I swear we're doing more than eating.

Raclette: from the French verb "racler" meaning to rake or scrape. Raclette is a Swiss dish of melted cheese---in this case, Ogleshield--- piled over boiled new potatoes with lots of ground pepper. Usually served, as it was here, with sweet gherkins and pickled onions. (Ick to the last part but, yes please, to the cheese and potatoes.) I saw a half a wheel of cheese sitting cross-section side up and being melted under a flame and I knew I was in. "That one's gonna plague us later," Dan said.

It's 11:30pm. I'm not sleeping. We've been running around all day---walking until our dirty flip-flopped feet were aching---and I feel way too awake right now. I don't think I ever adjusted completely to the time difference and at this point I think that might be a good thing. (On the flip side, I slept until 9am today and I haven't done that in a while.) Our schedule has been 12 (the time we get out in the world) to 12. Some life. At first I was beating myself up for not getting out earlier but this schedule seems to be working and we're getting it all in.

The past few days have been fantastic and I've been writing about all of it on bits of paper and bound notebooks---just not here. I meant to. I've been keeping a log of every day's journey so maybe at the end of the trip (or when I'm home and wanting to relive it) I'll get it all on here.

For now, a series of highlights:

1) Saturday we went to Burough Market---London's oldest food market---and it was so ridiculously wonderful that I may have to go again this weekend. I was surrounded by stalls and booths and makeshift shops filled with foods from all over the place. Barrels of olives with giant wooden ladles. Ostrich and Kangaroo burgers. Cakes and tarts and nuts and berries. Crates and coolers of veggies and fruits. Tables and sacks of fresh breads and giant wheels of aged cheese. Chorizo and Rugelach and meat pies all in one place.

We tried to go from salty to sweet and washed it down with fresh sangria. Mostly, we tried to eat as much as we could: Crispy strips of pork belly served in a baguette slathered with apple sauce. Rose flavored Turkish Delight. Honey and Lavender ice cream. Homemade toffee and hot ginger fudge. Red chicken curry and creme caramel pots. And, of course, raclette. (Ironically, after a day of such feasting, I am now down four of the six gained pounds. I also found flax seed at the market---I have been looking for it since I got here---which may have contributed to the loss. When I found the flax, Dan asked "Are your insides doing a little happy dance?") This foodie has never been so happy as I was at that market. I really might have to, at least, swing by there this weekend to try the rose, cardamom and almond ice cream.

2) The Imperial War Museum--- I was totally rolling my eyes about having to go to this place as it was Dan's pick and it's my job to be difficult, but it was incredible. I learned more history in three hours here (They actually had to kick us out! We got kicked out of a war museum!) than I did in four years of high school. It's so interesting to see how much of an impact World War II had on England. Not even just The Blitz and the physical damage, but the fear. We went to see the Cabinet War Rooms and the Churchill Museum last week and will be coming home giant history geeks. We may even go back to the museum because we didn't really get to explore the area concerning WW I and had to rush through the Holocaust exhibit which was the main reason for our going there. The Holocaust exhibit, well, what's to be said? Dan and I could barely speak to each other afterwards. There is nothing you can even say, it's so upsetting.

3) This made the fact that we had to go from there to see Sister Act (the musical) in Oxford Circus, feel very strange. Earlier in the day we had procured 9th row seats to the show which is previewing in London and Broadway bound. Fortunately we had some down time in between for coffee and collection of self. The show was great fun. It took us a minute to get into it (as it was on the heels of the magic that is Billy Elliot) but it was a sweet and funny night at the theater. The lead, Patina Miller, was fan-friggin-tastic and it was the kind of show---and this doesn't happen often at the Thee-A-Tah---that really does get you on your feet for dancing and not just the standing ovation. I've used the word fun twice (well fun and funny) and I'll use it again: This show is friggin' fun. And sometimes the Thee-A-Tah should be that, too.

4) Lots of other fabulous moments were had that will hopefully be documented but as it's now so late, will have to wait.

5) Which brings me to tonight---July 28, 2009---the night I was supposed to see Michael Jackson in concert. Dan had been saying all week that we should go to the O2 Arena on this day (mostly 'cuz he wanted to check it out) but I hadn't been into it. When MJ died, this trip became something else. Something fantastic, but something other than realizing a childhood dream. There's loss there. So I wasn't really into the idea of going there, but went with it since we were only a few tube stops away from the arena.

(We spent most of the day at the Tower of London which was sort of disappointing if I'm being honest, mostly because---and Dan and I figured this out while we were there---while we both love kids, we're sort of snobby vacationers and don't dig being around families or tourists, both of which were swarming the place. And I know we're tourists too---believe me, we analyzed and chastised ourselves for all our judgments and prejudices---but it's the truth. If we could have removed all children and their parents and all the people who flat tired me during the Beefeater tour---I totally had a crush on our Beefeater and am fascinated by the community of Yeomen Warders who live there---the Tower would have been neat. It is a thousand-year old prison and stuff.)

So, MJ... In the end, I'm glad we went. We were there at the same time we would have been there for the concert and talked about how I would have been sick with excitement at that moment if things were different. There was a wall outside the arena covered in pictures and Sharpied notes and typed letters. There were roses and candles and a handful of crying fans sitting on the pavement, looking at the wall. I watched. I read some of it. I wrote my thing. I felt it, which maybe I needed to do.

When I bought the tickets and in the months since, I imagined how it would feel to hear him sing "Man in the Mirror." How I knew I would cry like a teenager; How absurd and incredible and brimming with emotion that moment would be. I thought about that tonight, looking around the place. (With tons of restaurants, a rollerskating rink, exhibits and attractions, the place is huge---but it was so empty. It was so depressing. A mall with a giant stage.) I thought about that moment that never was; How beautiful it would have been; How I'll never really know how it would have felt but was so close. It's frustrating and sad and sometimes maddening and unbelievable. I am in friggin' London on a trip planned this year---the year of his death---around seeing him in concert. I was so close.

But close will have to be good enough. Maybe "close" is half the fun. The stuff of the journey.

Anyway, I'm glad I went. This business of closure and all.

It's almost 2:30 now...I don't think tomorrow is going to be the be day we get an early start.

I could be an English Mum...

'cuz I'm wicked cultured.

I am writing today from a french restaurant called Le Pain Quotidien. (MB can pronounce it correctly, Dan says "Le Pain Quotes-at-the-end" and I try not to refer to it by name.) It is a small chain around here but a great spot---wooden floors and tables, shelves of fresh-baked breads of every size and shape, pastries with icing and fruit-topped tarts, jars of spreads for sale and bowls of cubed sugar on the table---both white and brown. The first time I came here was when Dan and I ate the strawberries and cream outside. The second time was for lunch at a different location--- a meal finished with chunks of baguette smothered with the dark and hazelnut chocolate spreads that sit on the tables here. Today I am having a latte and organic porridge and honey with stewed raspberries, cherries and strawberries. Oatmeal. This one healthy meal is no indication of how I've been eating here. While I've had a salad every day (wonderful salads), I've also indulged in breads and cured meats and pastas---last night spaghetti with red chilies and crab meat---and tons of desserts I had never before tried. Despite all the walking, I'm up about six pounds---part of what I lost before coming in order to enjoy my clothes more over here. I'm trying not to stress out about this as all six pounds are made up of decadent, delightful meals I would never have had at home. (Still...six pounds...wtf? Hopefully I can use the next two weeks to take off what I put on in the first two. We are on "holiday" though, so no promises.)

I am sitting by a window, laptop plugged in, overlooking a "roundabout" and the morning commuters. (I actually just heard an English mother telling her 8-year old to stop acting "so pathetic" as she is crying about something. This same woman, though, just informed her daughter that Le Pain Quotidien" means "the daily bread" so I appreciate the knowledge she has imparted, at least. ) I've only done this one other morning---gone to drink coffee and write on my own---and it really is my favorite thing to do in every city I visit. The sun is streaming in on me and I am a fly on the wall of an English street. Heaven for me to just sit and watch.

I thought I would be better about blogging during this trip (I also thought I wouldn't gain a pound) but it's been harder to find these moments than I thought it would be. I'm not complaining---believe me, I'm not complaining---but it is interesting on a four-week vacation in a place I've never been, to balance sightseeing and taking in the vast history of this city, simply enjoying the pleasures of vacation with Dan, and also "working." Writing, for me, doesn't always happen during organized bits of time I've set aside. In a place like this, with so much stimulation and time for insight, I am craving the page. It feels unfair to take such time during the day(and I am dead-tired at night) but I think it will be something Dan and I will have to figure out going forward.

(I have become enamored by the English Mother. She just told her daughter, "It's much better to be slim and healthy than looking like you are about to starve to death." When her daughter went to the bathroom, I saw her take a puff from her inhaler. This prim English woman is sneezing and coughing (as are Dan and I) and taking her inhaler when nobody is looking. Love her now. Maybe calling your child "pathetic" here is the same as saying "you're being a brat." Eh...)

So, I thought I would be better at this whole blogging from England thing but unfortunately I've been too busy living it to write it. We had a wonderful week. Over the weekend we went to Stonehenge (surprisingly more intriguing than I thought it would be) and then lunched in nearby Salisbury. After lunch we went to check out the Salisbury Cathedral which, and I don't use this lightly, was a sight to behold. The place was stately and mammoth yet ornate and lovely. (And I am usually way creeped out by churches.) Here we were lightly sightseeing and eating and drinking our vacation away and then we ambled into a 750-year old church and realized, oh yeah, we are in Europe. (This is what I mean about balance. Is it right to wake up late after a night of berry mojitos or should I be seeking to soak up history and culture with every moment?) It was incredible---actual tombs, a 404-foot spire, architecture like I had never seen and, get this, the Magna Carta. Only in England do you stumble upon the Magna Carta. We had expected to see it at the British Library (as we did, anticlimactically, days later) but to just come upon one of four of the original documents like this, was shocking. The British Library was also cool---hand-written Beatles lyrics on the back of a greeting card, Lewis Carroll's original "Alice in Wonderland," and a page from Virginia Woolf's diary in which she writes about her latest work, "Mrs. Dalloway" (which I am currently reading---thanks VH!). Just neat.

Yesterday, Dan and went to the half-price ticket booth and managed to get fourth row seats to a Billy Elliot matinee. Oh. my. gawd. It's true that nothing in this world gives me the high that I get from musical theater, but this show was something else. Thirty seconds in as union workers sang about "solidarity," I was crying. By the end I had a tissue scheme---one for tears, another for snot. This boy, grappling with such turmoil and loss with movement as his only release---oy. It was an incredible show. (Dan loved it too and also was crying...I mean, had allergies.) If you can, get to it. Mothers with sons---leave your wallets at home and pack your purse with tissue.

It's 10am now and here I still am---unshowered, not attacking the city just yet. With so many hours of daylight we've been able to have full days that sometimes get really going at noon. Today---maybe the National Gallery and afternoon tea? The Portrait Gallery is showing an exhibit on gay icons which should be cool. The Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms is a must-do on our list, too. Maybe we can get all that done and then pack a "hamper" to enjoy at St. James Park.

Choices, choices.

I'm never coming home.

First pints at 11:30

Click on it, it's neat.

Today we got out the door the earliest we have all week---9am. Between the time difference and staying up late by choice(it's light out until almost 10pm here), I've been sleeping later than I have in years.

We wanted to get to the Portobello Road Market early though, so we hopped on the tube (bought my latte at the station) and got there before 10am. We were told this street market is the biggest in London and it seemed to span miles (we did the whole thing) along Portobello Road which runs through the funky Notting Hill neighborhood. We spent the entire day weaving in and out of tables lined with handmade jewelry, antiques, and leather goods and booths of unique summer dresses and rainbows of pashminas(3 for 5 pounds!). We ate coconut cream chicken, cupcakes with bits of toffee and chicken curry potato puffs from the various food booths and restaurants along the route. At 11:30am we stopped for a beer (and a bathroom) and rested a bit before venturing onward. We didn't stop again until 3:30 when we found ourselves at another pub. (Dan finally had bangers and mash.) Though shopping for myself was not on the agenda, I left with a new necklace, a few pashminas, a sweet blue dress, a coral-colored belt and a fabu green wrap courtesy of my sister-in-law. (Shout out MB!) Dan, MB and I laughed, drank, ate, got cranky and shchlepped ourselves through the day today.

Tonight, the three of us (brother-in-law Doug and nephew Zack stayed home) went for a late dinner and sat by the window at the Dog and Fox, a hotspot during the Wimbledon Championships. (Highlight was my salad---goat cheese and balsamic caramelized walnuts with pears, mixed greens and radishes.)

We laughed a lot today. I've never been able to spend this kind of time with my sister-in-law and it's been a real treat. It's fun to hear Dan reminisce with his sister not only because it's sweet and interesting, but also because the brother/sister dynamic is so foreign to me. Dan and MB seem like they've always been pretty good friends---even if Dan did throw lit matches at MB who was afraid of fire and MB laughed at Dan when he got trapped underneath the heaviness of a mattress he was trying to move at age 10.

It's a fun to get to know London but it's also fun to get to know my sister-in-law and this brother of hers.

Treacle tart is bloody brilliant!

The Mellowsky Spew circa 2000BC

Okay, I keep meaning to get here to do some sort of introductory bit about getting to London, settling in, some notes on where we are staying, etc. But, now we're a week in and by the time my body hits the bed every night, even lifting my fingers to the keys seems daunting, never mind forming full paragraphs of thought.

So, while I wish I could give you a summary of this past week filled with colorful detail and exuberance (which I see and feel every second of every day here) I haven't the capacity to link thoughts into cohesive sentences. Hopefully in the next day or two I will be able to backtrack a bit...if not, not. We've hit a lot in this past week and I have a full-blown case of laryngitis to prove it. (Since I was very young this has been one of the ways my body has told me when I'm pissing it off.) But it's been fantasmo on every level. Good talks, good sights, good food. We've hit some of the biggies---Trafalgar Square, Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Buckingham. (We happened upon Buckingham quite by accident as hundreds of London's best---some in service uniforms, some in saris of brilliant reds and oranges, women in summer dresses with matching heels--- lined up outside the Palace Gates to attend a garden party with the Queen. Apparently, once a year she opens the castle up to community do-gooders and has them for tea. Dan and I just sat back and watched hat after amazing hat head through the massive gates.

We took a boat ride up the Thames to Greenwich and went to the Maritime Museum and Royal Observatory. I stood at 0 degrees longitude and straddled the eastern and western hemispheres. (The Greenwich Mean Time clock was off by an hour and I can't understand why. Anyone understand this?) We've been to Piccadilly Circus and Oxford Circus and Covent Garden and Hyde Park. We've been to Leicester Square and walked down Regent Street and viewed the London Eye from almost everywhere. Today we hit the British Museum which---and I'm the type who can be easily bored in a museum---was just incredible. The f-in' Rosetta Stone! Egyptian busts as far as the eye can see. I hope to get back there again to do an audio tour. And that's really saying something.

We've been to a couple of pubs and while the food isn't my favorite, it's nice to stop and have a drink in the middle of the day. I had my one requisite fish and chips meal and decided I don't love it here either but am glad I did it. We've eaten Italian food and Thai; We've dined at a Brazilian steak house and a noodle bar. Every meal has been fantastic. Tonight we did burgers at home with the in-laws, but last night the four of us went out to a place called The Fire Stables and I won't soon forget my salad with fresh figs and raspberries.

And, of course, we saw Harry Potter and the Half-Blooded Prince in an IMAX theater here in London. Fab. U. Lous. We intend to see it again. (They sell Doritos and Ben and Jerry's at the theaters here! Why is it we are still eating effin' nonparells in the States?)

Dan and I just got back from having dessert out. The other night it was champagne, strawberries and cream and treacle tart at a sidewalk table. Tonight it was cappuccino and cafe au lait and a banana crepe with rich chocolate and vanilla ice cream at a French cafe. (One rainy morning a few days ago I got up and went to a different French cafe and had a Viennese coffee---who needs skim milk when there's whip cream?---and a chocolate croissant while sitting in the window watching people catch buses, ride bikes and start their London days.

My in-laws are living in Wimbledon---a quaint cottage with blooming hydrangeas and roses in the yard---just a few minutes walk from Wimbledon Village which is a wonderful little place. I love that this is our neighborhood.

This was supposed to be a quick post so that I could get to bed at a reasonable hour and hopefully kick this illness. (Swine flu is pretty big over here so I feel heavy, fear-filled stares every time I go int a coughing fit.) Alas, it's all too fantastic not to get down. I could live here. No doubt about it.

Okay, to bed with me. Tomorrow morning we're hitting the outdoor Portobello Road Market in Notting Hill and then driving somewhere---Oxford? Windsor Castle? Stonehenge?

We'll see. Not a bad first week though. Not bad at all.

Cheerio!

Too much Pimms

(and no internet access) makes for a lousy blogger...will be back here ASAP with stories and pictures and a list of all the good meals I've eaten. (That's what London is known for, right?) God save the Queen!

Robin red breast

This nest makes me so happy. It is located in a small pine tree right next to our front steps. Sitting out there the other day, I could tell that the mama robin who was staring me down and having a chirping tantrum must have had a nest nearby, but I didn't realize I was about two feet away from it. Now I feel sort of bad about stressing her out---just what an expecting mom needs. I'm so hoping the eggs hatch (Do eggs hatch or birds hatch?) before we go but I'm doubtful it'll happen. (Still, I'm readying myself to throw down with the crows should they go after the baby birds.)

I just looked at the weather forecast in London and experienced a moment of horror when I read that it was currently 17 degrees. Myopic American that I am, it took me a moment to realize it was the Celsius scale. (That's about 62 degrees Fahrenheit---there's a hard word to spell---so it's about the same as it is here today.) But, and I kid you not, they are forecasting sun for the next three days and rain for Sunday, our first full day there. Fitting.

Today someone said to me about the rain: "I did depressed. I did tired. Now I'm just angry."

Ditto.

I had this kind of morning today: I got on the road at 9:23am for a 9:45 appointment (that was a half hour away---do the math, I was scrambling) and because I was on the phone setting up another appointment for 1:45, I missed my exit. When I got off at the next exit to turn around, I proceeded to get back on the highway but in the wrong direction, taking me further away from the exit I was supposed to have taken. The clock said I had 10 minutes to get to my appointment, which was now 40 minutes away, so I called to reschedule but the only time they could get me in was at 1:45. I took the appointment and then had to call back the other place to reschedule that appointment. A model of efficiency, I am.

The appointments? An eye brow waxing followed by an airbrush spray tan. (I am sooo busy and important.) It can't be done the other way around for obvious reasons. I have a crush on the girl who does my eyebrows. She is the sweetest thing and so gently says, "You have really expressive eyebrows," in order to alert me to the fact that if I don't shut the eff up, I may end up with only one eyebrow. After my waxing (oh my god, I'm a woman---'after my waxing'---ha!) she puts a magic wand where there once was hair so that unfortunate post-wax zits don't crop up. It's shaped like a really thin curling iron but it's clear with some sort of electric current going through it like those big plasma globes at science museums where the colored strands of light follow your finger tips. The magic wand hurts but it works.

The airbrush spray tan, well that's an entirely different experience. If you're not familiar with the process, it's just like you would imagine; a woman with an airbrush gun spraying you down---head to ass to toe---with pigment you didn't earn sitting poolside. I swear by it. The slogan should be "10 minutes to better self esteem."

I could go through this process detail by agonizing detail---and probably will here some day---but suffice it to say that these airbrush tanning specialists know me intimately. Screw it, that simply does not 'suffice.' I pride myself on being slightly more honest than that on this topic, especially because whenever I tell people about the process, they are really curious. (And I tell everyone because A) I'm an oversharer and B) I think it would be a bit silly to think people would buy the whole redhead with olive skin thing.) Mostly, they just want to know if I go in there naaaaaaaaked and if a woman is actually mere inches away from my pasty skin examining my inner thigh to be sure the spray went on evenly.

I do.

She is.

Well, I wear drawers (I hate the word 'panties')because I just don't think that particular, um, area needs a tan. (Some people do and I totally get it. Once you see yourself tanned to your highest potential, you never want to see your own white skin again.) But I do wear a thong---this sort of sharing is comfortable, isn't it?---because when I turn around in front of the mirror to see if my ass looks big, I'd rather it be tanned, thank you very much. I also don't wear a bra or bikini top. (Again, some people do and that's fine, too.) I don't know how I, a sometimes achingly modest person when it comes to nudity (as evidenced by this entry), came to be comfortable with the idea of standing in front of another person with only a pair of thong underwear on, but I imagine it's something like how a person becomes a heroin addict. They never thought they'd be up for having a needle in their arm necessarily, but the high is worth it. That's how I feel about spray tanning. Even if I knew that it would take years off of my life (it won't...but the sun will) I would still do it. (The solution is "99% natural based" and has something like beet juice in it for color---crazy stuff.)

Having a relationship (not like the crush I have on my eyebrow waxer or that would be weird) with the technician is helpful, but not necessary. I've had strangers, I've had friends, I've had strangers who became friends. I'm a semi-regular at my current place (I love them! One time they airbrushed "definition" onto my arms!) but I've tried this at about five different spots and once you realize that these people have been looking at naked chicks all day, you feel a little less self conscious. (Plus, you'll also feel less self conscious out in the world of bathing suits. As my sister Tara says, "You can scare one person or you can scare the beach.") The woman who does me now actually has me lean over---God bless her---so that I don't get "smiley faces" of pale skin underneath my cheeks...you dig? (I imagine women with larger breasts than I have to do a little lift-and-hold maneuver.) Other than that, you just have to "turn to the side...lift your arm...and point your knee out."

(For the claustrophobes out there, you should be warned that the whole thing usually takes place in a teeny tiny room. Once, I actually almost fainted and had to sit down in the middle of the process while the poor woman doing the job got me a glass of water. It was my nightmare given the near-nakedness of the situation. Imagine if I had gone down and I was just a naked heap at this lady's feet? It gave me such a scare that I am sure to eat and hydrate before I go. It's one thing to faint, it's another thing to be all Marilyn Monroe about it.)

After you're out of there (you'll need to dry for a bit) you cannot get wet for at least 8-10 hours; no showering, no exercise that will make you sweat, etc. I'm ridiculous on this point. I had to play lifeguard at the pool for my niece after my last appointment and established a five foot perimeter around myself that she and her dripping friend could not enter. Today I was like Michael Jackson (RIP) walking around everywhere with my umbrella even when it wasn't raining (for that whole two minutes). It will streak a bit if you get wet or sweat. It's not the worst thing in the world and can sometimes be corrected with a little tan-in-a-can from the drug store or a bit of bronzer. I also recommend drinking from a bottle versus a glass if you want to avoid a white ring around your mouth. I usually overnight it and shower the next day. Then it's all about moisturizing to make it last. Sometimes I use a tinted moisturizer but I'm a professional. Usually I get 7-10 days of solid tan out of the deal.

I really can't overstate how much I love this particular advance in technology. I never thought I would live to see a tan thigh. My days of sun worshipping are over, I've never felt good about a tanning bed (I feel like I would be lying in someone else's ass sweat), and I'm told the spray tan booths give an uneven appearance. I had resigned myself to a life of dry, white skin and am over the friggin' moon to once again have a tan line. (Another pro of wearing undies.) It's a must-do before all vacations these days.

How the heck did this become a step by step guide to spray tans? I can't believe this post started out about my sweet little robin and her tiny blue eggs. Where did things go awry? How many times did I say the word ass? Why am I not packing right now?

And that answers that; I'm procrastinating. I didn't even see it until now. I tricked me!

Back to the grind. Two more days full days and then we're off. I wonder what part of London we'll visit first. I wonder where we'll eat. I wonder if they do airbrush spray tanning over there.

Five days 'til we hop the pond.

Old feelings...and another ocean

It's quiet in the Mellederer household tonight. Dan's working---trying to get all job-related tasks done before we leave for London on Saturday. (Saturday!) And after reading on the front steps for the past couple of hours ("The Instinct to Heal" by David Servan-Schreiber, M.D., PH.D---only two chapters in and I'm hooked), I'm inside with my laptop on a chair I rarely sit on. Strange, how our apartment looks different from here. I'm writing now, though I'm supposed to be paying our bills so that we don't have to worry that much about it while we're gone.

We spent the morning looking at websites of Bed and Breakfasts in Doolin, Ireland. We're hoping to hop a cheap flight to Shannon and drive down to Doolin to stay for a few nights while we're over there. I had never heard of the place but Maureen, my sister's friend and housekeeper, whom I adore, is from the Aran Islands which are located off the west coast of Ireland where Doolin is. Every summer she takes her two daughters and stays at her childhood home where her mother still lives on the middle island, Inishmaan, and visits with her sisters whom are also still there. If money doesn't run out and time permits, we'll stay in Doolin and take a ferry out to Inishmaan to visit with Maureen and her family. Doolin is supposed to be a center for traditional Irish music which Dan (curiously) loves. It's located in County Clare which, by strange coincidence, is also from where Dan's maternal family descends.

After busying our brains with the trip most of the morning and into the afternoon---and after a long weekend of shopping, packing and list-making---we let it all go for a little bit today to enjoy the sun. Dan said it finally felt like summer. We played tennis (two consumatte gym spazzes) at the Phillip's Exeter courts where we're not really authorized to play but which are all but abandoned over the summer and most of the school year, too. Then we put the top down on the Bug and headed to "Memories" which is like Frosty Freez (Aquidneck Island's favorite ice cream joint) but---it must be said---better. There's no traffic-heavy main road which runs by it and it even has a wrap-around porch with picnic tables and abuts a farm...a real farm (that for whatever reason doesn't stink). Dan got lemon blueberry sorbet and I got a scoop of Cookies and Cream. This was followed by an afternoon head-to-toe reading and napping party on the couch. Afterwards, I took my tea to the steps with my book while Dan shopped for and prepared Steak au poivre, roasted asparagus and baked sweet potatoes. (I, like any second-string cook, did the dishes.) Then I went back to the steps, watched the robins in the evening sun and read until there wasn't much light left and the first mosquito came after me. A dream of a summer day, I almost feel a twinge of sadness about leaving New England right now. Almost.

It's hard to believe this trip came up so quickly. Born, as I mentioned, from a yearning to see Michael Jackson and on a spontaneous whim, a quick jaunt to London has turned into a four-week trip of a lifetime. Dan's sister, Mary Beth, brother-in-law, Doug, and nephew, Zack have been over there for the past year and will be staying at least one more due to Doug's job. We had been talking about getting over there but were ultimately pushed over the edge by MJ's concert series. We bought our concert tickets without talking to them first (not exactly courteous, but it would have meant calling them in the middle of the night) and as it turned out they are heading back to the states for the summer and offered up their house in Wimbledon for us to stay at while they are gone. (Fortunately, they haven't left yet---school isn't out!---and we'll get 10 days to visit with them in London before they leave.) The idea of staying any longer than a week hadn't really occurred to us until they threw this offer out there, prompting (me to ask) Dan to check out his company's sabbatical program. Apparently, since Dan has worked there for over 10 years, he's entitled to a four-week paid sabbatical. (Holla!) We went back and forth on the idea so many times---can you say recession?---but ultimately decided it was too good an opportunity to pass up. We have a place to stay for free, the plane tickets are paid for, and we're not missing out on any income (except mine and we'll make do), so we just had to do it. How could we possibly turn down such an opportunity, particulary when there are no babies or mortgage payments of which to think.

So we leave on Saturday. Four weeks. We haven't had that much time off together (who does?) since our honeymoon almost two years ago when we had about three weeks to fly out to California and roadtrip home. I had poison ivy everywhere during the trip---not exactly ideal for a roadtrip (or a honeymoon)---but that's another entry. Anyway, we ended up spending the majority of that time in Santa Barbara, which we fell in love with and hope to revisit on a future anniversary. This year we'll have to settle for...Paris.

How ridiculous is that? We're going to try to make it to Paris to celebrate our two-year anniversary in early August. Who gets to do that? Seriously, how stupid-lucky are we---to get the time, the place, the whole opportunity? We've been so caught up in saving and planning and preparing that we forgot how awesome this whole thing is. Even as I pack bottles of shampoo and flip-flops and raincoats and travel guides, it is hard to believe this is real; that this is my life.

But, guess what? I felt that today on my steps, too. As I looked at the blue sky and felt the sun's warmth on my shoulders and face and heard Dan clanking around in the kitchen, I felt so stupidly blessed.

I am looking forward to traveling to England and whichever nearby countries to which we are lucky enough to make it. I am looking forward to drinking wine and visiting with Dan in a way that we haven't been able to here lately. I am looking forward to being somewhere new and feeling new things. But, (and, perhaps, it is perfect timing or else I may not have ever come back) today---napping on the couch with my man---I was reminded of how good old feelings are, too.

Still sad when I think about it.

To life, to life, L'Chaim!

My sister Katie invented a person. That's what it feels like. There is a person where there wasn't one before. Born June 29, Savannah Jeanne Gross has finally made an appearance. Perhaps her late arrival is indicative of her shyness, which is something she would have inherited from her mother. (Or maybe she's just destined for a life of always running late which she would have inherited from her grandmother and Auntie Lola.) No matter, because she's here. A new little niece of mine is crying and eating and looking around at a hospital in Memphis, TN and I want to meet her!

Katie went in for a C-section on Monday night. She had been waiting, waiting, waiting for Savvy J to come on her own time but an ultrasound indicating that she might be as much as 9 1/2 lbs., and thus potentially unable to make it through Katie's tiny pelvis, made the C-section the only feasible option at the time.

"I'm having the Michelin baby!" Katie said to me with a hesitant laugh.

Customary as it is for my family members to crack jokes during serious moments(i.e., undergoing invasive surgery as a last-minute decision), I could tell Katie was more worried than she was letting on. Still, a decision had to be made in order to ensure the safety of her child and she made it. Her first maternal decision a good one, it seems, as a healthy (8lb 2oz) baby came out of it.

That is such a vulnerable time for a mother. She, of course, wants to do whatever needs doing, but this sometimes opposes plans or instinct. Katie was going to try to deliver without the assistance of drugs and instead ended up with a high level of intervention. I'm certainly not judging her and am so proud (and in awe) of Katie for being so decisive, but am also just pointing out how sometimes a mother's life of vulnerability and difficult choices, begins at birth.

Gary, her fiancee, drove her to the hospital while Katie and I talked on the phone. She said she didn't have the time she would have liked for meditation beforehand, so I tried to give her the calmest of pep talks: "You're going to get through this. You're going to meet your daughter on the other side of this. You've already done such a good job growing such a healthy-sized baby inside of you. You are already such a good mother. Now she's coming to meet you, this daughter of yours. And a relationship and love that you can't even imagine is going to start today and last for the rest of your life. Today Savvy J. is coming to meet her mommy."

And then she had to go. It is hard to have my sister so far away, especially in these moments. I had hoped to make it out there for the delivery or at least the days following it, but Savvy's tardiness threw off all plans. Fortunately, my sister Becky had planned a trip down there this weekend and will be there to make lasagnas and do whatever else Katie might need doing. Still, it's hard to think of my sister in a hospital without the crowd that showed up for Molly and later my nephew Ben's birth at Newport Hospital.

At 7:30 that night, Gary sent a text message to the family with the picture above and a note saying, "Momma and baby are perfect and snuggling right now."

Hundreds of miles away from them, on my couch watching Jeopardy, I cried for the arrival of this little person whom I know will be another beloved character in this life's play. I called my mom and she had been crying. Cherie cried too.

"Who will she be?" Dan and I wondered about our new cast mate and family member. "Will she be the serious one?" (A contrast to my wacky niece who makes up and belts songs at whim, and Ben who, at not quite three-years old says, "I'm gonna squeeze your face off, Mister," when coming in for a tight hug.)

Will she be sweet like Katie and hang with the lizards on family vacations if everyone else has paired off? Will Savvy be an empath like her mom, unable at times, to release the world's suffering even when it would serve her to do so? Or will she be affable and charming like Gary? Will Katie wonder how she raised a child so comfortable in her skin? And most importantly, will she have a southern accent?

Tara and Becky spent their first years of life in Alabama (where Bec was born) when my mom and dad were stationed there in their army days and the joke was "as soon as they start saying 'y'all,' it's time to go." The fact is that we don't know if she'll ever move back this way. Gary, a FedEx pilot, has to keep the security that FedEx (based in Memphis) offers, especially since secure jobs in the airline industry are hard to come by these days. I used to resent him a bit for taking Katie away from us. NH is one thing; Tennessee is another. But look at all they've given each other. Look at that baby.

She'll be getting out of the hospital today (apparently you get three days for C-section versus two for natural delivery) and I'm grateful Bec will be there to greet her. Breastfeeding has been difficult, as it is for so many new moms (though, of course, you don't hear that much about it because women don't always talk enough about the hard stuff---but that's another entry). She worried that Savannah wasn't getting enough to eat but the nurses assured her that Savvy wouldn't be sleeping so peacefully if she was starving. I asked Katie how she was doing, in terms of recovering from the surgery and she said although it's uncomfortable (understatement of the year, from what I've heard) her focus is on getting Savannah eating.

Maybe this is one of motherhood's earliest themes showing up right at the start--- I'm sure this will not be the last time her own pain will be back burnered for the care of her daughter.

An entirely new part of Katie has emerged and will become her more and more as the years pass. (Which is not to say I will lose my sometimes flaky---but brilliant--- sister, who is known for burning bagels and once put a carton of ice cream away in the cabinet.) But she will be solid in motherhood. She will love deeply and wholly and will guard her cub the rest of her days.

Amazing, really. I thought I knew Katie so well and I do. But I haven't met her as mother yet. When Savannah was born, a mother was born and I am eager to see who she becomes as well.

This baby...



had this baby.