Bievenue Laurence!

It’s a taste of another world. A world I covet.

Laurence came to Boston, and I was overwhelmed with excitement. She is a gracious, witty and beautiful woman, and she takes such care of me when I’m in Paris… even whey I’m my immature and spastic self and break her door-lock trying to open it with the wrong key. (Oops?)

So naturally, when I heard she was coming, I tried my best to repay her for years of hospitatliy. And she’s family. That’s what you do: take care of family. I don’t think I was successful in doing much, but she brought a taste of France to thank me – a beautiful cookbook filled with photographs and recipes (in French -- uh oh…) from the best chefs de Paris.

I met her for drinks tonight. Her humor is a warm blanket, her bright eyes always welcoming. And the sound of a French accent always makes me smile. I adore Laurence. And I’m quite fond of her daughter, Sarah. I love spending time with her siblings Ludo & Sylvia; they are wonderful, kind people, too. It just blows me away how luck I am. In France and America, from Cape Cod to California, on both sides of the tree, I have a really wonderful family.

CONGRATULATIONS!

Alex (my brother) has been officially accepted into the Bouvé School of Health Sciences! Woohoo!


And now that he is a grad student, I’m feeling even more excited to follow that path myself. After all — Alex graduated in December, and five months later, I finished school. SO, logically, if Alex starts school in September, then I should probably start five months later, too...

(tee hee!)

Sigh of Relief

As I crawl into bed at some ridiculously early hour (especially for a Friday), all I can think is: THANK GOD THE CRAZINESS IS ALMOST OVER.

One more big event, one more very fun (& French) guest, and one more anxiety provoking project... but after next week, I will no longer have to work 13 hours at the office, arrive home at midnight, and wake up to do it all over again the next day. I can spend time with Tequila. I can do the things I want to do. I can even clean my house. (Yea!)

...and exhaustion overwhelms.

(goodnight)

...and then?

I wonder if it’s a symptom of youth.

That overwhelming feeling that there’s so much to do in so many different spaces in so many different places all over the world that one lifetime simply isn’t long enough. And the overwhelming anxiety that accompanies it, because — armed with the knowledge that you don’t have time to do everything — how do you pick which thing to do next? How do you know you’ll have a chance to do all the other things you want to do after that?

I don’t know.

And after a fun and interesting night of stimulated discourse, I think I have more options than answers. So many possibilities, so few clues as to which to pursue.

Some things to consider:

• Delay the Real World — in one of a million ways


• Enroll in some sort of fellowship — like Kiva or Cross Cultural Solutions


• Go to grad school — but do you pursue an area you're passionate about, or do you do the smart thing and get an MBA?


• Find a new city to explore and a job that’s interesting and international


• Take a job that makes me a spokesperson for America overseas


• Travel

::sigh::

Decisions, decisions...

It's amazing...

...how much better life gets with a new haircut and a bit of sunshine.

And All of a Sudden, it was Summer

Lately — over the past few years — “springtime” in Boston has been wet, cold, miserable for far too long; then one day, all of a sudden, it’s summer.

Simultaneously, overnight, I emerge from a several-month slump of depression, anxiety and similar dreariness to an unending mood of inexplicable joy and confidence.

So, after yet another miserable week, I was not surprised — albeit quite overjoyed — to wake up to sunshine and sweat, and scents of green on a fresh, warm breeze.

Nor was I surprised that walking down the street — adorned in brightly colored clothes, skin soaking up the sun — I couldn’t stop smiling no matter how I struggled to hide behind a straight face.


Even the cherry blossoms suddenly decided to bloom.

Scents of the South

I emerged from the office onto the streets of Boston to be inexplicably greeted by the overwhelming aroma of lavender.

I welcomed its presence without question.


Lavender keeps the scorpions at bay.

Thoughts of Paris ~

This makes me want to be there:

“Across the boulevard, Paris is bright and sharp around the edges, stripped raw by the November wind. It makes me restless; makes me want to see precisely where that wind is blowing; makes me curious as to the color of the light just over the far horizon.”
— Joanne Harris, Gentlemen & Players

A Dreamer of Far-Off Places

I don’t know how to not think about world travels and far-off adventures. Seriously.

I finally caved and subscribe to Travel & Leisure, Forbes Life, and Food & Wine magazines. In their glossy pages I learn about incredible places all over the world, some places I never knew existed. It's bittersweet — torture whilst seeds for fantastic day dreams.

Someday, when I have an infinite source of money, I'm going to go everywhere.

In the meantime, what’s realistic?

Well, if timing weren’t an option, I’d have an adventure planned for the fall. Vegas for a weekend in mid-August, surrounded by 20-somethings with a passion for fun.

From there, fly to LA to visit family. Spend some time soaking up the sun; delve in the wild colors of Venice beach.

Rent a car — a convertible. Top down, windows blaring, up the vast highways of the west coast. Take a wine-tasting tour in Sonoma Valley, bask in the wonders of Big Sur, return to the wine world when I reach Napa. I’d spend the weekend rekindling friendships in San Francisco, a city of fantastic neighborhoods, gorgeous views, and a truly intriguing story. But California would be far from the end.

If I could, I’d go around the world… Hawaii, Australia, Singapore, Thailand, India. Maybe next to Egypt, and then to Eastern Europe. Either way, I’d end up in France.

And from California, that’s exactly what I’d do. Spend the last week of August with cousins in Camarat and friends in St. Tropez. I’d rent another car, lure along another friend, and drive to Paris. More wine, the Gorge du Verdon instead of the Grand Canyon, châteaux instead of mansions. And the grand finale would be a week in Paris with French family.

That would be fun. An adventure worth writing about.

Instead, I fear, this is just a day dream… one that exists to whisk me away from the miserable weather of Boston. It’s been a brisk, bone-chilling spring. I get the whole "April showers…” thing, but what I’d do for a sunny day. Lately, the sun’s blocked out by ominous clouds that produce a slight, freezing horizontal precipitation. It’s actually more like the air above Boston’s streets are saturated with miniature balls of ice, suspended above sidewalks, pelting your face and soaking your clothes as you walk through the gray streets. It's nasty.

I'm sick of winter, bored of spring, and dying for summer.

good crazy vs. bad crazy

It amazes me how much a boss affects your attitude. Or, rather, my attitude.

I hear horror stories from friends. Bosses that make them feel like crap. Bosses that are actually really stupid but think they know everything — and refuse to listen to even well-intended advice. Bosses that do nothing, or do too much. Bosses that make people want to quit their jobs... or do them, just not very well. At all.

I am so happy working for the people I work for. My boss is fantastic. She’s smart, she’s fun, she’s approachable. When she’s stressed, like all of us, she gets testy… but she knows it. She’s a mentor and teacher, encouraging her “underlings” to grow and gain new skills. And she’s unbelievably devoted to quality work, imbuing the same values upon her charges.

Things were a rough for awhile — particularly when my job description got a little schizophrenic — but I love working for her. Some of my favorite memories from the past year and half here are nights where I’m working ridiculously late, but being uber-productive, all for the clients we share or proposals we’re pitching. Tonight, I stayed until 9:30pm, not thinking twice — because I was doing work for our team. And, of course, because she stayed until 11.

The same is true for my other boss, who is above me on the same accounts, but below the first one. She’s open for advice at all times. She kindly corrects errors. She understands we’ve all got a lot on our plates. For her, I’d stay late too. I would — and have — worked weekends to get work done for her.

I guess there's good crazy, like what my life is for these bosses, and bad crazy, like the horror stories I hear. It's just all about who you work for.

Tequila’s Growing Up!

Tequila is NOT a ferocious dog.

She’s not a watch dog, since she never barks.
She’s not a guard dog, since she greets strangers by lying on her back and spreading her legs. And other animals (especially cats) frighten her.
She could never be a guide dog, since she hardly obeys commands. Nor could she be a rescue-dog, because she gets lost the moment she turns the corner away from our home. How could she ever find someone who’s lost, let alone guide them to safety?

So she’s just a companion-dog... a mushmellow of love who lives for food and cuddling.

But she’s still a dog.


Last night, I let her out as I got ready for bed, as I do every night. Only a few minutes after I shut the backdoor, my brother and I heard something. “Is that Tequila?”

“Barking?” I responded. “I doubt it.”

So we went along with our usual business.

But then I heard it, too. It was something I’d never heard before. A deep, bellowing, wallop of a noise — a bark from a big, ferocious, dog.

I rushed outside to see who the culprit was… only to find my floppy golden retriever standing fixed on the back steps, eyes glued to the back fence. “Tequila? Was that really you?” She wouldn’t even turn to look at me.

I followed her gaze to, as I anticipated, find nothing. Figures, if Tequila barks, it’s at nothing — literally.

But then it caught my eye. A funny glisten in the night sky; a strip of something else pressed against the blackness of my backyard. A stripe. A white stripe, ending just above two gleaming, green, beady eyes.

A skunk.

PANIC! Without pausing to think I grabbed the dog, yanked her in the back hallways, fell over backwards under her weight (neither of us are very coordinated), and began screaming at the top of my lungs — repeatedly — “QUICK SHUT THE DOOR QUICK SHUT THE DOOR QUICK!” Alex emerged from the kitchen, took a second to register Tequila and I tangled in her dog-run on the floor, and dared to ask, “Why?”

“SKUNK!”

Sure enough, Alex poked his head out the door, saw the beast, and slammed it quicker and harder than it’s meant to be shut.

“Wow,” he said. One would assume his surprise was from seeing a skunk in the density of the city. But no; Alex was surprised for a far simpler reason. “Tequila was actually barking at something.” I beamed with pride. My baby isn’t such a wimp after all!

So we showered in her affection, stuffed her full of biscuits, and told her what a brave ferocious beast she was.

All because of one big bark at one small stinky animal.

Good girl!

Goodie Giver

I never thought I would one of those people. I never thought I had any interest in saving the world, making it a better place. In fact, I used to vocalize how much I didn’t want to — I just wanted to be a wife and a mom and a mid-level career person forever.

But I do. I want to change the world. This is the only one we’ve got, and I want my kids, my grandkids, and my great-grandchildren to be able to enjoy it too. And in order for that to happen, I need to — hell, we all need to — make a difference. Preserve it. Help us understand each other so all of the many different cultures can share this one space. Save the resources, the life of the planet, so it doesn’t die of like Easter Island and whatnot. Empower people to make a difference.

Or else, get your shit together and figure out a way for mankind to live in space.


I get really depressed thinking human life won’t go on forever. Life’s way too much fun not to.


So, I’ve decided (and have been thinking for awhile) that I’m making a pledge: I’m going to make a difference — a real difference. Because it’s something that I’m passionate about, and it’s a good thing to do.

I just don’t know how.

Rest in Peace, Literary Hero ~

I can’t believe Kurt Vonnegut died.

He’s a hero, an inspiration, a legend — for some. His work is incredible. The wit, dark humor, significant undertones. And as I look through these photographs, I can’t help but to think he lived his dream... or died it, rather. He is a modern day Mark Twain. And he will be remembered.

I have so much to say, I can’t say anything at all.

Instead, I’m reminded of a memory: of the first time I stood at the foot of Jean Paul Sartre’s grave, taking in treasures people left for him every day. It was a feeling; something that knocked the wind from your lungs, overwhelmed your limbs, swam to your head. It was what compelled me to drop my not-yet-finished subway pass among the many others that blew ever so gently in the wind. And it stayed with me as I slowly, deliberately, stepped away.


There are still many works by both I have yet to read. Some, I dared to leave unfinished. I’m not a devotee, a fanatic, obsessed. But I am influenced. They did move me — both of them — impacting my life in some way I have yet to articulate. Or even understand.


More than anything, they’re giants in my perception of the recent history of the world. They made their mark, altered some course of something-or-other, and will never be forgotten for it. I mean, who doesn’t know about Jean Paul Sartre or Kurt Vonnegut Jr.?

I feel sorry for those who don’t.

Extra Funds?

I have a very expensive habbit. It’s dangerous in terms of building credit, and it’s debilitating in terms of saving cash. It forces me to do things I don’t want to do… like work extra jobs on the side, just to satisfy my cravings.

I just LOVE to travel.

I can’t stand sitting in one place for too long. I can’t bear the thought of not visiting Europe for a whole year. I just can’t imagine not taking advantage of every single one of my vacation days… and then some. And I’ll do anything to make that happen.

So, once again, I have a second job. This one isn’t nearly as ludicrous as my last try, which almost killed me due to the crazy hours. (After working 45+hrs every week, how was I realistically supposed to survive Friday 11:00pm to Saturday 7:00am, then do it all over again Saturday night?) In fact, I almost anticipate this one to be fun... (Of course, I felt the same way about the last job before I really got into it, too.)

Regardless, as of this Friday at 5:30pm, I am officially a cocktail waitress/hostess/bartender at an upscale wine & martini bar in downtown Boston. Wish me luck!

A Thought on Sleeping & Dreaming

I am one of these people:

“Other people cave in if they haven’t had their eight or ten hours [of sleep], and most of them seem to spend half the night dreaming; useless, jumbled dreams that they always want to tell other people about afterward.”
— Joanne Harris, Gentlemen & Players

For example, just last night, I had the most fantastic dreams about the French family, friends I made in Camarat, and the amazing colors of that remarkable place...

Easter '07

Easter with the Polish family is unlike anything I could possibly explain. I've tried. I really have. But no matter how I articulate how loud and crazy and chaotic it is, no matter how much I emphasize the egg fights and 12 plates of meat at 9:30 in the morning, people just don’t comprehend it until they witness it. And as soon as they agree to participate, the entire family shudders in fear. God, these poor guests have no idea what they’re getting themselves into.

This year, we even had a heated discussion about how to reduce the stress level and quantity of food for Easter... but finally came to a consensus that absolute chaos is as much part of the tradition as egg fights and Easter baskets.

So, the table was lined in perfect pastels and splashed in Easter themes — bunny candles and chic ornaments to boot. As always, we began preparing the food (some of which was purchased in the Polish deli) days in advance. As always, we left our doors open to whatever fools wanted to wander in. And as always, I did my best to prepare them.

“Really, the food’s disgusting,” I warn. “Seriously, you don’t have to eat it,” I assure. “Honestly, we make French toast too — for the guests. Feel free to have that instead; we won’t consider it rude,” I console. (Of course, this is only partially true. We make the French toast and promise it’s ok to eat it... but it’s not. It’s really just there for decoration.) Each time, the guest endures the morning with varying degrees of smiles — some forced, some sincere. (Come to think of it, I once invited my boyfriend of two years to Easter breakfast... and looking back, it’s no wonder we broke up shortly afterwards.)

This year, we had two guests. Only one survived the food.

Jon Trotta, an long-time friend, was brave enough to try the barscht and engage the family in conversation… and he even pretended to enjoy both. In fact, he was so convincing in his thank yous and compliments, I’m tempted to believe him.

And then there was Chrissy. Poor girl. We talked about endless servings of meat. We foolishly told her how the broth is made... from meat juice. Hell, we even cooked the kielbasa in front of her the evening before, making her sick to her stomach as she nibbled on Chinese vegetables.

See, Chrissy’s a vegetarian.

And props to Chrissy, for putting on a smile as plate after plate of meat passed her by. For laughing at endless teasing from the men in my family who insist on eating not one bowl of meat at 10am, but returning for seconds… and then thirds. And for sitting through Polish Easter with the family, because — vegetarian or not — after 15+ years of friendship, that’s what she is: family.


Ok... time for chocolate pudding pie... : )

Birthday Bash

Yesterday was my best friend's birthday.

All I have to say is this:










No, we weren't the only ones there...






We're just the most fun!

My New(/temp) Home(/office)

Because of The Flood, the office is being renovated in a much different way than originally planned. That means most of the executive offices — the large ones — now house two desks, and people are moving office to office on a daily basis.

My space, which was one of the first to go and will probably be one of the last to be finished, is still uninhabitable. So they’ve moved me and another colleague into the conference room.

I love it.

I have walls and a door and everything! But most importantly, I have a window. From where I sit, I can’t see the water, the aquarium, or the parks outside. (However, my office-mate, who sits right by the window, has a perfect view of these things.) Still, I’m thrilled — I can see the sky. I can tell what the weather is outside. I know it’s time to start wrapping up as afternoon blue turns to twilight and evening gray. And I get to watch the airplanes out of Logan rise up, taking passengers to exotic destinations, carrying my imagination with them.

Every time I see a plane — be it while I’m walking on the streets or gazing aimlessly from my desk — I can’t help but wonder where it’s going. Who’s on the plane? What are they going to do when they get wherever they’re trying to go? Who’s lucky enough to be airborne, heading somewhere new? Are they excited? Sad to leave? How long will they be gone?

When can I be on a plane again?


I nearly killed myself in December trying to work two jobs... but I did so to fund my expensive habit. I’m seriously thinking about doing it again. I just love love love to travel.

My day is getting better.

How’s yours?

My Brother, the Scientist… and poet?

I’m having a(nother) crazy week. To cheer me up, my brother thought he’d share his award-winning Haiku.

See, each year his employer has a “5-Star Safety Audit,” where a company comes in and assesses lab-safety protocols, employee knowledge about proper procedures, etc etc. This year, to make things “fun”, the safety team hosted a “5-Star Haiku Contest” in which my brother and his colleagues were invited to e-mail Haikus pertaining to safety. The company would then judge the entries and vote which one was the best, awarding said Haiku artist with a gift certificate to a Japanese restaurant.

So without further ado, please find below Alex’s Haiku (which very accurately captures his voice):

Said the one-eyed man:
“Safety glasses are for clowns”
Do you like his style?

And this, they thought, was award-winning. Seriously. As in, no joke.

I, of course, made endless fun of him via e-mail. “Are you kidding?!” I demanded. His response:

No, I kid you not
Haiku’s are all the rage here
We love to party

Haiku’s rule.

- Alex

And that, in a nutshell, is my brother.

A Good Movie

I watched A Good Year.

People said it would be bad. They said it was a terrible movie, and me — a lover of movies — would hate it.

But I love movies because they take you places. I like deep, “good” movies that make you think, because they take you to a new philosophical level. I like movies that do a good job recreating books, because they take you into one person’s visual perception of words. I even like crappy horror flicks, because they take you to terrible, suspenseful places you could never — and would never want to — go to in real life. (But I hate romantic comedies because they’re stupid.)

And I loved A Good Year because it took me to Provence.