Budapest Bunnies

We arrived late at night, and the city looked much the same as any other. Then the taxi rounded a corner, and through the rain drops on the windows, I fell in love with Budapest for the first time. The Chain Bridge sparkled, alight with so many bulbs that it looked like a necklace spanning the Danube. Both sides of the river were beautiful that night, the pink and yellow hues of a bustling nightlife splashed against the dark river water, and made the clouds above darkly glow. The rain broke while we were inside our room unpacking, and being starved anyway, we bundled up. I usually hate going out on the first night we travel (because Im anti-social), but this time he didnt even have to bribe me.

Humans are among some of the only species that understand the concept of pointing. Dogs and dolphins get it, too. I point, you look where Ive pointed. Even extremely young children (and puppies) grasp that life is a thing to be shared, and experienced together. The definition of 'share' is to divide, to dole out, and I think thats exactly what we try to do in life. We say, I am happy, please look over here and have some of my happiness. And instead of depleting with use, it multiplies. So we hold hands, eat lemon sorbet, and attempt to make these magic junctures linger.

Easter in Budapest was excellent, even if we did accidentally eat a horse-meat sausage and enjoy it completely (the tarragon chocolate truffles later made up for that mishap). I still have two miniature white chocolate Easter bunnies in my cupboard, because I couldnt bear to eat their tiny cute heads. And I didnt even tell you about riding in a funicular, or about all the beautiful colors of the Easter market stalls full of hot steaming foods, and brightly painted hollow eggs, and piles upon piles of real-fur hats, coats, and scarves. And paprika, lots of paprika! It was just one of those great countries where the variety of souvenirs is endlessly abundant, and inexpensive enough to get a little of each! Its just another reason among many why we love Eastern Europe more than anyplace else, and will miss the heck out of it.

Spoiled Swiss Chocolate

It had all the makings of a magical experience. But mostly it was cold. And grey.

You see, we are spoiled. Jaded. Rotten I tell you! Oh, we're in a European city with narrow cobblestone pathways meandering through cozy eateries smelling of coffee? Been there. What's that? A beautiful clear blue sky soaring over the white ridges of the Swiss Alps while we sit eating cheesy fondue at the base of the Matterhorn? Ok that one was still able to tickle our fancy. We're not total zombies yet. But really, once we had taken the train out of the mountains back into Zurich, it was a total let down. We'd spent the last 72 hours holed up in a teeny cabin watching the snow pile up outside, dreaming of a day when we too could own such a place, hopefully with less of a space heater and more of a wood-burning fireplace. So when we drank the last of the spiced mulled wine, covered every body part in multiple layers of clothing, and hiked to the train station on the hill, I dont know what we were expecting Zurich to offer us after all that. But we lost the snow and gained the rain.

Looking back on our pictures of the city, we were surprised at ourselves for not really enjoying it more. But we get so much grey in Dublin, so much rain, so much darkness even in what is widely referred to here as "summer". I think it doesnt matter where in the world you are, that grey gets into every corner and cranny and transforms what would have been a great place, into just another place. Zurich wasnt immune to the phenomenon. What I saw through a peep-hole in my zipped up, cinched up, double-down coat and hat didnt really ignite my curiosity. I was more interested in "how long till the flight leaves" than "isnt this a good cappuccino". We were desperate to get out of the cold and the rain, and spent two and a half hours trying to make our coffees last just five minutes longer. Im glad we never really run out of things to talk about, and when we do, we end up just talking about what other destinations we dream of traveling to. But if that destination is rainy, so help it!! I believe we've been rained on enough for anyone's lifetime. Theres a reason suicide rates in Ireland are so high. I used to think rain was romantic. Living here has dispelled that for me once and for all. Maybe after we're back in the...whats it called again? Sunlight? Maybe then all this rain will just feel like one long nightmare, and the autumn time will again leave me spellbound.

So yeah. Switzerland was Switzerland. The snowy part was fun, the cabin part was relaxing, the Matterhorn part was excellent. The games of Monopoly played in the loft bed at night, the ones where I beat the crap out of Jon both times, that part was really great. We're spoiled, and the rain is rotting our brains. The grey's got in to our souls a little bit.

I asked Jon today, "Hey whens the weather supposed to get better?" He looked at me.

"In exactly 71 days."

Dining, and Donegal

My hair, unbound, lashed at my face; long tendrils getting stuck in the crease of my mouth. Jon, two steps behind, put a hand to his hat as he looked up at me when I shouted to ask if he'd locked the door to our room. He ran by me jingling the keys in answer, and I followed his lead, the noise of our shoes crunching gravel barely audible over the swirling trees. We reached the steps together and the force of the wind blew us through the massive wooden doors like a couple of forgotten receipts. Our friends already waited in the foyer.

The storm pushed hard at the doors, trying to force its way inside with us, as I finally managed to pull the rusty latch back down into place. Immediately the warm air wrapped around me like an embrace, stinging my frozen cheeks. In the thick quiet, piano keys tinkled somewhere in the next room. A woman's light laughter, hushed conversations, the clinking of glass; all sounds were murmured by the plush carpet under our feet, aging floor boards creaking beneath our weight. We looked around, astonished by the antiquated yet lush interior.

A countless array of ancient family photographs, paintings, and personal paraphernalia hang from nails on the cherry red wallpaper. A large dusty painting holds the suggested lines of castle ruins looming up behind an early morning flight of geese. Below that, a small color photograph of a man and woman catches my eye. He sits on a silver barrel, his bushy brown hair and beard are haphazard, a little wild. His glasses glint in the bright sun. She sits below him on yellowed grass, middle aged, but there is beauty in the shape of her face, and they both hold a glass of something liquid, perhaps from the barrel. Together they give the impression of ambitious confidence gleaned from the fading strength of youth. Maybe they are lovers. What is their story?

I am wondering, lost in thought when a man appears from the kitchen. He is slightly stooped by time, his tweed suit is out of date, his hands are bony, with thick blue veins standing out among the wrinkles. His bushy hair and beard are white now, but the glasses give it away: this is the man in the photograph. When he walks us into the room where the piano man is playing classical music on an upright, I dont know how to ask about the picture. The four of us crowd around a tiny table, our knees touching, the piano much louder now as my back is leaning against it. After hours and hours of driving, we are all hungry for anything, as long as its not more cheese & ham from yet another gas station. Our little B&B for the night is luckily also a restaurant. Beers are passed around. We are happy to wait a little while longer, and we slowly relax into the candle-lit setting.

The waitress thanks the man from the picture, calling him John. So he isnt a ghost. These rooms seem to hold on to frozen time, and deserted secrets. Where is the woman now, I wonder. What is her name? But my meandering thoughts, likely airy from starvation, are brought back and held to the table by good food and even better company. We drink our wine and beer, we eat our fish and beef, we toast to our forever friendship, and laugh and talk long into the night hours about nothing. And that inconsequential nothingness is exactly that which forges us together. Only when the waitress has flipped all the chairs, turned over all the tables for the next morning's breakfast, do we begin to think about calling it. Not wanting it to end just yet, we all brave the still-raging winds outside to get back to one of the rooms, pile onto a bed, and play dice games until we are all too tired and bored to go on.

We woke up that Saturday expecting to have another normal, boring weekend at home. A stroke of genius by the boys made it into a spontaneous over-nighter in beautiful, coastal Donegal. These are the things we moved here to experience. These are the things we'll remember.

We Saw Warsaw

We've only ever seen it snow in the mountains. A snowy day in a city atmosphere seemed a little like movie magic, something that only happens in New York at Christmastime. Our trip to Warsaw, Poland was really quick (early flight in on Friday, early flight out on Sunday), so our time was limited. But after looking up Warsaw "Top 10" lists, I wasnt too worried we'd miss anything. Theres honestly not a whole lot there, but what we did see of the city was enough to fill up what would have otherwise been a boring weekend at home. And having arrived back in Dublin just two days prior from a month-and-a-half holiday vacation to California, heaven forbid we relax a little. Ahh, such is the life.

Our flight landed at 10:30am, and lucky us, cheapo Ryan Air had to close its (really far away) airport because of ice, so they apologized & landed us at the (close to town) Warsaw airport. Score: one passengers! Took a taxi to our hotel, dropped our bags, and walked right back out into the rainy day. It was more of a drizzle, but it was so cold! I had on every layer I could think of, but since wearing a ski mask & goggles would just be weird, my face and eyes were numb after a couple hours of walking. And it was - hours of walking. My new boots are really very comfortable, but I dont think the makers thought of me having to wear three layers of fleece-lined tights, socks to my knees, and thick jeans altogether under the shoes. My toes fell asleep. Then at 6pm that night, the rest of me fell asleep too.

Did I mention we stayed in a 5-star Radisson Blu? And it was cheaper per night than a lot of hostels we've stayed in! One Polish Zloty is worth .24 Euros, so after conversion, we only spent 40E a night. The bed was soft, the pillows were puffy, the bathroom was gleaming, the hot chocolate was free. It was the best hotel we've stayed in yet. Not because there arent any better, but because we're cheap. But this was one case where it didnt matter! Our giant bed faced our 9th story panoramic window that looked out toward the Warsaw Palace of Culture, which is a gorgeous skyscraper that they light up at night. So on the second morning, we woke up, pushed back the curtain, and that magical thing finally happened to us: city snow!

We excitedly layered up & the front desk gave us umbrellas to borrow. The previous day we pretty much saw everything in Old Town, so we had zero agenda. Which is nice, but its much too easy to get bored if you dont have a direction. But somehow the snow falling around us, and the Christmas trees and decorations still all lit up, made it more fun to walk aimlessly for ages. I looked up a couple cafes beforehand, so we had a couple in mind. But one of our favorite things is to just walk until we get hungry, then just pick any little place to pop in. It almost always ends up being great, and we find the spontaneity exciting.

Well I guess not a lot of tourists pick the first weekend in February to visit a country that has such frigid winters, so we mostly had the cafes to ourselves! Also we usually eat at weird times anyway, so we probably just beat whatever "crowd" there would have been at a more normal hour. We were looking forward to the sausages, but neither of us realized Pierogis were Polish, so it was a happy surprise to recognize the word & order some. I thought a Pierogi was some kind of small sandwich, so the chunky thick-walled dumplings filled with cottage cheese, mushrooms, and/or salmon were a delicious peppery treat! Also Im guessing at the fillings based on tradition, neither of us could tell exactly what they were.

The leafless trees stood stark and black throughout the grey-washed city. Jolly multicolored strings of lights danced in the biting wind. A weathered green spire reflected in a puddle of muddy snow melt, a boot print crunched through the ice at the edges. American golden oldies softly blared from the old boom-box radio behind us as we sat tucked snugly inside the candle-lit cafe. Two mugs of hot honey meade and a shared bowl of chicken noodles fogged up the window as we watched the world go dreamily by, and talked about the future.

Yellow Canaries and Sunsets

This was October. Winter in Dublin had just started making me wish we still lived in California. Losing light fast at a rate of an hour a month, I quickly made plans to fly far away: Spain! Sort of... I just wanted to go somewhere where we could roast our bones, like a last hurrah to the summer we never had. The Canary Islands were calling; the Hawaii of Europe off the coast of Africa, people there live in perpetual spring. The sun had all summer been getting the coastal waters to a tropical warmth just for us, and October was the peak.

Its much easier to pack for a week in a warm climate than a week anywhere else. I happily wadded up my airy sun dresses to cram them in Jons shoes, and managed to get a weeks worth of brightly colored beachwear into my pink camping backpack. Because no matter how much you stuff it, a backpack never gets checked for size if youre flying Ryan Air.

In genius forethought this time I rented a hotel room fitted with a kitchenette and balcony, because a week is a lot of days to have to eat in restaurants. I had dreams of deep glowing sunsets, and wine on our porch listening to the Atlantic swallowing up footprints like candy. It rained our first day. I guess instead of bringing California sun with us wherever we go, Ireland weather now clings to our backsides, following us unasked. But the scorching heat of the sun in the Islands was enough to burn even the Dublin frost away, and I barely wore shoes for the rest of the glorious week.

We swam where dolphins play. We drank banana juice and coconut rum at all hours of the day, because its not a beach vacation till theres rum involved. We threw open the doors and let the tepid winds blow through our hotel room with abandon. We ate foreign fried meats on unseasoned rice, and looked out onto a strange volcanic landscape. We could see the open ocean from our 'beach front' room, all one inch of it. But seeing it from the hotel room wasnt why we were there anyway. The waves beckoned and we answered. Even I, long harboring a true dislike of water, didnt want to get out once I was in. There was something wonderful about being lifted gently by the salty bathwater-warm surf, feeling my skin becoming red and crispy for the first time in years. Jon was done snorkeling the clear blues in search for small fish way before I was. The sky was turning purple, the street lights came on, the attendants were putting away the chairs, and he had to drag me out of the surge.

Fresh off our Spanish holiday the month prior didnt spoil this trip one bit, like we thought it might. Similar food, language, and culture. But we didnt go for tapas even once. We could eat their Iberian ham forever, but cold pink soup just isnt our thing, even though we gave it a princely go before in Seville. We spent a couple nights hand-in-hand (and ice cream in other hand) walking the sandy shores in not much else but flip flops and bathing suits, because not even the thermal air in the Islands wanted to go to bed yet.

We felt as if we should have been celebrating something, because it was such a long holiday, filled every day with heat and love and exotic reaches seldom seen. We decided maybe it was a farewell to the summer gone. And so it was.

No Rain in Spain (or Portugal)

For our 4th wedding anniversary (yay us!) Jon took me on a glorious Spanish getaway, where we spent a week basking in the hot hot southern European sun, trying to remember why we moved to Ireland and not Spain. We were in Faro, Portugal for the first two nights, and then mostly in Seville, Spain after that. There was also a day trip to Ronda (which is a sweet town situated over this incredibly high stone bridge) where we found real Spanish horchata! Did you know Mexican horchata is made from rice, and Spanish horchata is made from a seed thing called tigernut? So its different than the horchata Northern Americans (like us) are used to. It tasted heavier, like a melted milkshake with extra spice! Not cheap either, we paid nearly 3euro for a dixie cup full. Even though it was 100 degrees plus humidity, I took little sips at a time, swirling its cold milky goodness on my tongue before swallowing, willing myself to not suck it down in one satisfying gulp.

But the vacation didnt start with horchata. We got off a plane in Seville, walked to a bus station, and crossed our fingers that the bus tickets I pre-bought online would actually work. Turns out, nobody wants to go to Portugal, but everyone wants to go to Seville! The bus was nicely air-conditioned, and all 7 passengers appreciated it. Jon & I sat in the very front seats, where it seems like youre flying above the road in some sort of bus cloud. For some reason, traveling in a bus makes me feel dreamy, and I spent most of the 3 and a half hours dreaming of California.

The terrain was incredibly like the California I know and love, the freeway center-lines even growing the exact same white, red, and green flowering bushes. The dry fields in the hot afternoon sun stretched out into the slightly rolling distance on either side of us, the orchard farms full of old, bent olive trees reaching with crooked arms towards a sky the color of faded jeans. The road signs were all in Spanish of course, but hey go south enough in California and its no different there either! At one point we passed a four-horse carriage, billowing along on a dusty road next to the freeway. A cart with one horse is like 'oh how quaint', two horses is like 'now theres some power', but four horses and you begin to wonder if they are actually delivering mail.

But as we crossed the Spain/Portugal border, and got closer to our destination, it didnt look like home anymore. Faro is basically a fishing village that grew an airport at some point. From what I read, people dont really visit Faro to visit Faro, they go there to catch a plane, or land there on their way to somewhere else. People on the travel tips websites said it was a ghost town, people said it was boring and not worth an hour let alone two days. But Jon & I have developed a pretty good sense of what we like in a vacation, and we like ghost towns that nobody goes to. We like when the Top 10 Thing To Do of a place includes suggestions to 'walk around'. We often ask each other if we are boring. The answer is probably yes to most people, but I think we just know what we like! So in Faro, we spent time poking around the local marina housing photogenic broken canoes, and watched hundreds of tiny rock crabs clacking their tiny claws on the algae-rich rocks. We ambled up and down uneven cobblestone streets for hours, taking pictures of each other in the romantic half-light glinting off the tiled walls. We bought a big red umbrella and read books under it while listening to the Atlantic make love to the sandy shore. And we ate Italian food instead of the local fish-heavy cuisine, because thats what we like.

Remember how I said everyone wants to go TO Spain? Well the bus ride back in was something of an uncomfortable disaster because of it. I was in charge of buying the bus tickets. I bought them to Faro at 2:45, and from Faro at 1:45. What I forgot was that in Europe, they use a 24 hr clock, so while the 2:45 bus was thankfully somehow pm, my 1:45 was in fact am... I had booked us an overnight bus. Oops. And we thought the overnight train in Norway was bad. Also the bus (supposed to arrive at 1:45am) didnt show up at 1:45...or 2...and then we were getting really worried by 2:15 and no bus. Luckily, a group of four French girls also trying to get the same bus were sitting there with us, so we knew at least we were in the right place. Even more luckily, one of them spoke Spanish fluently enough to use Jons phone & call the bus service, who told us its normal that the bus is late, and it should get us in probably no later than an hour. Fun times man, fun times. So in the end our 12 bleary eyes and 6 heavy heads finally got on the bus to Seville and filled the exactly 6 randomly spaced leftover seats that no one else wanted, but miraculously me & Jon even got to sit together! In the VERY VERY back, crammed in by the cold window, under some lights, next to some guy with his headphone music up way too loud, to arrive back in Seville at 5:45am. The sun didnt rise until 8am, and we couldnt check into our hotel until 9am. So we sat under a blue street light on a deserted park bench, delirious with sleep deprivation, talking about who knows what, until Starbucks finally opened. Its times like these that take the charm out of travel, really.

But when we woke up from a much needed nap, we were ready to take in beautiful Seville! It was all hand crafted tiled walls, pastel stucco buildings, and lacy-looking iron wrought balconies. Siestas are a real thing, and shops really closed down in the mid-afternoon to get away from the heat. The only other people out around that time were probably tourists like us, not willing to miss even a second of the day. Until later in the week, when we too retreated indoors for a few hours before heading back out for dinner. We felt obligated to do Spanish things, like see a bullfight and watch Flamenco dancers. The bullfight was voted against, and we took a tour of the ring (sans fight) instead, and learned the bloody history of the 'sport' without having to actually see a cuddly cow be gutted in front of us. We kept telling ourselves we would go to a Flamenco show, and every night we decided to do something else instead. Dancing just has never been interesting to either of us. Going to bed early just sounded better. See, we really are pretty boring.

One night instead of the dancing, we went to a Turkish bath house. Wow, it was so amazing! For 35euro a person, we got a 15 minute full-body massage, plus unlimited time in the whole bath house. Unlimited! There was a warm bath, hot bath, and cold bath in one room, and you go from the warm to the hot to the icy cold one! You do it over & over, and your body gets into a state of deep relaxation after a few times. The other rooms included a warm salt water bath (this room looked like a tunnel carved into a mountain), mineral bath with a waterfall (didnt spend too much time here, some annoying guy was getting splashy), and a peppermint-flavored sauna room (yes flavored, the steam was so intense you almost couldnt breathe, and your nostrils and lips tasted a little like Christmas). This place was like relaxation heaven. Low instrumental music wafted thru the air like incense, the walls were two stories high and painted rose red, and crowned with carved wooden panels. The candle-lit lanterns hung low, nearly touching the water, the flickering flames making the baths glow. THIS is what we like.

The whole week was like one big simmering bubble of love and ease, plus tapas. Which we now know isnt in our top 5 fave foods. Cold pink soup and leggy shrimps just dont equal a choice meal to us. This trip was our longest yet, and we only got bored on one of the days! And then we stopped being bored and were awesome instead! But really, the whole thing was amazing. All of it. And I cant think of a witty way to end this one, because it was so cool it wasnt even funny.

USA! USA!

For two weeks I sat at home watching the world's top athletes compete in some pretty incredible feats of the human body, expelling immense amounts of energy, looking absolutely gorgeous while doing it. I was eating pizza. Then I felt lazy, so I brushed my cat. For like seven minutes. There was definitely a slight condensation on my upper lip after that one.

In 2008, Jon & I went on a trip (in a group with a ton of other awesome people) to China. That year, Beijing was the Olympic host city. While there, we got to see the now-famous stadiums like the Bird's Nest and Water Cube, and their giant countdown clock. We of course also bought tons of Olympic paraphernalia! Beijing 2008 t-shirts all around! It helped that even at a young age with like 100 dollars to spend, it was nearly impossible to spend it all! The money there isnt worth very much in USD, so everyone felt like the rich tourist for sure. That was such a fun trip, we all have very very fond memories of being together in China in 2008! King's Cup in the hotel rooms after the adults were asleep anyone?

So last year when I had a friend selling a couple extra London 2012 Olympic tickets, I called dibs as fast as I could! Being in the host country during the year of the Olympics is epic on its own, but this was an opportunity to actually SEE an Olympic event! In real life! Im not much of a sports person, and never watched a whole lot of the Games before. But Im a HUGE fan of historical events. This is how I try to approach opportunities: Will this make a cool photo album? Will this make a cool story? Will this opportunity come up again? If those boxes are appropriately ticked, I jump. I didnt even care how much the tickets were going to cost, since a flight to London from Dublin is always super cheap, generally well under 50 Euro a person.

London turned out to be much more expensive of a trip that Beijing. First of all, Mom & Dad didnt pay for this one. Second of all, Jon & I previously swore off going to any more UK countries, simply because unlike in China, in the UK we are poor tourists. Not rich ones. The Great Britain Pound is worth too much for our blood. BUT again, this trip ticked the right boxes, so we had to suck it up and go anyway. Yay for plastic money! Hey after awhile, you get so accustomed to that swiping motion, its like they're giving you stuff for free! I want this hot dog and all you want from me is a lift of the arm? Sure! Buy all the hot dogs!

But seriously. Being in that Olympic Park was such an emotional high. There was a LOT of red, white, and blue! But of the Union Jack variety. Very nearly every person was representing their country with face paint, silly hats, and colorful tights. Jon bought a US flag and wore it like a beautiful scarf. And sometimes like a cape. Best decision ever! It was so cool to represent our favorite country in the world! There was an overwhelming feeling of general excitement from everyone. No matter where you were in the Park, nobody was a stranger. The favored question was, "What are you seeing?" to start a conversation. Even the cops and army people guarding the place were extremely open & friendly to all the tourists!

Our generation hasnt experienced very many nation-wide outbreaks of pure Patriotism. I can think of one, born out of fire & rubble. Remember how literally every car had minimum one flag per window in that time? And how everyone walked around, super proud just to be living in the USA? Country music probably experienced an all-time listener high. Being in the Olympic Park this year made me feel like that again. Proud to be an American, wearing the TRUE Red, White & Blue! When we came across other people wearing our great nation's flag, we led them in a rousing chant of, "USA! USA!" Later in the day we all ran around in a pack, preying on the smaller countries with lesser flag-presence.

Joking, most of that didnt happen. What DID happen was a great photo album, an epic story, and a once in a lifetime experience. Just another weekend, really.

Spoonful Of Crazy

You know that kind of crazy weekend? The kind that when its finally over you sit there in the sudden silence, and it all comes back in flashes of color and snippets of sound? Like the lingering of a dream when you first wake up, your feet still hurt and you can remember exactly how someones voice was. But so much happened overall that now the four previous days seem mashed together into one continuous scene. The feeling of surveillance is slightly unsettling, and you find yourself wondering if youre still being listened to.

It all happened so quickly, and so without thought. Like a functional drunk, I think the body must get accustomed to a certain level of stress over time, until you barely notice the pain anymore as your stumble along. This past month has been such an endless barrage of self-inflicted unflagging busyness. But we signed up for this. I filled out our calendar days with trips and family and flights and tv shows (in pen no less) myself. But like any great fireworks show, this month was full of calculated random explosions, and our finale was really something to behold!

Or maybe it wasnt so great. We dont really know just yet. Filming for HGTV's House Hunters International only ended today, so when you see the final product on your telly youll have to be the one to tell me. I think Jon & I are exceptionally normal and mostly boring people, who spend a lot of time at the movies. Or watching our cat play with a paper bag. Riveting stuff. So the close-up of me shoving a forkful of lukewarm breakfast beans into my mouth, or the part where Jon coins the term "cottagey", will have to carry our 22 minutes of fame.

But seriously, we have never done anything like this before. So getting the opportunity to be on tv, on a show that basically creates a semi-realistic re-enactment of our journey across the world when we were young and in love, was something we could never pass up. It could happen that the re-run of our episode will still be around when our children are old enough to watch it, and laugh at us! We look at making this show like a cool way to preserve this insane adventure we've been on, in a way we will be able to keep & share with future generations. Of course Im worried Ill look stupid or mean or ugly or fat, or that my clothes look dated or my teeth look yellow. But who cares. Its the way I really do look & sound right now, this second, in this tiny breath of our human existence. 


Like I said, we are totally new to this sort of thing. Being on tv and all. So we were understandably nervous about not knowing the first thing of what was expected from us, or even how the weekend would play out logistically. So when we met the crew, Chris (the respectable expert director), Mike (the energetic, pun-loving cameraman), and Joe (the too-hipster-to-be-hipster sound guy), we were put immediately at ease by their exceptionally friendly ways, and gentle handling. They were so patient and helpful, and werent even bothered when Jon or I would mess something up along the way, or forget and look into the camera.


I was a little weirded out when Joe apologized for his cold hands much like a doctor would, and then stuck them up the back of my shirt to place a sound wire. Then he pinned the microphone right between my boobs, because thats the only place where theres apparently the least clothing rustle on the mic. Makes sense I guess. These guys are so professional though, that after the first couple takes, even that inconvenience lost its novel affect. Mike was very smitten with my cat while shooting scenes inside our apartment. I think he took more pictures of Smaug in one day than I have taken in a month of owning the kitten! Chris was such a polished pro, that I could see him in a tux thanking a clapping audience. When he was speaking to us about a documentary he'd done recently, you could see in his eyes how much he believed in it. And yet he treated a couple of small fries like me & Jon with total equanimity.


This experience has been one we will never ever forget! We seem able to say that a lot these days, and feel so blessed. When the actual show airs, maybe we will wish we really could forget it, and will be totally embarrassed. Feel free to make fun of us! But for now, we are indulging ourselves in the heat of the sun, enjoying our manic schedule, making memories at the speed of time. This has been our attempt to capture a shaft of light in a jar. Lets hope we catch more than dust!

Oh Oslo

Have you ever been so frustrated that you are reduced to a crazed laughing fit? Oslo ripped out our souls & trampled them to a standardized pulp. And since its a country and not an actual opposing force, we could do nothing but sit back and decide to simply get thru the day & survive the barrage of horrific bad luck.

But Im not going to expand on all the bad things that happened. In a nutshell: food is ridiculously expensive (imagine paying 15 euro for a cruddy hot dog from 7 Eleven, because thats what we had to do), we missed a once-an-hour train by 10 seconds (literally watched the doors shut in our faces), got locked out of our hotel for 6 hours (when theres a specified check-in time, dont ever get there early), and lost Jons camera (left it on the 12 tram and spent the next hour and a half tracking it down). These are some of the worst things. The lesser things were just bonuses that Oslo decided were totally necessary to our trip. Like the heavy rain the entire weekend, making us move hotel rooms half way thru the night, and to top it all off the sun doesnt even set this time of year! Hell is an eternal day!

But we all agreed that once we were back in Dublin, we started to forget the pain. Like childbirth. Looking back through our photos, we started to remember just the good things: the way fresh pine permeated the air, photo bombing other tourists' pictures in the statue garden, cooking ramen noodles in a hot water kettle in the hotel room to save money. And of course our invented games of rubber-sock-umbrella golf/baseball in the park at midnight, under the gorgeous ever-lit sky. Raw boredom fosters creativity like nothing else can!

The biggest highlight of the entire weekend for us (other than rubber-sock-umbrella golf/baseball of course) was the incredible Norwegian fjords, and the trains getting there. We took the historic Flam Railway, which is said to be the most scenic one in Europe. And we think it truly must be! It starts in the snowy mountains of Myrdal, and takes about an hour to travel slowly back downhill to the town called Flam. On the way down we got to see serene nature, roaring waterfalls, and picturesque valleys. The town Flam itself is graceful in its tourist-trap position in life. At the mouth of Flam is the fjord called Nærøyfjord, on which we took a ferry to the other side.

Being inside the majestic fjords on a slow ferry was heart-stirring. The weather wasnt great for photos, but it was entirely something else in person. The boat ride was a long one, and it took us by innumerable waterfalls along the way. It was freezing cold, and we were the only ones on the boat to stay outside the whole time! We didnt want to waste the once-in-a-lifetime view looking at it all through some foggy glass windowpane.

Every minute I kept expecting & hoping to see a narwhal, or even a mermaid. The bottomless water was a darkly luminous green and navy blue. The carved mountain peaks loomed over us like so many imposing sentinels guarding something precious. The air was cold and clear, and deeply refreshing. Other than our ferry, the only other human life we encountered was a group of (super lucky) people on kayaks. We went away from this place happy to be alive, thankful to be together experiencing what Norway had to offer.

Overall I definitely think this trip was a big helping of bad, with a side dish of good. But sometimes even that little bit of good can be great, and can carry over into the memories that will last forever. We will most likely never go back to Norway, but we are very glad we went at all.

People Smells & Memories

What does home smell like? It isnt something I can ever put my finger on exactly, and simply saying that home smells like hot weather and faded cigarette smoke doesnt really convey the feelings attached to these smells. Its like that friend whose house just smells that certain way, its just their "people smell", and when you walk in you know youre in the right place.

There are quite a few places on earth that when I park on the steep driveway of one, or pass the white fence on the way to another, I get that flutter of home inside. That indescribable gut instinct of wholeness and safety, and somehow it brings back that feeling of a carefree childhood. Sometimes certain sounds and smells can appear quite suddenly, and startle me into profound longing for a place called home. Ill get a heady whiff of cigarette smoke walking behind someone on the street, and I know its bad for my health, but I breathe in as deeply as I possibly can, and hang on to the scent for just a moment. And in that moment Im transported back in time.

When I was little, my family lived in Orange County, and we had relatives Up North in a place called Oakhurst. A few times a year Mom & Dad would wake everyone up before dawn, pile all four of us kids into our family van, and we'd spend the next 5 to 6 hours watching movies and driving up to the place that would eventually become home to us all. We all knew we were on the way to see Grandma, and Aunt Celia, and cousins, and everyone. The one landmark we always looked for was The White Fence. Once we saw The White Fence fly by the windows, we all started to yell and get really excited, because it meant we were almost there!

You already know that Oakhurst is a typical small country town. In the summertime its as commonplace to see rusty old pickups loaded with hay as it is to see colorful tour buses in the Raley's parking lot loaded with tourists. Its the kind of place where youll see sun-wrinkled old men wearing cowboy hats, because they are actually cowboys. If I myself had made one or two different choices at key points in my life, I too would have become a cowgirl competitively barrel-racing my Arabian/Thoroughbred cross named Freedom.

Home smells like memories I guess. And horseflies buzzing in hot summer air. And cigarette smoke from my Aunts kitchen. And sunburns. And Christmas turkey. And penny-poker nights in the living room with brownies. When we walked into our hostel room in Estonia, I was shocked by all these memories in my nose all at once. The cool, dark hallway had that lingering scent of someone trying to hide a habit. The room itself was overly, deliciously still and warm. The only sounds coming in from the window was a couple happy birds, a faraway hammer, and balmy wind through the trees.

Usually taking trips outside of Ireland invigorates us, and we come back to our apartment happy to be living here in Europe. But something about Estonia made us feel the opposite, as if we were flying back into the wrong airport. Like the right one is really thousands of miles away. Like we werent flying home.

Nice Knowin' Ya!

Hey California. I love you, you know that. But living in California can sometimes be like having a mean old dad who has no sense of humor, and doesnt like to see anyone having fun. Theres so many rules and laws about stuff, that its a small wonder we arent all locked up all the time. I feel like a lot of these crazy laws revolve around animals. You may not hunt moths under a street light, it is illegal to shoot jackrabbits from the back of a streetcar, and ducks have the right of way to cross Rancho California St. at all times. You also cant own ferrets or gerbils, because if they are let into the wild they'll turn rabid and start killing off the cattle or something. But they ARE legal in Montana. Isnt that where all the cows are? Y U SO CRAY, CALI?

Living in Europe however, is like having a sleep-over at your cool friend's house, and her mom lets you guys do anything you want. Sometimes we feel like this is what the 1940s or 50s must have felt like in the states. Its a simpler way of life here, slower paced and sleepy, where the children's toys might have lead in them, but they sure last a long time! Its like we have been transported back in time, and everyone trusts everyone, and nobody thinks the worst about the strangers around them. Even the Irish President Michael Higgins walks around town, WITHOUT a swat team or secret service or body double or anything! Just walks around!

I try to imagine Obama sauntering down any street in California, alone or maybe hand-in-hand with his daughters. Wearing a plaid shirt and high-water khakis, he stops in a store and buys a lollypop for one of them. He waves to the smiling barber shop owner, who's busy sweeping his front porch. I told you, its like being back in the 50s or something! Jon asked one of his co-workers if their President isnt worried about getting assassinated. With a confused look on his face, the co-worker asked Jon, "Why would someone want to hurt the President?" Isnt that sweet.

This general lackadaisical approach to life is great! Its freeing! Until you get home and open up that carton of eggs, and find a couple feathers and maybe even a little bit of poo on the shells. Or the milk you just bought yesterday has already gone bad, and leaves you wondering just how old it really was. Or youre eating at a nice restaurant, and a silky black cat walks by, apparently there to help keep down the rat population. Appetizing thoughts. I guess a lot of the time, that mean old Californian dad does what he does to keep you healthy and safe, as annoying as his stringent rules and laws are.

Far less important than thoughts of the President or national worries, theres this thing called a fish pedicure, where you stick your feet in warm water and all these little bitty fish suck the dead skin cells right off! It is (of course) illegal in California, due to health regulations that say for sanitation purposes, tools must be sanitized before and after each use by a patron. Well you cannot sanitize a living fish. Then it says you can use the fish, but the fish must be thrown out after every use. Well that would probably just open up a big ol' can of PETA whoop-ass, so they just made it illegal as a whole.

But yay for us, we are having a sleep-over in Ireland, and its totally ok here! Fish pedicures for everyone! The best part: its cheap at only 15euro for a half hour, plus you get a lovely foot gel to lash on afterwards! Whats that you say about infection? Mold? Cross-contamination and flesh-eating bacteria? Nah, we dont have to worry about that stuff here. Its Europe, darling!

Verdict: super terrifying!

We Dont Get That Channel Here

We have our blog listed on a website called expat-blog.com. Its basically an online community for people who have moved out of their native country to live in another. We are (of course) in the America-to-Ireland section, our blog listed right alongside a few others. Im never on that website, I just thought it would be cool to get my blog out there for other people who may be wrestling with the desire to move abroad. Hopefully my writing about our various trips and struggles encourages others to travel more, and have adventures that will create those forever-memories. It doesnt matter where you go or what you do, but every opportunity that arises to do something extraordinary should be leaped at and tackled immediately!

My whole life, Ive tried to live by the philosophy of "why not?" It applies to most situations. For example, we were in Brussels, and poking around cobblestone alleys trying to find this statue called Mannequin de Pis, which is a really funny statue of a little boy peeing into a fountain. On the way there, we saw a street vendor selling what looked like meatball soup. Upon closer inspection, I had to play my game: "Why not eat that? Because its snail soup, not meatball soup. Pass." Upon later reflection, Jon thinks we should have gone for it. Im ok with my decision to not contract salmonella, or whatever disease you get from eating boiled dirt and snail poop.

For a much larger and more personal example, a year ago we asked ourselves the very same "Why not" question when we were trying to decide what the next step in our lives would be. Should we have kids? Should we buy a house? At 23 and 25, we felt too young to be doing either, but didnt know where else to head. We were feeling a little stuck, a little suffocated, like our life together was so happy but so boring. And we both wanted more. After a going-away party for some friends, we started to ask ourselves why we werent the ones going away. And if we went away, how far would we go? Earlier, our friend Matt said he could see us living in Ireland. We laughed, but later that night we werent laughing anymore. Could we really move abroad? What about our families? What about kids, and that house we nearly bought? What about our dogs? What about our friends? What is Europe even like? What if we hate it? What if we get lost and scared? But then....Why not?

And so we did.

Now here we are, a couple months shy of a year living in Ireland, and we have no regrets. And we were recently given an opportunity to play my yet game again. She saw my blog listed on the expat-blog,com, and emailed me. Want to be on tv? she said. After searching her name on LinkedIn to be sure it wasnt a scam, I called her back. After all, why not?

Easter Bunnies in Holland

When we booked our hotel and flights to Holland, we were surprised at how expensive everything seemed compared to other weekend trips we've been on. Then we realized: it was going to be Easter weekend! The Netherlands are known for many things; Amsterdam specifically for it's seedy red light district, legal prostitution, and pot cafes. But when we thought of the Netherlands, we first thought Holland, windmills, tulips, and wooden shoes. We were not disappointed one bit! But we did stay away from the red light district. After all, if I want to look at boobs, all I have to do is look in the mirror.

To start our vacation right, and to see some quintessential Holland, we spent a day in Zaanse Schans, where there are real working windmills and old Dutch cottages! It was freezing cold out, with icy whipping wind chilling us to the core, but it was worth every second of nearly losing our extremities to frostbite. The sign inside the windmill said, "Enter entirely at your own risk!", at the base of the creaking staircase, but I guess you deserve to lose a finger or two if youre stupid enough to touch the machinery forcefully grinding away. So to the deafening sound of the wooden cranks & gear shaft, we carefully climbed our way to the top to see the view. The WOOSH-WOOSH-WOOSH of the windmill fans was powerful when standing right next to them. There are 8 mills there, and each one has its own name and function. The one we climbed to the top of was called, "De Kat" (The Cat), and was a working dye mill. Other mills made cheese, sawed timber, or refined oil.

We spent Easter Day differently. We woke up early, and had breakfast in Haarlem's sunny town square. The church bells rang every fifteen minutes into the warm blue sky, and we were serenaded table side by two older men: one with a trumpet and the other with an accordion. We then rode the a through Leiden to Keukenhof Gardens, which boasts that it is the "Largest Flower Garden on Earth". It is a lush, sprawling garden, covering nearly 80 acres of land! We spent hours there, looking at every shape and color of bulb flowers you could imagine! We were even able to take a narrated boat ride through the tulip & daffodil growing fields. We saw all sorts of native water fowl, and even a rabbit. It was a perfect way to spend Easter, celebrating new life and the Resurrection of Christ!

There's so much I could write about our trip to Holland, we loved the country so much! The architecture in Amterdam is surprisingly quaint, the narrow gables and roofs like so many gingerbread houses stacked crookedly together in long rows. The canals are used like extra streets, and bonus real estate. Lots of the floating houses roped to the stone bridges looked bigger and classier than our own apartment. Its an artistically leaning city, with pop-up art galleries, and really beautiful graffiti. I think the only other place Ive seen so many bikes and bicycle riders was in China. Public transport was a breeze, the pancakes were delicious, theres history down every canal. It was a great Easter weekend!

Secret Spots

I let my feet hang loose off the pedals for just a moment, and the bike coasted for a few feet before stopping. The silence of nature descended on my ears like a physical weight. I stood still while the light wind cooled my face, and I reveled in the moment. On my right two horses grazed quietly, and beyond them was the beautiful Atlantic ocean, sparkly teal in the full mid-morning sun. Up the gradual hills to my left rose countless rock hedges, put together with obvious attention to detail. No mortar was used in the completion, only simple stacking techniques probably passed from one generation to the next. Lines and lines of these archaic rock walls turned the landscape into a unique display of ingenuity. Ireland isnt known for their roaming tree groves after all, and is in fact one of the most deforested areas of Europe.

To Jon & I, the perfect vacation spot is somewhere out of the way. We've always liked places that feel untouched, as if we're the only ones who know the secret. Especially since living in the capitol of the country now, we crave the hushed atmosphere only found on the road less taken. The beauty of the Aran Islands is hard to caricature in words, and we both fell perfectly in love with the place. It's the kind of region that feels unspoiled by modern living, seemingly stuck in time where people hang their clothes to dry in the sea-breeze air, and rely on the family livestock to sustain you through a harsh winter.

Its easy to be romantic about a place like the Aran Islands, wild and almost frightening in its sincerity. We saw more cows than people while biking about all day. There's only two ferries a day from the island: one at 10am going in, and one at 5pm going out. Hard luck if you miss one. As we stepped off the ferry, it was jarring to be suddenly assaulted by about fifty men standing by their vans, forcefully hawking tours of the island to every passerby. For a minute it really felt like Mexico or China, where they never really leave you alone, and if you buy anything it only gets worse.

But once we made it through the gauntlet to the bike shop and payed our measly 10euro a bike, we were really on our way. The next five or so hours were incredible, and so relaxing. Jon & I decided we will definitely be going back to stay in a B&B. Our very favorite B&B is the Shaw House Inn in Ferndale, California, but the Aran Islands may become our Irish fave while we're here. Its definitely our little secret.

St. Patrick Approves This Message

People had hyped St. Patrick's Day for us to where we went to bed with feelings akin to Christmas Eve. The present was going to be the big parade, passing right under our window! Big Window Bonus #389: Front row seats, every time! So when we woke up to a double-decker bus parked in front of our view of the street, we were less than pleased. Then they parked a second one behind that, cutting our view from full-on epic, to a hole here & there between the buses that were apparently for "the press". But they didnt stop there. Soon the paramedics came behind those buses, and set up two tents that we could nearly touch with our feet dangling from our sill. We were in the nose-bleeds by the time the city was done shattering our hopes for the morning. Did I mention the two giant buses remained nearly empty for the entire parade?

Feeling festive anyway, we bought 2 Ireland flags and hung one outside each window sill. My mother sent us blimp-like balloons (about 2 feet long each)! When the crowd got bigger, we let them fart along in the air above them, dissolving into hilarity when one landed in front of an unsuspecting face in the multitude. Jon made green pancakes for our guests who came to watch the parade with us, and we cooked loads of rashers. Rashers rashers rashers. My Irish friend even taught me how to make an honest Irish Coffee, including hand-whipped cream! I didnt believe her when she said it was easy to make, so I bought a can of aerosol whip, JUST in case...but I was so wrong! I will never buy pre-made whipped cream again!

It was so amazing to be in Ireland for their biggest holiday of the year. The city was entirely packed with tourists from all over the world. Most of them wore gaudy green Leprechaun hats, or chartreuse sweatshirts loudly pronouncing "IRELAND", just in case they forgot where they were. Jon's sister had just flown in from the States the night before, so she got a first-rate introduction to our fair isle! I learned new things too, like a clover and a shamrock are not the same thing at all, and corned beef & cabbage is a decidedly American tradition. Also, its only St. Patrick's Day, or Paddy's Day. Never St. Patty's, or St. Paddy's Day. Semantics, yet pertinent.

Without exception, this was the best St. Patrick's Day we've ever had. I hope the double-decker bus industry go out of business before next year though. Hope yours was just as fun!

Such a Beach

Who needs to travel the world when you could travel to California? I probably dont need to share how much I love our home state, because if you know me you already hear it enough. My heart quickens when I realize I get to visit that land of my forefathers again in less than a week! It quickens a little more when it hits home that Ill be trekking all alone this time, far from the only Directionally Intelligent one in our marriage. One time I got lost in a mall for two hours because I couldnt find an exit. When I finally found the glorious portal to my known universe (the parking lot, another maze), it was nowhere near where I had entered that fun-house hall of mirrors to begin with, and had to walk for fifteen minutes around the perimeter of the building until I finally began to recognize the shrubbery. Another time I was in my car going to pick Jon up after work. That story is too long and complicated to even share coherently (ask me sometime), but suffice it to say that what should have been a fifteen minute gallop down the road turned out to be a tear-inducing escapade of missed exits, and terrifying traffic-stopping U-turns.

So flying across the world should be no sweat! Whats that? My hands are trembling just writing this entry? You bet they are, Im freaking out. It doesnt help that we just saw the movie called "The Grey", in which there is an extremely realistic and honestly frightening depiction of a plane crash over some pretty gnarly snow-capped peaks. Guess Ill remember to pack my thermos with many small knives, just in case we have to fight off some giant, man-eating wolves when we crash.

Good thing I watch a lot of Bear Grylls! In fact, probably enough to where Im fairly confidant (while sitting on my cushy couch drinking my chocolatey coffee) that in a wilderness sans giant man-eating wolves, I would survive long enough for Bear's camera crew to find me. And dont give me stats about more people dying in car crashes than in plane crashes. Do the guys who write those stats even take into account people like me who are in planes more often than in cars? My personal chances of being in a plane accident versus a car accident must be exponentially higher than the median.

Im really not actually worried though. I have a fair amount of time between layovers, so heres to making each connection in time! There are four planes, three layovers, and a bag to catch at the end of it all. But I have a couple good books by my favorite proven authors (Stephen King & Anne Rice), and plan to buy lots of nice coffee to stay awake, since it will be midnight when I reach my final destination (no relevance to the movie called the same).

See you soon, my lovely California!

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Happy London Birthday

Being in Europe has given me a greater appreciation for how humongous the Americas really are. If you look at a global map, the entire country of Ireland could fit inside just the state of California nearly three times! Jon & I really love our home state. Where else can you start the day at the top of a snow-covered mountain with a snowboard, and end the day in the cool Pacific surf? California's got Hollywood, the Golden Gate, and the Gold Rush. We're home to Half Dome, Clint Eastwood, and Disneyland too. It's magical; a place where nobodies become movie stars, and movie stars become the President. It's like a country all it's own, with enough big ticket attractions to last a lifetime, and a list of hidden gems to last another. We know other states have stuff, but California is made of the best stuff.

One thing Europe has that the States dont though, is cheap flights. For my sister's 21st birthday, we bought 4 round trip tickets to London for under 150 Euro! Jon's been to London a few times for work, but I had never been and I wanted to give Abby a trip to a place with a name she could brag about. The flight was arduous (45 minutes!?) but somehow we made it through. The city is big there, but felt a little empty. Probably because we were there in major off-peak, and the air was so cold it felt like my eyeballs were becoming snowballs. On the other hand, off-peak means we rode the London Eye without having to stand in line for nine hours first.We even got to be in the only red capsule on the wheel!

Off-peak however, does not always mean cheaper. Since England is England, and they run on the super-power called the Pound, the numbers felt smaller as long as you didnt try to convert it back in to Euro. Or the Dollar. At that point youre better off just not knowing how much youre actually spending. I also love how pretty Pounds & Euros are compared to green American Dollars. But I digress. Stuff's expensive in any currency.

London was full of firsts for us all. For example, it was my first time staying in a dorm-style hostel. A piece of my dignity died every time I had to walk down those stained carpeted stairs to the colder-than-being-outside toilet, or to take a "shower" in that gnat-infested torture chamber of lukewarm water and athlete's foot. I never knew it was possible to get out of a shower & feel dirtier than when you got in. I cant say Ill ever stay in another dorm-style hostel again, but it was worth being able to be within walking distance of the Thames and Big Ben! 

We feel so incredibly blessed to be seeing the world, and getting to travel to so many cool places we never before imagined we'd see. I'm so pleased to be able to share that kind of experience with my only sister, too. It's things like this that will stay with us forever. We'll talk about it with our kids around the table at Christmas twenty years from now, the way we still talk about the Christmases & Thanksgivings spent at Lake Tahoe with everyone cramped together in a wood cabin. Family is everything. So Happy Birthday, Abigail! We love you!

A Tree Among Thorns

The day we bought the 4th Christmas tree of our married life was SO horrible. It was the kind of day where the alarm goes off late, and the coffee is already cold. So many things went wrong, that if I wrote about all of them, youd get pretty sad too. It started off not bad though. We got to Skype with some friends in the States, and had a whole list of fun things to do on a fun Saturday in Dublin: Christmas shopping! The Zoo! But nothing went like it was supposed to, and everything slowly fell apart. As thing after thing didnt work out, it was progressively more difficult to stand near each other. The most significant disappointment that day Ill tell you about, was us trying to find our Christmas tree.

This Christmas is obviously one of the most poignant of our lives yet. For so many reasons, this year will stand out in our memories forever. One of the highlights will undoubtedly be the fact that Jon & I, for the first time ever, get to host family, in our very own home, for a major holiday. Its not like a practice holiday that people only minimally care about because they get time off work for it, like Columbus Day or President's Day. People only know when its President's Day because when they stop by the bank, the sticky note taped to the glass says, "Closed during business hours again, because you really needed to cash that check to buy food for your family, and generally just to piss you off. Oh and its President's Day." But Christmas? Thats a real life holiday folks, one that the whole world knows about! Banks are still closed, but nobody cares! Hosting the family for Christmas is just about the biggest honor you can have bestowed on you, and you cannot take it lightly. Needless to say, getting The Tree to set the stage was paramount.

The first bad omen of the day was that after walking ten minutes to the bank, it was closed so we couldnt cash the check. From there it just got worse. It was surprisingly hard to get a straight answer from people about where to find a Christmas tree to buy. Sometimes it was a language barrier (those are adorable cookies, but I meant a REAL tree) and sometimes just poor judgement on our part (just because she's carrying a wreath made from pine tree branches apparently doesnt mean she knows where the branches came from originally). Then we heard about trees in Smithfield.

We bought our tickets, hopped on the Luas, and four stops later, we got off again. Having never been to Smithfield before, we had only a vague idea about where to look (but were assured that we'd definitely find a tree there). Would you be surprised if I told you the mythical Christmas tree lot didnt come to greet us as the doors opened to Smithfield? The only trees we found were the sugar cookie kind. Thinking we were going to (definitely) find a tree there and have to carry it back, we didnt buy return tickets to the City Centre. Let me tell you, having to carry a tree by ourselves for 20 city blocks would have sucked, but having to walk all that way and NOT have a tree to show for it at the end was even more depressing.

By the time we finally got back to our sadly tree-less living room, half the day was over and we had spent it failing at life, and blaming each other. The worst part? We hadnt even done our grocery shopping, so we didnt even have a pizza to throw at the situation. Being grumpy and hungry is no way to shop for anything, especially not for groceries. Jon gets super frustrated in two seconds if he cant find something on the list, or when people practically rip the skin off his forearm with their sharply angled hand-carts, and then dont even bother to look back and apologize. Oh wait no, thats me. And so much for going to the Zoo.

Knowing that bad days like this are random and not the fault of anyone, we ate our chicken fingers and mashed potatoes in silence, trying to be civil until the calories recharged some spent energy. Since theres almost no bad mood that deliciously fatty food cant make better, we eventually re-grouped and decided to check out ONE LAST place we'd been told that there were (definitely) trees. We grudgingly re-bundled in the many layers we had earlier chucked to the far corners of the room in annoyance, and braved the icy wind one last time. Fifteen minutes later, my heart fluttered and the throb in my feet was suddenly less painful than before: I could see green just up ahead!

Being a good foot taller than the rest of the group, it was immediately obvious what tree would be coming home with us. I pointed, Jon paid, and we carried our living treasure home one joyful step at a time. I felt like Santa Claus carrying that tree. Adults pointed and smiled, and kids screamed, "Look Mommy!" It was like if we had started singing a carol, the entire city would have joined in with choreographed moves, and then there would be a really cool aerial shot of the Earth sprouting arms and hugging itself. World peace by Christmas tree. Our completely ruined day was instantly un-ruined by one sparkly green fir. The presents finally have a place to call home, and we are officially ready to host Christmas. Its going to be the best Christmas ever!

Christmas is Green this year, in so many ways!

Christmas is so close I can feel it! It smells like cinnamon buns and tastes like snowflakes, and its just 23 days and counting down to the best Christmas in history! Well, recent history. Ok just my personal history, but it still counts. We are having a simple Christmas this year, so far from home. And half our family will be missing on that special morning by the fire. But having half is SO much better than having no halves at all!

We are trying to spend our money wisely, and that means I cant decorate exactly like I would want to. There will be no fluffy green wreaths on the door or over the mantle. No pricey matching ornaments or expensive designer wrapping paper. No gorgeous ceramic nativity, glittering in the candle light. If you make your own decorations, does it count as being "green"? I know the "hey quit murdering the Earth with your mass-produced disposable products" sentiment is old news, but it still is a great excuse to skimp out & save money, even if youre not a total hippie! Im not extreme about it; I still went to the 2euro Store (like a Dollar Tree) and got some cute little birds to clip to the branches, and a pack of red velvet bows that were probably made in China or Indonesia by small children whos homes and lands are being ravaged by conglomerate outsourcing. Out of sight out of mind? But I really love a home-made Christmas, and I mean home made by me, not home-made by the people of the Etsy community (however awesomely talented they all are).

And the best part: home-made decorations can be easy and simple, and even basically free! This year, I spent hours cutting out nearly a hundred snowflakes out of white printer paper. Jon helped me string them together on kitchen twine, and hang them over the windows. Pretty much free decorating right there, especially because Jon got the paper from his work office. I even forced Jon to cut out a snowflake, but it was like the size of a pencil eraser and I "lost" it.

We are spending money for Christmas though, its impossible not to during a holiday, especially one as important as this one! We are buying a tree, and with the ridiculous ceilings we are blessed with here, it will be 10ft tall if I can find one that big! Carrying that up a flight of stairs will be fun for Jon. I let him do stuff like that so he feels involved. We also ordered a 17lb free-range turkey from a local farmer, for Christmas dinner! As I write this, the big guy is probably happy as a turkey can be, gobbling it up on the farm. I hope they're feeding him lots of stuffing. Thats how it gets in there, right?

But even if we didnt have a tree, or a turkey dinner, we will have family. And thats the absolute most important thing to us, no matter what holiday it is. Hope yours is just as awesome!