Onward

Amsterdam, Netherlands

Having left behind Jon for this summer trip, we've (I've) decided to take another one this winter. Two weeks: Austria, Liechtenstein, Switzerland and Italy. I'm very much looking forward to the famous coffee in Vienna, the mountains, the chocolate, the mountains, the mountains, the opera, all of Italy but particularly Venice, and the mountains.

Having grown up in several places, none of them exceptionally hilly, I've had a fascination with being up. I hate heights, don't get me wrong, but I love the feeling of being high above something, looking down and knowing so much is going on but feeling so removed from it. I don't know why, but it calls to me.

I've been thinking about living lately. In the most basic sense; where to live. I've always assumed I'd end up back in Chicago but lately I've been questioning that. Why not Virginia? Why not Georgia? Besides my utter distaste for all that is above 75 degrees, I find the south charming. Wrap around porches and lemonade. Flowers and tree lined streets. But I wonder if this is just a result of being too long cooped up in a city. Brooklyn has become one of my favorite places in the world but sometimes city livin gets to a gal. Always longing for elsewhere, sigh.

Trois Années

This is a bit premature but as it is a rather slow day at work and I in no way doubt that some catastrophe will occur in the next week to prevent this day from happening, I will talk about it now.

July first will mark the the third year that Jon and I have been together. An awfully long time if you consider my fickleness and all around poor behavior. I am annoyed easier than most, get mad at the drop of the hat (though rebound rather quickly from said madness), and am constantly on the defense. These lovely attributes would drive most away. But Jon happens to be the most even tempered man that has ever existed. I swear to you. I have never, ever seen him angry, or yell, or even show a large amount of frustration. I am one lucky gal to have snagged this one.

The summer after my freshman year of college I returned home to too sticky Florida and got my old job back at a too large bookstore. Quickly decided I would make Jon my 'summer project' which turned out a bit differently than I had planned. Eight months later he moved to New York, we moved to Brooklyn and eventually scooped up the wee kitten that turned into the big terror. And here we are. Keats, Jon and myself, the happiest little Brooklyn family one could imagine.

And for those that are curious (and even those who are not) the boyfriend

Those without shadows

While in Paris this past week I wandered into a small shop in Montmartre and purchased a ring. This was quickly followed by a removal of another ring. Not significant in and of itself, but also not insignificant.

Several years ago I happened upon my mother's engagement ring from my father, Carl. I cannot remember how I found it, if my mother showed it to me, or why I even started wearing it, but I did. What is even stranger is that there has not a day gone by that I did not wear it. Nearly losing it more than once, sighing on the rare occasion I forgot it in the morning, and fielding the many, many questions about my (non-existent) engagement. Sometimes I lied, said I was engaged, sometimes I explained the silly story that isn't really a story. It just became habit.

The irony is that I do not know my father. I know his name, I know he ran for senator and lost, I know he has never sent me a birthday card, and the one time in the past fifteen years that I've seen him he had to call me because he could not recognize me in a nearly empty cafe. He is not a good man. And that is fine, there are much worse people, there are much worse situations (I feel awful whenever I bring this up with Jon as his story is far, far worse than mine) and I have had a wonderful life. And I don't bother wondering why I started wearing my mother's (fake) engagement ring from him because I'm sure there is a reason but I'm not sure I care to know. But this ring, silver and simple with what appear to be small thorns around it, has somehow made many things disappear and for that I am grateful.

On y va

Saturday I will be jetting off with my mother to Europe. It was all very sudden and very unlike me in planning (or allowing my mother to plan) our trip. As with many of those recently graduated I had a bit of a quarter life crisis which mostly consisted of me not understanding why I had to become an 'adult' --I'm a firm believer that no one is ever really an adult, that we all just pretend to be one until we have so convinced others that we are--and do things like save my money and think of a real career. Somehow this all culminated in a giant present to myself in the form of a short trip. It started with Greece, then Morocco, then maybe Italy but somehow we, mother and I, settled on London, Paris, Amsterdam. A mere three days in each and then right back home again.

While never really having been to London, except a far too long lay over last summer which resulted in the grouchiest of grouches, me, or Amsterdam, I'm still most excited to be back in Paris. I like to pretend that I lived there. It isn't entirely pretending but saying 'I studied abroad' versus' I lived in Paris', 'I lived in Paris' wins. To explain why I loved it so much is impossible as I don't really know why I did. It was partly the newness of it all, of slowly becoming more confident that I could understand and be understood in this different world, of feeling lonely in the best way possible. Something fit so nicely while I was there and its something I've been itching to get back. So, yes, my unexciting self is most looking forward to that place which I've already been, already spent a significant amount of time in, and already fell in love with.

I'm hoping to return full of pastries and with loads of pictures and tiny presents for all. For now, I have year old pictures that make me ache with thoughts of last summer.





My view while I was 'living' there.

Sydney Carton

I've finished A Tale of Two Cities while at work. It was really quite embarrassing. Thumbing through the final pages a student walked in for an appointment and I looked up at her with what must have been red, red eyes and horror at her having disturbed me in these last few pages. Don't you know?, I wanted to choke out, Sydney will give anything for her, anything at all. Of course I pointed her in the right direction and finished. Charles Dickens, never one of my favorites, you have forever found a place in my heart.

It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.


And on that note, all I want is rain and a vase of lilacs.