Fortunately none of this will prevent Lee from working in Malaysia, at least for the time being.

From the Consulate I headed downtown to my friend’s apartment on Park Avenue near 34^th Street. It was a beautiful day in the city so I walked along, enjoying the sunshine and the people watching. I met my friend Katie in Hong Kong. We were in the needle arts group together, and left Hong Kong within a year of one another. We’ve shared the challenges of repatriation. Even living in New York, Katie still misses Hong Kong. I think we’ll always miss Hong Kong. It’s the price we have to pay for the gift of having the chance to live in such an amazing city.

We walked a short distance from Katie’s apartment to a rare musical instrument shop that holds lunchtime concerts. These concerts allow their rare instruments to be played regularly, and give young musicians a chance to play instruments to which they otherwise would not have access. You can learn more about these concerts at their website: www.wmpconcerthall.com.

They played a couple of Brahms violin sonatas, a short piece by a Polish composer, Henryk Wieniawski, and then a couple of pieces by a contemporary tango composer, A. Piazzolla. The final piece by Piazzolla, called Le Grand Tango, was downright thrilling! I wouldn’t mind finding a recording of some of his music.

After the concert it was time for lunch. We went around the corner, to Lexington Avenue, and found ourselves in an area that Katie informed me is known as Curry Hill. Indian food seemed to be the order of the day. We stopped at a place called Dhaba that had an excellent Indian buffet lunch. It was delicious; now I have to take Lee there sometime.

After lunch it was time for me to head back to the ferry. I wanted to get back to New Jersey fairly early, since I had to pick up Harper, take her back to the hotel, walk and feed her, and then pick up Lee and a coworker in time for dinner. Katie helped me figure out the best subway route to take to get me back down to the Village in time for the 3:35 ferry. My biggest problem when emerging from a subway system in an unfamiliar area is getting properly oriented. I started off walking in what I hoped was the right direction. Fortunately I happened to glance down a cross street and noticed that I was walking parallel to a large body of water. After I corrected my direction accordingly I made it back to the ferry with plenty of time to spare.

I sat down to wait for the ferry. The sign said the Belford Ferry would be leaving from slip 4. At 3:30 a ferry pulled up to slip 3. The sign said this was the ferry for Paulus Hook. So I watched calmly as the ferry arrived. As it started to pull away from the slip there was a garbled announcement that sounded like maybe the Belford Ferry was departing from slip 3!

I hurried up to the ticket counter and asked from which slip the Belford Ferry would depart. “The Belford Ferry just departed from slip 3,” the small man behind the counter said. “It’s a big ferry, so it always departs from slip 3”.

“But the sign says that it departs from slip 4,” I cried! I was furious. Of course it was stupid to lose my temper. It’s not like that little man was going to call the ferry back to pick up me and several other passengers that had just missed our boat. But when I lose my temper sometimes it takes me awhile before I can regain my equilibrium. I’d like to say that I was speechless with indignation. It would certainly have been more dignified. But no, I gave that smug little man a piece of my mind, but he just shrugged. I think he was used to that kind of abuse.

The next ferry wasn’t until 4:15. Now it was going to be even later before I could pick up Lee. When I calmed down enough to call him, we decided that it was best if he and his co-worker went to the restaurant without me and that I would join them when I could.

Once I finally got to New Jersey and picked up Harper, it turned out that she was so tired from playing all day that she didn’t really need a walk, so that saved me a little time. I got to the restaurant not too late after all, so everything worked out. I’d like to say that this experience taught me the fruitlessness of losing my temper, but I know it’s bound to happen again. I’m just a hot-blooded girl sometimes, even in my old age.

I have more New Jersey adventures to relate, but this post is long enough. Stay tuned!

Oh Paul!

2011-06-03T15:09:00.000-04:00

I’ve just spent the past half hour trying to reconstruct a timeline for my relationship with Simon and Garfunkel, the 60’s folk-rock duo, but it’s hopeless. I thought surely somewhere on the internet there resides a article with all their touring dates, but so far I haven’t found it. I know I’ve seen Paul Simon five times now in concert in my lifetime, but I can’t be positive of the dates. This makes the 60’s seem like ancient history. Maybe someone will read this blog post and set me straight if there are any errors in this account. All I can say is I’ve tried my best to remember when things occurred.

Maybe the exact dates aren’t that important. When I try to accurately remember the concerts themselves, however, I’m not much more successful. What I can remember, of course, are the songs. Layered with the songs are feeling and emotions from over forty years ago. It’s more difficult that I thought it would be to put those old feelings into words.

The first time I saw them is actually the most vivid, although I don’t remember the concert itself. They performed at Graham Chapel at Washington University in St. Louis, probably sometime in 1966. I know I went to the concert with Cathy, Fran and Debbie. I know we were terribly excited, but we tended to get terribly excited about all kinds of things, especially various rock stars and TV personalities.

What I remember most is the end of the concert. While waiting for which-ever parent was supposed to pick us up, we wandered around the auditorium. Graham Chapel is not that large, and it quickly became almost completely empty. We noticed a piece of paper onstage lying next to the stool they had used during the concert. In a fit of bravery one of us ran onstage and grabbed the paper. It had a phone number on it! Giddy with excitement, we ran out the back of the auditorium and down a hallway. As we slowed to a walk some people were coming down some stairs in front of us. In the group of three or four people stood Paul and Art!

Why we actually had their album with us (Sounds of Silence, of course) I will never know, but we got their autographs on our albums. They were nice-looking young men, new enough to fame to not mind stopping for three young girls. And of course it has to be said, Paul Simon is really, really short, Danny Devito short. He stood on the step above me, which made him barely come up to my 5’5” tall 8^th grade head.

I saw them twice more in high school, and the main thing I remember is a very personal feeling of pride in their success, demonstrated by the increasing size of the auditoriums they were able to fill. The next time we saw them it was at the Kiel Opera House in St. Louis. Recently renovated and renamed the Peabody Opera House, this 3,500 seat theatre was a prominent step up from a college campus concert. I am going to guess that this concert was sometime in 1967, after Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme had come out.

The last time I saw them as an adolescent they played at Kiel Auditorium, a much, much larger venue that used to be attached to the opera house, but has since been torn down. By the time of this concert they were big-time stars. I’m going to guess that this was in 1968, after their songs had been used as the soundtrack to the movie The Graduate.

Simon and Garfunkel were not the only rock and roll stars that I liked in high school, of course. In my agitated hormone-ridden state I could scream and cry with the best of the teeny-boppers over the likes of Paul Revere and the Raiders, The Monkees, The Stones, The Doors and yes, The Beatles. Mark Lindsay, Mick Jagger, Jim Morrison and John Lennon all made my heart beat faster. It’s confusing and not a little embarrassing to remember now, but really I have to consider that I was only 13 or 14 years old. Lusting after a cute boy in a rock band was actually a very safe outlet for the beginnings of those sexual feelings.

The saving grace in all that over-the-top behavior was the music. My actions and those of my friends were often silly, but the music was flat-out good, and there was a lot of it too. There was just a pent-up creative burst in the 1960’s and 70’s. As Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel ended their relationship as a singing duo, Simon branched out on his own. His solo albums in the 1970’s and 1980’s were not always good, but some of them, notably “Paul Simon”, “There Goes Rhyming Simon” and “Graceland” were great. As a composer and an artist he branched out, incorporating world music and world-class musicians into his compositions.

In 1999 Paul Simon went on tour with Bob Dylan and came to Riverport Amphitheatre in St. Louis. By this time I was a grownup married lady with two preteen children, but even after thirty years, the thought of seeing Paul Simon in concert again made me tremble. I can actually remember this concert in some detail. The lights, the drums (there were at least two drum sets on the stage) and the diminutive singer with the amazing songs. When he walked out on stage I actually felt like screaming “OH PAUL”. I remember almost physically restraining myself. The old crazy excitement came back, if only for a moment.

My husband and I both agree that was the best rock concert we ever attended. He played for hours, each song better than the last; the crowd on its feet, dancing and singing along. And we promised ourselves that given half a chance we wouldn’t miss any future opportunities to hear him play. When he announced a concert tour for this year with a date in Boston, we knew where we would be on June 1^st. I bought us tickets as soon as I could.

So a couple of days ago we went to see Paul Simon at the Wang Theatre in Boston. He has a new album out and its very good, one of the best ones in years. The Wang is not very large, so it was intimate in a raucous rock ‘n’ roll sort of way. The crowd was mixed, from middle-aged music lovers in their fifties, sixties and yes seventies, to younger people that probably grew up listening to their parent’s Simon and Garfunkel albums.

I surprised myself when he walked out on stage, as tears darted into my eyes. I didn’t feel like screaming, but vivid images of those teenage girls from forty years ago flickered in front of me. Snatches of songs drifted in and out of my consciousness. Before I knew it the concert had begun and I was back in the present, enjoying the music of a spectacular artist.

Oh yes, remember that phone number on that stool on a stage, many years ago? Well we called it when we got home. It was a taxi service. It’s probably just as well. If Paul or Art had answered the phone back then we probably would have passed out!

Spring Wreath

2011-05-22T18:08:00.000-04:00

The Windham Newcomers Club has a craft group that meets a couple of times a month. Sometimes they just get together and work on individual projects, but sometimes someone agrees to lead a group project. This month one of the ladies volunteered to show us how to make spring wreaths out of grapevine wreaths and silk flowers, and I decided to sign up.

Unlike my daughter, I am not crafty. I do needlework, but follow a pattern. I get intimidated by projects that require creativity. It’s funny, because I don’t have the same feeling about writing, or even photography. Both of those activities just seem to “flow” for me. But when it comes to making something out of wood, cloth or paper I get nervous.

So at first I felt very uncertain about how I would go about creating a wreath that didn’t just look stupid. We had specific instructions about what to buy – 2 large focal silk flowers, 3 medium-sized complementary colored flowers, 3 or 4 smaller sized flowers in another color, greenery such as ivy, and filler flowers like baby’s breath.

On the day of the wreath project I was running late, so when I arrived the other ladies had been working on their wreaths for a little while. At first I felt very confused. I wasn’t sure how to start, how this was going to work. I thought for sure I had just spent $80 for a bunch of silk flowers and was going to end up with a big fat mess.

But, we had a basic diagram to follow, and the lady in charge was very good. She had owned a flower shop for many years and she knew how these things were done! Slowly my wreath began to take shape.

The first step was to decide on a basic design. There were different ways to design a wreath. The first step was to decide where you wanted to put the bow. It could be at the top, the bottom or even on one side. Where the bow was situated affected the rest of the design. I decided to put my bow at the top of the wreath.

My bow, with the focal flowers

Of course when it came to making a decent bow, I was all thumbs, but again, there was a system. By making a series of loops and using wire, it turned out not to be that difficult at all. My focal point flowers were large pink roses, which also had tinges of yellow and white. My bow picked up the shade of pink in the roses.

Focal flower - two big pink roses

Ivy

Next the greenery was placed on the wreath. I was lucky because I had chosen ivy that came in a ready-made chain, so it was easy to place. We used hot glue guns to attach the flowers to the grapevine. This was sort of fun. At first I was cautious and sparing with the glue, but as time went on I got more aggressive. I didn’t want things falling off my wreath! The glue gun is kind of an amazing little tool, but you have to be careful; that glue is hot! I have a small burn on one of my fingers now. Oh well, a craft war wound!

Next, the focal flowers were placed. If the bow was at the top of the wreath, then the focal flowers went at the 10 and 2 positions (like a clock face). First you positioned the flowers and decided where you wanted them to go; then you glued them in place.

Complementary flowers

Now the smaller flowers in a complementary color were placed on the wreath, followed by smaller flowers in a contrasting color. Again the lady leading the project was very helpful. She showed us how to place the smaller flowers so that they looked natural, sometimes hanging downward, sometimes facing upward, like a flower would normally grow. Some of my smaller flowers were a dark pink, and some were a contrasting yellow. She also suggested that I group the yellow flowers in several bunches. She had a lot of good ideas!

Contrasting Flowers

Finally the filler flowers were added to the wreath. She suggested that some of my filler flowers be connected to the bow. I would have never thought of that myself. I had two different types of filler flowers. Some of them I added to the wreath in small sprigs; others I cut into individual flowers and placed on the wreath that way.

Contrasting Flowers bunched and hanging down

This project turned out to be lots of fun! I was very pleased with my wreath. All of the ladies’ wreaths came out beautifully and they were all so different! I was so absorbed in my project that although I intended to take pictures, alas I did not. But one of the other ladies did, so when she posts her pictures I’ll try to include some of them here if I can.

This project was not that hard. Now I’m thinking I could do this again on my own. It would make a good present for somebody. It would be fun to make wreaths for different holidays, or seasons of the year. Just spread out lots of newspaper, heat up that glue gun, and go!

The Finished Product!

Weather Report

2011-05-13T20:20:00.004-04:00

When I was very small there was a very pretty and stylish young woman that did the weather report on television in St. Louis. Her name was Dianne White. I later found out that she was the first African American woman weather-caster in the nation, but at the time I didn't know anything about that. But I wanted to be Dianne White.

I wanted to stand in front of a map of the US, wearing beautiful clothes and point knowledgably at the cold fronts and high pressure systems moving through the plains toward St. Louis. I wanted to wear a different beautiful outfit every day and be on TV.

I also liked weather. I was interested in it. St. Louis is in a part of the world known as "tornado alley" and sometimes violent storms hit the city. The tornado that hit St. Louis in February of 1959 was terrible. The news reports say that this tornado hit in the middle of the night so I shouldn't be able to remember it, but I do remember walking home from school with the sky turning a scary shade of green. In 1959 I would have been 6 years old and in first grade.

Another tornado hit St. Louis County only a couple miles from our house in 1967. I remember coming home from my piano lesson with lightning ringing the sky. We were usually fairly blase about tornado warnings, but for this storm we watched carefully in case we needed to run down into the basement. I later babysat for a family whose home had been destroyed by this storm. I would stay with the children while the husband visited his wife in the hospital, where she was recovering from injuries she received. One of the children was in a body cast. One night while I was babysitting a thunderstorm started developing. Those poor children were terrified. I tried to console them but I was very relieved when their father burst into their apartment, knowing that his children would be afraid.

But I still loved weather. Midwestern skies are so big, you can see storms coming from far away. I loved to watch the thunderstorms form, and although I had no desire to get caught in a tornado, I still found them strangely thrilling.

Moving to Hong Kong meant an introduction to a whole new system of weather patterns. Instead of tornadoes there were typhoons. Instead of summer thunderstorms Hong Kong had a rainy season, marked by incredible downpours that created roaring waterfalls and caused entire apartment buildings to slide into the sea. Rainstorms were categorized as Yellow, Red or Black. Black rainstorms caused amounts of water that made travel impossible and shut down the city. Yet after the rain was over and the sun came out the city always cleaned up the debris and got back to work. Even typhoons couldn't slow Hong Kong down for long.

Now that I live in New England I'm once again becoming acquainted with a new set of weather patterns. The winters are longer and colder than anywhere that I have lived before. Thunderstorms are unusual and tornadoes are almost unknown. Hurricanes are a possibility, although we live far enough inland to be spared the brunt of most storms, I think.

I've decided to finally follow my weather-lady dreams and I have started a weather station of my very own. No, I don't have one of those charming white wooden cabinets filled with weather equipment somewhere in my backyard. But I do have a barometer, an outdoor thermometer, an aenometer to measure wind speed, a weather vane, and a professional rain gauge. I have created a spreadsheet to record the data I collect every day.

So far its been very interesting. I collect my data at around 7AM every day. I've discovered that even if it gets windy later in the day its seldom windy at that time in the morning. The humidity is usually very high at the time of day, even though it often drops as the sun gets higher in the sky. And the barometer really does rise and fall as good weather and bad moves through our neighborhood.

I'm still not wearing beautiful outfits or standing in front of a map of the United States, pointing authoritatively at the weather systems, but we all have to start somewhere, don't we? You'll find me peering at my rain gauge in the early morning, holding my aenometer in the air, and staring at my weather-vane. Is the barometer steady, or is it rising or falling? Go ahead and ask me, I'll know!

April in New England

2011-04-08T15:39:00.000-04:00

April in the garden in New England takes a little imagination, but that’s never been a problem for me! I’ve been horribly excited this week, as the first of all those bulbs I planted along the driveway last fall are starting to pop up here and there. I even went so far as to tear away the leaves and other debris from the beds (even clawing away remaining bits of snow) the better to encourage their progress.

And now that we’ve had consistently warmer weather for the past week or so they are really doing well. By warmer weather I mean highs in the forties and fifties in the afternoons. Its still in the twenties when we wake up in the morning! I have little yellow and blue crocus blooming, some grape hyacinth peeking up, and other things that are still too small for me to be sure what they are. I have markers and I also have a map I made so I could figure it out if I wanted to, but at this point I don’t really care; I’m just happy to see them.

It’s been such a long, long winter. We even had three wet cold inches of snow last week, but it melted quickly. We still have several big piles of snow around the house, but they are a lot smaller than they used to be. The bushes that they buried don’t show signs of life, yet. I wonder if they survived?

Remember this little flower from last spring? Now that I’ve been taking classes at the New England Wildflower Center I was hoping that I could identify it, using my copy of Newcombs. Unfortunately its leaves aren’t big enough yet for me to be sure, except to think that it must be in the dandelion family, and it MIGHT be Coltsfoot.

Harper and I pried the top off the compost bin today. I ended up with a wheelbarrow full of beautiful black compost. I removed the tarp from my garden and spread the compost lovingly, and then raked it in. Tomorrow it’s time to plant lettuce, spinach, radishes, arugula, beets and Swiss chard. A cold snap or two, sure to occur here before warmer weather comes to stay, won’t hurt these plants. They like cool weather.

Hair

2011-04-03T08:04:00.002-04:00

“I got life, brother…”

A couple of days ago we went into Boston for the night. We stayed at a pet-friendly hotel, so Harper came along. We ate dinner at Neptune Oyster, and then saw the current revival of the musical “Hair!”.

“…I’ve got headaches and toothaches and bad times too, like you.”

I don’t really like the actual musical very much. It doesn’t have much of a plot, and I like it better when a musical has some meat to it, something that grabs me, and that needs to be the story.

“….give me a head with hair, long, beautiful hair.”

But the music to Hair is wonderful. Seeing it again, for the first time in over forty years, was pretty strange. It was like seeing a bit of history, going back to a time when long hair was actually revolutionary. To a time before AIDS, before crack. We thought we had invented sex, and we HAD invented LSD. We thought it was all good.

“…my body is walking in space….my soul is in orbit, with God, face to face…on a rocket to the fourth dimension, total self-awareness the intention…”

The last time I saw Hair I was sixteen years old. I went with my sister, who would have been twelve, and my parents! I can’t imagine what they were thinking….everyone knew about the nudity, the drugs, the profanity. And it’s not like now, where sex-drugs-rock-and-roll are so pervasive that THAT’s the establishment and in order to be rebellious kids have to find another way. It was pretty shocking.

“…how dare they try to end this beauty….”

I was talking to my mom yesterday and I told her that I thought they were pretty good sports back then, to take us to see that musical. She said “Well I was a good sport; your father had a fit!” I said, “Remember how Susie and I went onstage at the end?” and she said, “Yes and your father had a fit about that, too.” But I didn’t remember that, so he must have complained to her about it later. He wasn’t always that way about things. He and I used to have screaming fights, about politics, about hippies. I think now that it was a very difficult time to be a parent. Things were changing too quickly and it was really hard to know what was going on. Of course as kids we really had no idea what was going on either, but we thought we did.

“…good morning starshine, the earth says hello, you twinkle above us, we twinkle below…”

To me, the allure of hippiedom was irresistible when I was sixteen, seventeen years old. And this time watching that brief period of time played out on a stage made me feel so old. Because I really was a bit young in 1966-67-68, I mostly watched it all from afar and wished I could be in Haight Ashbury for the Summer of Love.

“How can people be so heartless, how can people be so cruel, easy to be hard, easy to say no…”

As I sat there in the theatre, I kept wondering what it would be like to see Hair for the first time now, as a sixteen-seventeen year old. From a distance the plot makes even less sense than it did back then. Why doesn’t Claude burn his draft card? Why doesn’t he go to Canada? Why does he choose to go to Vietnam? He just does, a beautiful young boy, dead on a flag. And watching this, after everything that has happened since then, Watergate, 9/11, Iraq and Afghanistan, what does it all mean? It’s just such a waste.

“…where do I go, follow the river…”

Most hippies eventually cut their hair, got a job, a family, a conventional life. And we did it without regret. It was just time. The Summer of Love was so brief, and it didn’t take long for the tide to turn, for drugs to turn lethal, for Altamont and Patty Hearst and the Weatherman.

“….where do I go, follow the sun…”

But the music didn’t, it kept going. I think that the music, the revolution that happened there, is maybe the best thing about my generation, our most lasting gift to the world. We changed the chords, the lyrics, the beat, and that STILL carries on. Our parents looked askance at rock and roll, but our kids embrace it, and continue to do so. They like our old music still, Led Zepplin and Jimi Hendrix, and we like a lot of their stuff, The Arcade Fire and The Decembrists. That makes me feel hopeful, and maybe just a bit proud.

“Let the Sunshine In!”

Stir-Crazy

2011-03-25T12:07:00.000-04:00

I’m not sure what to call what I have. Cabin fever? Spring fever? Am I stir-crazy or just plain sick of winter?

It’s been snowing off and on all day. It’s not sticking, just a bunch of tired white flakes swirling around. If this was November I’d probably think it was pretty and wish that it would stick, but it’s not. Its March 23^rd. It’s cold and grey outside. Much of the snow has melted, but not all. There is still snow on my grass, my flower beds, along the driveway where I planted hundreds of bulbs last fall. As of March 21^st, our part of New Hampshire had received 88 inches of snow this winter! It’s really pretty amazing that as much of it has melted as it has. My neighbor was out last weekend hacking at some of the mounds still remaining from where snow was deposited by the plows. I said “I guess you have to do that, or we’ll still have snow in June,” and he nodded in agreement. I was kind of hoping he would argue with me…

One of the bushes in the front, still buried in snow that was shoveled off our roof!

My future garden site is still covered with a tarp. My compost is frozen in its container. I long to go outside, rip the tarp off my garden, turn over the soil, spread compost, put my rabbit fencing back in place. But I must wait.

Wait for the sun. Wait for the ice on the lake to melt. Wait for the last vestiges of snow along the driveway to disappear.

New Hampshire seems to be holding its breath. Many people have left their Christmas decorations up all winter. The snow became so deep that it became dangerous to try to prop up a ladder to take them down. Now they remain; sad little reminders of a long-past holiday. Maybe they’ll be down by Easter!

I have started seeds inside. Eggplant, basil and a new attempt this year – brussel sprouts. I bought a grow light too, so the little plants are doing splendidly. It’s cheering to visit them each morning and watch how much they grow each day. I think I may end up needing a cold frame, because it is quite possible that they will be ready for transplanting before the ground is ready for them. That’s fine, because Lee is eager to build me one!

Brussel Sprouts

The squirrels know that spring is coming and so do the ducks. The squirrels are everywhere, madly retrieving their winter stashes. It’s driving Harper crazy. She knows that she could catch one, if only they would hold still for a minute! The mallards and Canadian geese are all over the lake, nesting and swimming wherever the ice has disappeared. We have a little vernal pool next to our driveway that has been commandeered by a nesting pair of mallards. When it’s relatively warm and sunny they can be seen there, swimming around and enjoying themselves. But on a cold and windy day like today they are nowhere to be seen. I wonder where they go?

Our little vernal pool. No ducks today - too cold!

But there are lots of ducks on the lake, where-ever the ice has melted!

I can’t help but be optimistic, though. The weather forecast for the next several days includes sunshine, if not warmth. I’m sure that will help my stir-craziness a little!

Flying

2011-02-24T14:28:00.000-05:00

The first time I ever flew in an airplane I was in 4^th grade. It was 1962 and we were moving to Washington, D.C. My father had gone out there several months ago to start a new job, and we were finally joining him. All our family was at the gate to wave goodbye to us. One of my younger cousins burst into tears as we boarded the plane. I was terribly excited and not afraid at all.

This was a propeller plane and it didn’t fly nearly as high as passenger jets do now. I don’t really remember that much about the flight itself, but I do remember the descent into the Washington area. We flew very low for quite some time, right above the tree tops, it seemed. It was fun to be able to see everything going on below, but my mother was terrified. She sat there trying to physically hold the plane together with a tight grip on the seat in front of us. It was one of the first instances I remember not being sure that my mother’s reaction was correct.

Of course, since then I’ve flown many, many times, including a few occasions on private airplanes. Once in Central America, I flew on a very, very small airplane, amid heavy fog and steep mountains. I knew it was dangerous, but so were the few overland routes to our destination. The mountains were misty and beautiful when we could see them, and I wasn’t afraid.

Another time some friends that were starting up a seafood delivery service offered to fly us from Nashville, where I was living at the time, to St. Louis. We flew along rivers and highways, using grain towers and highway intersections as guideposts. It was lots of fun, but I didn’t enjoy their demonstration of how the plane could dive, and made them promise not to repeat that trick!

And then, I became a mother. My life suddenly had a meaning and a purpose unlike anything I had every experienced before. I had to be there, on earth, to take care of my babies. I became fearful of many things, and one of those things was flying.

I knew my fear was irrational, but that didn’t help. I didn’t refuse to fly, but I hated it, especially take-off and landing. While in flight I would scan the faces of the stewardesses when the engine noises or our altitude changed, for signs of unease. As long as they looked calm, I was okay, although sometimes I thought they were hiding their true feelings.

This state of affairs continued until we moved to Asia. I wanted to go, and I also wanted to be able to return to the US for visits, and go on vacations while we were overseas, all of which involved very long international flights. It’s very hard to maintain a state of vigilance and fear for 16 hours straight. I gradually began to overcome my fear of flying. As mysteriously as it had begun, it also began to dissipate. It helped that my children were now grown, I suppose, but I realize that it still doesn’t really make sense.

We have friends that live on a small airstrip in Lakeway, Texas. On my recent trip to Austin they offered to take me up in one of their airplanes. In the past I had always hesitated, or flat-out refused, but this time I was ready. Up I went!

It was beautiful and fun. Phil is an excellent pilot. Our takeoff and landing were very smooth. I could see the gorgeous Texas Hill Country spreading out below me for miles and miles. It’s the prettiest part of Texas, and you can see why from these pictures!

Lake Travis

Pedernales River

We landed quietly and smoothly. It was fun to see the landing strip come into view; hear the engine noise disappear as we glided to a stop. I emerged from the plane triumphantly. I did it, and I wasn’t scared at all. It felt like I had come a full circle, from that first flight to Washington, D.C., many years before.

Lakeway Airstrip

Landing

This doesn’t mean I’m about to take up bungee jumping. I’m still a fairly timid person and heights in some situations still make me feel dizzy. But, flying? In a small plane?

I’m ready to go again, whenever I get the chance!

Boots

2011-02-15T18:57:00.000-05:00

I moved from Austin to New Hampshire with a very nice collection of sandals, open-toed dress shoes, and flip flops. I owned a couple of pairs of cowboy boots, and some nice leather boots as well. But my winter weather shoe-gear consisted of one pair of very old snow boots and that’s about it.

I realized pretty soon into our first winter in New England that I needed some waterproof cold weather footwear. My first purchase last year was a pair of shiny Cole Hahn waterproof shoes. These shoes are great for wet slushy city streets, but not for snow. But last year we didn’t get that much snow, so it wasn’t a problem.

They’re also not very warm. I knew Uggs were warm, so my second purchase was a pair of classic Uggs . They are very warm, and cozy, but they aren’t waterproof. In fact, water and snow are bad for Uggs, so their use in New Hampshire in the wintertime is somewhat limited.

Earlier this fall, we were still getting a lot of moisture, but it was in the form of rain, not snow. I decided that it was finally time for me to get a pair of fashionable and functional rain boots. I’d been lusting after some of these ever since I first saw them in Hong Kong, but never lived anywhere that was cool enough that I was confident my feet wouldn’t melt if I put on a pair. For pictures of all kinds of crazy rain boots, check out this entry from the Austin City Limits Music Festival in October of 2009.

When I went to look at rain boots I thought at first that I wanted Hunters, since that seemed to be the most popular brand, but when I tried them on they hurt my feet. On a whim I decided to try a pair of Sperry’s instead. They felt great. I had a difficult decision to make, however. Should I get the bright yellow ones, the lurid pink ones, or the more conservative royal blue with the bright yellow interior? It was very hard to decide but the blue ones finally won out.

Then came this year’s record snowfall and numbing cold. My old snow boots kept my feet dry, but didn’t keep them warm. They were so old that the fleece inside had compacted and worn away. I needed some new snow boots.

I wanted something functional but stylish. A friend suggested that I investigate Sorels: www.sorel.com. This meant a trip to Nordstrom was in order. Poor me!

I decided that I needed a pair of Joan of Arctic Sorels. Boyoboy are these some awesome boots! High, warm and darn cute too, they work great for slogging through snow in the city or country. I can even wear them with my snowshoes!

But it seems like buying one pair of winter boots only made me want more. I decided I wanted a shorter pair of snow boots too, lighter and more convenient for forays into the city. I wanted a pair of short Sorels, but it wouldn’t stop snowing long enough for me to travel to Burlington Mall, where Nordstroms is located! I spent one snowy morning wandering disconsolately through Rockingham Mall here in Salem, looking at short winter boots. I was just about to give up, when I saw an Aldo store that looked promising. They had a pair of boots that was just perfect!

I should be finished buying winter boots by now, but part of me still wants a pair of those cute short Sorel boots. There’s no practical reason to buy them; I just want them! They are awfully cute though, don’t you think? http://www.sorel.com/TIVOLI%E2%84%A2-|-010-|-5/803298481335,default,pd.html.

Oh well, maybe next year!

Many thanks to Harper for generously volunteering to pose with a few of these boots. She was VERY interested in the boots for some reason. Maybe because I was paying more attention to them than to her? Could be...

Happy Year of the Rabbit

2011-02-11T18:51:00.002-05:00

We decided some time ago to plan our trip to New York City so that it would coincide with Chinese New Year. We were curious to see how it was celebrated in a major US Chinatown, far from China and the other parts of Asia where the New Year is the most important holiday of the year.

In Hong Kong, as in other parts of China, Chinese New Year has a raucous outer shell, with brightly decorated streets, massive fireworks displays on the waterfront, and lion dances everywhere you turn. But it is the inner celebrations that are the important ones. It is a time to be spent with family, so most Chinese have their one significant vacation at this time of year, so that they can travel to wherever their family lives. On the Mainland this means millions of people are in transit. It is NOT a good time to visit Beijing!

During Chinese New Year, everything shuts down. Restaurants, banks, businesses, all are closed. The first year we were in Asia we stayed in Hong Kong, curious to see what it would be like. We found out that things got very quiet, and almost everyone left town, either to visit relatives, or, if they weren’t Chinese, to vacation in a non-Chinese locale. The following year we went to Bali, and the year after that, to Bangkok, Cambodia, and Laos.

Sunday in New York was sunny and not nearly as cold as it had been. It was a perfect day for having brunch at a Jewish deli (Lansky’s on the Upper West Side) and then taking a taxi to Chinatown. We knew there was a parade in Chinatown on Sunday, and we decided we’d go and see what that was like.

Once we got to Canal Street the crowds were intense, but nothing that a couple of Hong Kong veterans couldn’t handle! The problem was figuring out how to get to a place where we would be able to see the parade. The police had the streets blocked off, and everywhere they kept telling people to “go around”, which we did. But there didn’t seem to be any access to the area where the parade would pass by. It was very confusing.

Finally on one corner there was a church vestibule that was unlocked. People were streaming through one door and going out another, thereby gaining access to the parade route. We boldly followed the crowds, and we were in!

Suddenly it got REALLY crowded. This was far beyond a typical Chinatown crowd, or even a Saturday morning in Wan Chai crowd. We were pushed along by a mass of people, until we came to a corner. In front of us was the street where the parade would pass by. To the right and left it was solid people. There was no way to move. Everyone was crushed together, and it seemed to be getting worse. Little Chinese ladies, determined and undeterred, tried to make their way through the crowd, but even they couldn’t do it. At one point my feet actually lifted off the ground. At least it was cold outside; nobody was going to pass out from heat stroke while being crushed.

The Chinese in the crowd were annoyed that they couldn’t pass; most local New Yorkers were patient and philosophical about our predicament; a few tourists, however, got a bit panicky. We couldn’t see a thing and couldn’t tell where the intense crush began and where it ended. All we could do was wait.

As suddenly as it began, the crush gave way and we could move again. It was very strange. We never really figured out what happened; why the crowd got so bad and why it became manageable again.

After that we started to have fun. We found a good place to stand and waited for the parade to pass by. People were shooting off these confetti bombs. The paper streamers and glitter were packed into a pressurized tube. When one end of the tube was twisted it exploded with a loud POP! And brightly colored streamers would be hurled into the sky, eventually settling on everyone’s hair and coat, and all over the street. It was very pretty, and fun to watch.

Then the parade started. Well, it wasn’t the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade by any means! I felt like I was watching a holiday parade in a small town, albeit one with a large Chinese population!

Small marching bands marched. Home-made floats with smiling beauty queens floated. Traditional drummers escorted lions and dragons on their way.

Groups of dignified elderly ladies wearing bunny ears passed. And yes, Bugs Bunny was well represented!

After an hour or so we were satisfied that we had seen enough and left the parade route. We spent the rest of the afternoon walking around Soho, shopping for leather couches for our house and fashion accessories for me. Later than evening while getting ready for bed, I shook my head a bit and a cloud of confetti fell on the bathroom floor. I kept shaking it and running my fingers through my hair, until I had a tidy collection of glitter and colored paper bits to scoop up and throw away. I’m still finding bits and pieces in my coat pockets and my purse.