Weekend in D.C.

At some point we run out of excuses, that is to say, excuses that hold water, as to why we aren't updating our blog. It really boils down to an unlikely combination of business and laziness.
I was in D.C. this weekend visiting Liz and my mom. I witnessed first hand Liz trying salad. Some people take her forrays into salad eating too seriously. It's salad, people, not a psychological problem. That being said, she pulled the oldest manuever in the book on me-- the old bait and switch.
At brunch, on Sunday, where we've both ordered the mesclun greens:
L: Andrea, will you switch with me? Yours is smaller.
Me: Um, sure.
As we switch, Liz throws some salad on the ground, making her portion smaller yet. She caused a ruckus by asking the next table over for pepper for her salad. By the time this had all taken place, our entrees had arrived, so she could push her salad away without guilt. She later pointed to the salad on the ground and said, "Andrea, why are you dropping your salad on the ground? Maybe it's you who doesn't eat salad!" And of course the only person who mattered that day, Mother's Day, believed her and the whole charade. Sigh.
We went to the National Zoo to see the baby panda. I thought some people might have some questions about what to wear to the zoo (a la the turtleneck post) in order to impress the animals. If you have such a question, post below in the comments and I'll get back to everyone with some smart replies.

Amazing Race

I've often noticed that if I have to go without something, or give something up, I usually fare well and don't miss it-- it's never as traumatic as it seems it will be. I recently took a pay cut of 10%, but some twists and changes to my budget (and, um, the Lenten no-shopping fast) has actually put me in better financial state than I was previously. The same with tv. At some point in college (around the time my family moved and decided not to get cable) I gave up tv, and found that there were plenty of other things to do with my life, plus I didn't have to worry about conflicting a tv show with some other plan, and I didn't need to learn how to record a show. All was good until I started watching Lost with my roommates last year. It was captivating and it's return this year meant that I had standing plans with the tv on Wednesday nights. Once the evening was already blocked off, I realized the tv could be on before Lost, and no great harm would be done. And so it happened that G and I started watching The Amazing Race. I found I could somehow identify with the average couples participating in the show-- the young, nerdy couple, the mom and daughter team, the best friends who always wore pink...G and I would find ourselves asking, "What if we were on the Amazing Race?" We decided to test our mettle by taking a one-day trip to NYC last Saturday.
Challenge 1: Waking up at 5:30 to get on the 7:30 am bus to New York
Outcome: Success, and, due to remembering snacks, staved off grumpiness for a few hours
Challenge 2: At 10:30 am arrival, onset of grumpiness by A leads to quickly identifying coffee and breakfast
Outcome: Semi-success as Little Italy cafe served us a once frozen croissant, and charged us for the tip, but caffeine intake nipped grumpiness in the bud
Challenge 3: G's feet start to hurt around 1:30, in Union Square
Outcome: Success-- G brought now fewer than 3 changes of socks
Challenge 4: Identify and shop at store Mexx
Outcome: Failure! Address and cross streets A had written down didn't exist
Challenge 5: Identify restaurant for dinner with limited map
Outcome: Success, but barely. A hates asking for directions but finally capitulated to G's urging to call the restaurant. Restaurant was delightful, and drinks and apps refreshed our spirit.

We dozed off and on until we arrived back in Boston around midnight. A wonderful and full day was had by us both, as well as realizing that we could survive the Amazing Race after all.

Club Rules

As I much as I love clubs (book club, cd club, etc.), I really despise grocery or pharmacy "clubs", where to get the sale price of an item, you have to dig and find the associated card. These are not clubs that require any outstanding qualification, they are merely vehicles used by the Man to track purchases. I usually either forego the sale price or ask the cashier to use his/her card.
Airline Frequent Flier clubs present a similar quandry for me, but the stakes are much higher. The allure of one day having a ticket to Hawaii just by flying to and from Boston and Seattle, or Boston and D.C. (many, many times) is quite a carrot. But the reality it this: airlines go bankrupt (four years of flying TWA in college with nearly enough miles to somewhere exotic...and bam, they're gone), the rules are arcane (travel must be completed only in months ending in "r"), and the prize itself elusive (as soon as you think you're ready, the miles have expired!). For the past 10 years I've been accruing miles (which means remembering my various frequent flier numbers, plus pins or passwords) on several different airlines, so that if they were all pooled together I could use them, but separately they are useless. Except for USAirways...the shuttle that transports me and my sister between Boston and D.C. several times a year. An astounding 35,000 miles had been earned and I decided to see if they could in fact be redeemed. As I clicked through the steps on the website to redeem miles for a ticket to D.C. on Mother's Day weekend, I surprisingly hit no snags. "This system might work", I thought. Soon enough, victory (really, a major coup!) was mine. I had an e-ticket sitting right in my email. The impossible has been made possible! I thought then that I'd use my coop card that very day to save $0.63 on groceries.

Salad Days

Things have not been going so well on the salad front for Liz. Her update below...

Encouraged by the fact that I successfully ate two side salads (baby greens with blue cheese, pears, currents and vinaigrette) in the last two weeks along with a lunch salad (which, mistakenly included a hard boiled egg -- something I never have to do again), I decided to try a "savory dinner salad" Saturday night. This bold step forward in my summer of salads was a complete disaster and I am sure it set me back weeks in my learning-to-eat-salad endeavor.

It was absolutely AWFUL. Even though it was full of things I like (Cheddar cheese, carrots, chow mien noodles and fresh shrimp in addition to the questionable orange bell pepper and baby spinach spring mix) I could barely choke down two bites (I made a face and had to stick out my tongue -- much to Matt's amusement, but not mine). I had to retreat to the kitchen to fetch Ben and Jerry's Neapolitan Dynamite with which to cleanse my palate. Matt and I decided that it was the pepper and the Caesar salad dressing that I used -- which was too salty. It made the whole thing taste like sea weed. I even bought expensive Caesar salad dressing thinking it would be better than the regular wishbone or Safeway salad dressing. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I'm never eating Caesar salad again -- no matter what the Washington Post says about it ( http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/03/28/AR2006032800311.html). And, as a matter of fact, I am not trying anything new for the next week -- and maybe the next two weeks when it comes to salad type things -- including the allegedly 'crispy, crunchy' radishes in the fridge. YUCK.

Barney: And Interview with Nora

With the success (erm, sort of) of Nora's avocado plant, she moved on to a higher life form; a beagle! Nora volunteers at a weekly dog training class at the animal shelter and after working with this 6 month old beagle one evening, decided to adopt him. I asked her a few questions:
1. What made you decide to volunteer at the animal shelter?
I needed a new volunteer project and animals make everyone feel warm and fuzzy, I thought it would be good for the animals and for me.
2. Did your previous experience growing an avocado plant have any bearing on your decision to adopt a dog?
I don't have a lot of luck with plants, but I did get that little seed to grow, so it gave me hope that I could care for a living thing.
3. How is your avocado plant?
That said, the avacado tree is not doing very well. But I blame the weather, as it is a tropical plant. I do not blame me and lack of care/water...
4. What made you decide on the name Barney?
Barney the name was picked by Barry because his favorite book as a child was "Barney Beagle Plays Baseball". The other night I heard the two of them in the living room... the Red Sox were playing and Barry was telling Barney "Did you see that hit?" and "Wow, that was a good play, Barney!" I'm not sure if Barney gets the rules yet.
5. Do you ever listen to Three Dog Night?
I don't listen to 3 Dog Night often at all.

Tales from the Fruitcart: On Being An Adult

The editors have been busy with work and life. I saw Zara yesterday and she was sparkly and with perfectly coifed hair as always. We are both collecting tales to report, but in the meantime, here's an update from Liz, my sister, a reporter and employee of a company which itself employs a fruit cart to keep worker morale high. Looks like it's working!

So, as you may know, I have decided that this is the summer of salads and baseball. Two things I always think look good -- but then aren't when actually eat them or attend them. As you know, for years I have said there is no reason to learn to like either one of these things -- even though people informed me that when I am an adult I'll need to know how to eat a salad and go to a baseball game. Well. Here I am. "An adult." And, low and behold, I do need to know about salads and baseball because it is increasingly embarrassing to go out to a work lunch or function and be the only person who a) doesn't order salad and b) can't follow the conversation about the Nationals or the Red Sox or the Yankees. As a result, I fear I may be left behind professionally. (It is that whole social skills thing.)

I realized when I made this resolution a few weeks ago that learning to like salads and baseball may be easier said then done. As if by magic, while sat at my desk thinking about this instead of my actual work, the fruit cart came by with what else other than fruit? Cracker Jacks of course! It was opening day and the office was getting into the spirit of it with a fun afternoon treat. As I was mulling over my Cracker Jack prize (a weird portrait of Susan B Anthony as either a young adult or an old lady depending on how you folded the corners) I was inspired. People not only eat Cracker Jacks at baseball games, but they also drink beer! Why can't I just go to the game and drink and pretend to know what number 11 (who is only 21!) is doing. Well, I put this plan into action last week at an exhibition game at JFK and, other than the yucky hang over the next day, it worked out splendidly! Now that I know a baseball stadium is really just an overpriced sports bar with a cover charge this baseball thing will be a snap.

Salads, on the other hand might not be. I started small (putting four spinach leaves on my sandwiches) but now it is time to move on to 'real' salads. And, thanks to the fruit cart again, I successfully made my first dinner salad last night. The fruit cart inspired me yesterday afternoon because it had some of the first pears of the season on it. As soon as I saw them I knew I had to take one home to put in my salad, along with currents, blue cheese and pine nuts, to disguise the taste of my "spring green mix." It worked out very well, if I do say so myself! Even Matt congratulated me -- I ate all but one purple leaf without grimacing!

I let you know what adventures transpire when I push the fruit cart around the office in a few weeks. Maybe I'll get the ice cream fruit cart since it will be warm then! Fingers crossed. Everyone likes the people who bring non-fruit fruit carts.

"It's Zydeco, Matt!"

G and I trekked down to New Orleans this past weekend for a wedding. Having not been on spring break in six years, I mistakenly made the faux pas of wearing a black cardigan out the first night. My Miami spring break in college came flooding back to me as I had to reevaluate my going out clothes from Boston Conservative to New Orleans Fun. We arrived the night of St. Patrick's Day to a boisterous crowd of spring breakers and locals on Bourbon Street...and my mom who greeted us coming out of the wedding she was crashing at the hotel. With wine in her hand and beads on her neck, we foresaw a fun weekend, and headed out right away to join the fun.
The city of New Orleans still has a fighting spirit, if not hampered somewhat by post-Katrina beauracracy. There's rebuilding and jobs to be had, but a lack of housing for potential workers (and a half million residents who have not returned) have created an air of interrupted activity. For example, the toilet in our hotel room was broken and the first room we were given did not even have beds made (due to lack of staff), but we eventually settled in. Saturday morning we ambled over to the French Market for beignets and cafe au laits at Cafe Du Monde. Three powdered sugar covered beignets might not look like a lot, but by the time I finished the second one, I was barely able to carry on.
We trolled the streets that afternoon...the weather was balmy and music was everywhere. Even desolate and deserted areas were enlivened by music. We toured a mausoleum-filled cemetery and parks and galleries. Saturday evening was a pre-wedding party at the Rock N Bowl where we mingled with the bride's and groom's families, and again, my mom (upon meeting and introducing myself to someone, the response would invariably be, "Oh, you're Nancy's daughter!") and Marvin. We bowled, G for the first time, and snacked and drank beer, all while listening to wonderful local music. Later that night we went out in the French Quarter again, and ordered famed sazeracs.
Early Sunday was prioritized for eating and making sure we had real gumbo and/or jumbalaya. So we again started off with beignets, then made our way over to the Acme Oyster House with Lesley. Having recently got over a bad stomach virus, I opted out of the oysters, but did order the fried shrimp po-boy. We also had giant styromfoam cups of frozen margaritas and daiquiries-- more than we'd ever be able to fully consume. After lunch and a little more walking, we rested before the big event.
The wedding was beautiful and fun, with Caron and Tom reading their own vows. The judge who married them was brief but thorough and after the ceremony, the staff quickly set up dinner tables and the buffet. The band (again, wonderful New Orleans music) was already ready to go. We enjoyed the oysters rockefeller, blackened chicken, fried catfish and more gumbo! The band played and everyone (but Marvin) danced and had a great time. It's important to note that the mark of a good wedding must be realizing that you have to take your dress/suit to the dry cleaner AGAIN, even though you only wore it for 5 hours.
Our flight left early the next morning, so we said goodbye to the music, balmy weather and good food that night.

Shopping, Food and Clubs

Aside from the normal attention to family, friends and World Peace, there are three things I hold dear: shopping, food and clubs. Shopping is on hiatus until after Easter-- I gave up non-essential shopping for Lent so I could better guage spiritual needs to worldly needs. So far it's been a week and I'm doing well, not feeling undernourished or overly deprived. It helps, too, that I recently got a pay cut at work.
The New York Times highlighted my other passions, sometimes in tandem!, very clearly yesterday, however. I was pleased to see not one, not two, but three articles on Trader Joe's! Soon a store will open in New York-- Bostonians had this to hold above New Yorkers heads for awhile, but alas, New Yorkers will soon enjoy this food shopper's paradise for themselves. From one of the articles:
"Long before Trader Joe's went national, its inexpensive but unusual products — things like wild blueberry juice, Sicilian extra-virgin olive oil and frozen chicken-lemon grass spring rolls — inspired an intense following among American food lovers, rarely seen in the aisles of a supermarket.
The stores are small, the selection is uneven and the corporate culture can be described as dorky. But because its products are often not available anywhere else; because they mysteriously appear, disappear, then reappear on the shelves; or perhaps simply because they often taste very, very good, Trader Joe's has become tremendously popular among Americans who like to be entertained and educated by what they eat, as well as nourished by it."
The article also highlighted the making of the spicy Thai Chili Lime Peanuts-- a new household favorite for us.
The Times also featured an article on The Dames of Beef-- a group of 12 or so women in New York who meet once a month to get cocktails and eat at one of New Yorks older eating establishments (before it's demise, The Russian Tea Room came to mind). This club has few rules, but one it does have is that one must be female. This pulled at my heartstrings for my love of Book Club, where just this past Friday we gathered to snack, drink Floot (a delightful sparkling wine beverage enjoyed out of a can and with a straw. It comes not from France, or even California, but Indiana. Which explains the can.) and play karaoke on Steph's PlayStation 2. Ahem, and discuss the book. Our club has remained female only for the past several years (we've had a few men, but they haven't stayed long) mostly because we read books of interest to woman and discuss things men probably don't care to discuss, or if they do, the prefer to in the company of other men.

Moral Dilemma II

Zara and I met for a meeting of the minds last night. We ate sushi, caught up on life stories and reminisced about the past and the decions we'd made (such as spending one Valentine's Day together eating dinner at the Coolidge Corner Clubhouse; an odd choice such that not even we can recall why we would choose to eat at a sports bar anytime, but I'm sure blue cheese was involved on a salad or wrap, and that probably tipped the scales in favor of said eatery). We've remained friends throughout the years due to our consistent natures-- I can still regale her with a story of debauchery and she can still recommend very bad tv shows that I should (or maybe shouldn't) tune into. We were barred from the Gap, due to an early closing time (7 pm!) so couldn't fully relive our time spent in Coolidge Corner in years past.
I'd also like to post an update to Moral Dilemma. The other evening (the coldest evening of the year) I stopped in the Coop on my way home for a few dinner items, and toothpaste. As I checked out, I took the time to button my coat, put on my hat and gloves and then grabbed my bags of groceries. When I got home, I realized I had grabbed the bag of groceries of the guy behind me as well. It was all food that I would have picked out (feta cheese, grilled eggplant, candied pineapple...well, maybe not). I knew the right thing to do was to go out in the cold and return it, but I also figured he was long gone and the store had probably already remedied the situation. Still, it was a Monday night and there was a long week ahead for bad karma to catch up, so I asked G to drive me back and return the groceries. I went inside and the cashier said knowlingly, "oh, yeah, right." But having done that, the week has gotten progressively better...

Moral Dilemma

After a Girl Scout troop meeting the other night, Rashmi and I encountered a Moral Dilemma. A woman was asking people to complete questionaires on moral decision making, after which they would receive $5. The woman was busy with participants, so we weren't asked, but just in front of us on the way out was another woman who dropped a pack of cigarettes without noticing. Rashmi and I looked at each other and decided not to alert the woman because we think smoking is bad. And we are girl scout leaders! But then I thought that we had become part of the moral decision making questionaire! Which is worse (or better)-- not alerting the woman of her dropped cigarettes and therefore perhaps saving her health? Or telling her, since they were hers and we saw her drop them?

Experimental Food

It came to my attention recently that I missed out on an "experimental food phase" when growing up. I was at Rashmi's house eating Thai cookies when one of her roommates started reminiscing about her phase as one might reminisce about such childhood standards such as hour long recess and summers at the community pool. Rashmi jumped in saying that she used to eat bananas by peeling them, and breaking them into thirds and then covering them with chocolate chips or peanut butter or other toppings. One of her roommates described how to peel an orange so it looks like a man (I couldn't understand it). They both talked about peeling the banana the reverse way, so you have a "handle" to hold onto while eating it!
The next day I queried my friend Jane if she had an experimental food phase and she said she used to eat rabbit poo and make meals out of flowers and then in college would make sandwiches of candy bars and bread. I couldn't match that with anything! The only thing I could think of was eating dill pickle slices with lemon pepper seasoning when I was little, with my cousins and sister at my grandma's house. I asked G about his phase and he said (disgusted) that yes, in college he ate spaghetti. You mean like...? Yes, pasta.
Knowing I have a failing memory with things (no recollection of 4th grade at all!), I checked in with my sister. If I did, or didn't, have this phase, chances are that she would remember. She did recall the pickles and also said that we used to eat many kinds of jello salads at holidays and if that wasn't experimental, she didn't know what was. She said our parents were always good about letting us try new foods (I remember eating and loving escargot at my grandmother's house, as well as requesting lobster for my 8th birthday) so we likely had no need to "experiment" wildly. So, Zandrea! readers: what was your experimental food phase?

On The Town

Rashmi and I treated Jane to a night on the town this weekend as a sort of Bon Voyage before her two year stint with the Peace Corps in Africa. There are parts of the night that are rated R, or, at least should follow the credo, "What happens in the Copley Marriott stays in the Copley Marriott." But the majority of the evening followed the slumber party guidelines of youth with a dash of the old college "throw caution to the wind." The main focus was on obtaining, and preparing, the Trader Joe's snacks. It was also necessary to have four bottles of cheap champagne, overnight bags filled with several changes of clothes, makeup and swimsuits-- as we told Jane, bring whatever you will need for the next 20 hours.
The best part of staying in a hotel is a toss up between the swimming pool, the view of the city from 26 floors up and room service at 2:30 am. I lived in a hotel for a semester in college. It actually was indulgent: a queen size bed each for me and my roommate, our own bathroom, sheets and towels changed and washed regularly, free cable. We were afforded several additional luxuries due to the "hardship" of having to live at the hotel and not a dorm. We had free phone service and no security guard which meant friends from other dorms could come and go as they pleased.
As the night progressed we drank, talked, laughed, commiserated and divulged. We hit the bars around 11 and stayed until closing time at 2, when we came back and ordered a "medium" pizza (ie, 2 personal pan pizzas from Pizza Hut) for $21-- with the luxury to say, "put it on our room tab." We awoke the next day in disheveled clothes, dizzy and hungry...in other words, happy to have had a night full of stories to relate and recall in the years to come.

Ski Bunny

G took me skiing on Saturday. It was my Christmas gift and it involved me learning to ski (a new thing!). I grew up in flat Kansas so no skiing there, and then I just never went skiing in New England in the past 10 years. I was excited, but also a little nervous. The best way to combat public performance anxiety is by looking cute, so I paid a visit to Rashmi ahead of time to borrow ski clothes. She gave me two pairs of pants, a pair of ski gloves, a silky undershirt, a fuzzy neck thing she called a balaclava and a ski coat (I got to choose between red and white, and I chose red-- the better to identify me in case of avalanche). I felt well prepared to battle the cold, so when the temperature reached nearly 60, I was actually quite warm. I also wore my hair in two braids. We signed up for our lessons (beginner for me, and return to learn for G). We ended up having the same instructor, a (likely) 17 year old named Paul. The "polar kids" skied and snow boarded all around us and I fell, fell, fell. But just the first few times (poor Paul had to help me up each time). I tried to think of my yoga and core training for balance, but really, bending your knees and leaning forward isn't natural. We learned "small pizza"-- angling skis in to slow down and "big pizza" angling them in even more to stop. An hour practicing on Ollie's Area, we were sent off with our advancement cards and allowed to go to the beginner's slopes. G had many questions about the black diamonds and I could tell Paul was nervous and tried his best to dissuade G from such thinking. I myself would have been happy to stay on the little bunny hill, but the 5 year olds were giving me the evil eye. We moved on to the Easy Rider which looked like a much steeper hill. I did fine, though, remembering to turn, bend my knees, lean forward and keep the baskets of my poles back (but, as Paul told me, no need to keep them back under my armpits like a pro Alpine skier. Sigh.). I went down that beginner slope a few more times, successfully then decided to brave the ski lift with G, and go down the Sundowner. He told me that getting off was a little tricky, but he was sure I would be fine. But as we neared the top I didn't know exactly when to slide off, and waited too long, so I kind of had to jump, then went flying. It was a bad sign. Going down the hill was okay until G got ahead of me. I started accelerating, then panicking and I saw a non-snowy area just ahead! In order to stop I decided to fall over, which worked, but then there was no one to help me up. I had to propel all my 130 lbs up AND retrieve my poles by myself. I managed to get down another quarter of the hill to where G was, and then I fell again. My confidence was shot and I recalled my mom's story about skiing once in college: "I didn't like the skiing, but I liked drinking rum in the lodge." I didn't care so much about the rum, but I did want to sit down, take off the skis and drink a Coke. Later that afternoon I did a few more runs on Easy Rider, then called it a day. My shins were aching where they leaned into the boots. I have one more day with a lesson and after that...black diamond? Or back to the bunny hill with the 5 year olds.

January Blahs

I like this blog to be funny, as I know Zara does as well. So when life goes along, and nothing much funny happens, it's hard to find inspiration to write. Boston winters are usually about survival-- just before a predicted blizzard there is a run on Trader Joe's so citizens of this fair city can hunker down with their loved ones, watch a Pats game (they seem to play regardless of weather) and eat snacks until the eerie sound of snow plows and the stopping of falling snow indicates you can brave the outside and get on with your life. But this winter has been unseasonably warm-- we've had at least one 60 degree day and several 50 degree days. This can really only be explained by the fact that G and I got sleds for Christmas, and live conveniently near a hill, but no snow means no sledding.
Instead, we've been watching movies-- King Kong and Cache in the theatres, and The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill and endless episodes of Lost and Seinfeld at home. I also hung up curtains and built a kitchen island (if this were a funny post, there would be a joke about a pirate here). And, of course, kept up my battles with bureauocracies: Andrea 1, DMV O; Andrea 0, Post Office 2. Like I said, nothing funny there. Instead, I'll point out some of the funnier things I've read, recently:
The Meat Book
Usually hits the mark...McSweeneys
The Onion

Keep reading, with the hope that February will be more entertaining.

Of Department Stores, Cooking, a TV and the Mail

Last year ended with a wave of self induced stress, but was followed by a delightful vacation home to Seattle. The vacation is followed by an unsolved mystery, but I won't go into details just yet...My mom loves everything Christmas, so the house was well decorated with trees and other decorations. The highlight of Christmas, of course, is opening presents. It is good to give AND to receive, so the day after Christmas my mom, sister and I got dressed up and headed downtown. As my sister's boyfriend noted, he knows of no other family who can spend an entire day opening gifts and then go out and shop more the next day. He may not know another family, but retail sales will show that there are, in fact, many families who do this. There was a Golden Era of Department Stores in the past-- ladies would dress up or families would go and get lunch at the cafeteria. We like to pretend that a day in the city is still worth more than the cost of one's purchases, so we fixed our hair, dressed in our nice clothes and reported to the Nordstrom's makeup counter to have our makeup and colors done. We followed this by lunch with cocktails and appetizers.
The theme of gifts received this year was Kitchen. A crock pot, panini press and kitchen island/butcher block were all received, in addition to many, many cookbooks. G decided that a perfect compliment to staying home and cooking would be a tv. I've been proudly stoic in my lack of this modern amenity the past several months. I've always felt that one can accomplish more (reading, excercising, seeing the city) without a tv, although I will admit to watching a plethora of movies. New Year's Day we headed to Best Buy, hungover, and purchased a tv. And this is where the mystery heads into full swing. Some background:
December 23:
Andrea to G: "Why aren't we getting our mail on time? Shouldn't we have received many, many more holiday cards? Why isn't my New Yorker here? And where are those blasted Netflix movies??"
Possible explanations: We aren't as well loved as we thought OR the postal carrier reads and delivers my New Yorker late, after reading it and disheveling it and devilishly keeps our movies from us. G goes with option 2 and calls the post office to complain.
Fast forward to 2006, January 3:
G to Andrea: "I'm sorry, I accidentally ripped the cover to your New Yorker. I'll tape it together and I'm sorry."
Andrea to G: "No problem, accidents happen." (then sees the REAL damage done, and NOT by G). "There are entire pages ripped out?!?! How can I read the short fiction? Or the review of the James Agee box set?" The destruction was unprecedented. I sent off a complaint to the postal service today, but my night was ruined. Did the postal carrier receive our initial complaint and sabotage our mail? OR, is the tv to blame...(because we have a tv, reading is rendered unnecessary, and the Powers That Be are punishing us).

Turtleneck quandaries solved; misconceptions debunked!!!

What is the origin of the term “turtleneck”?

Our British friend wondered about the etymology of the term “turtleneck.” The word turtleneck is combination of the words turtle (from the French “tortue”) and neck (from the Old English “hnecca”). The more interesting question is not the origin of the term but rather the origin of the form. The Victorians started wearing turtlenecks in the late 19th century because they were prudish and needed to cover up their hickies.



Should men ever wear turtlenecks?



Yes they should. There is a common misconception that the only men who can get away with wearing turtlenecks are performance artists and European graduate students. This is simply not the case. True, there is something innately “feminine” about turtlenecks but all that means is your man needs to pair his turtleneck with more masculine garb such as sweat pants or a cowboy hat.
[This is off topic, but in terms of what men should not wear, I feel very strongly that they should avoid wide wale corduroys which make their butts look puffy.]


Should busty women wear turtlenecks?

Of course! Turtlenecks, like women, come in all shapes and sizes. The trick is to find the right fit your body type. In my opinion, busty women should wear well-tailored clothes that fit. Baggy, oversized clothes always make that which is large look bigger. I would recommend a trim-fitted ribbed turtleneck in a dark, solid color. If anyone stares at your breasts, you can say “ribbed for her pleasure” and walk away laughing.

Fold-over or scrunch?

Fold-over, otherwise you are wearing a scrunch neck and that is not a turtleneck. Which leads to the next questions…

Cowl necks?

Mock turtlenecks, scrunch necks, and cowl necks are all variations on the turtleneck. I am a traditionalist and always prefer and turtleneck, though I do own a couple cowl neck sweaters. These mutations seem to appeal to people who feel “choked” by turtlenecks yet are stylistically uncomfortable with a crew, v, or ballet neck top.

Zara Answers Your Questions About Turtlenecks

It is nice to think that all humans have at least one area of expertise; one topic that we can expound on with confidence. We encounter “experts” every day. The weather woman on the local news channel, a Banana Republic salesperson, the barista at your neighborhood Starbucks, etc. They can tell you all you need to know about nor’easters, boot-cut corduroys, and peppermint mocha lattes. (The latter being a delicious coffee treat that is available for a limited time –so drink up!)

At 32 years of age, I am quasi-knowledgeable about many subjects. As I subscribe to periodicals such as Vanity Fair and Real Simple, I am keenly aware of the “latest and greatest” high-brow celebrity gossip and which jar of peanut butter tastes the peanut-iest. As a college graduate who majored in Sociology, I am pretty sure that I know more about Max Weber than say someone who majored in graphic design.

However, my true area of expertise is turtlenecks. I am confident that I know more about these garments than any being in the entire universe. My love of turtlenecks began as a child. One of my favorite activities was to play “Charlie’s Angels.” A game that involved dressing up in my play outfit which consisted of a turtleneck, tights, and knee-high winter boots [those who play with me now know that this is STILL my favorite costume] and asking my mother to play the Saturday Night Fever album so that I could run circles around the dining room table while shooting criminals with my finger gun. My infatuation with turtlenecks continued into my adult life as I grew into one of those people who are “always” cold. To me, a turtleneck is both practical and romantic.

Back to the title of this piece…..

I would very much like to share my knowledge of turtlenecks with others and I am eager and excited to field any and all questions sent to me regarding turtlenecks. Andrea has already been kind enough to ask about the enigmatic “cowl neck.” I will answer Andrea’s question and any others that are sent my way in a soon to be published follow-up piece.

So please, stop wondering and start sending all of your turtleneck questions to me!!!

There Are No Bad Questions, Only Bad Answers

After a week of eating turkey and orange vegetables (I hope, hope, hope that squash and sweet potatoes have super qualities such as the power to get me through the holidays to come and past the New Year), my mind is groggy and this post will be slightly cheating: an email exchange. But sometimes the questions your friends ask are questions EVERYONE wants to know the answer to. So, Rashmi and I were planning a meeting to discuss Girl Scouting and it ensues:

Rashmi: Will talk to you about lunch...but first: what do you think of this backpack? Does it seem roomy enough for my life?http://www.manhattanportage.com/catalog/product_info.php?products_id=187&osCsid= And what color do you think would be good? I was going with either the red or the black...

Andrea: I like it-- it looks like G's dj bags. Which hold lots of records. I bet you could fit your laptop in there and some other stuff. I'd go red, since I myself have bought the same red backpack multiple times.

Rashmi: I was thinking red because it's less boring. BUT do you think that black is more professional? (Like less obtrusive at a bar?)What type of backpack do you carry?

Andrea: You are asking the right person since I generally carry no fewer than 3 bags per day:

• 
  beige shoulder bag which I have recently switched to to hold GS stuff
  
  
• Red paisley/quilted soccer mom bag to hold my gym stuff (the kind of bags you and Jane don't like, but it's for the gym so serves a good purpose)
  
• green plastic lunch bag
  Yesterday I had two ADDITIONAL bags after I picked up some stuff at Trader Joe's and Crate and Barrel. I take up two seats on the bus. Furthermore, I just retired my Parisian tote...not professional and very obtrusive. I'd say go with the red. You only live once.
  

Rashmi: I have been told a theory about bag carrying: apparently the number of bags and their condition say a lot about the person carrying them. For example, multitudes of tattered plastic bags generally indicate either homelessness or insanity. BUT, two or three purposeful bags such as a cloth lunch bag, a tote and a purse indicate industry and a certain level of anal retentiveness. One stylish bag such as a messenger or hip backpack speak to hipsterness, while one Jansport-esque backpack indicates student status. Or longing to be a student. Or a severe lack of fashion sense.

I hope this discussion is useful, whether in making a gift buying decision for the holiday season, or perhaps as a New Year's Resolution (note to self: consolidate bags so as not to look homeless or insane!)

A Birthday Tree

E-mail is a blessing and a curse, as most can attest. I've relegated most of my subscribed letters to an older account, but actually look forward to my DailyCandy. It's usually short, sweet, witty and harmless (as opposed to a Word of the Day subscription which just gets tiresome, tedious and forces you to think about the brain cells laying dormant when they should be preparing for the GRE for once and for all!). Today, however, the DailyCandy featured the charming Birthday Sock. Before focusing on why the Birthday Sock should cause distress, Zandrea! would like to invite you to time travel back to the year 1997 (because dwelling in the past gets a bad rap every time).

It's 1997 and Andrea lives in BU housing-- the swanky 1019 Comm. Ave. suites. Think back to 1997-- the Clinton years, and before Zara and Andrea even knew each other! It was a time when the internet was hot, but DVDs had barely touched the common collective. Pleated pants being still socially acceptable, along with too big wire framed glasses, Andrea made the wise decision to stay in with her suitemates, Steph in particular, one blustery night.
Andrea: I think we should order pizza.
Steph: From Domino's, on our Points?
Andrea: Yes, because although it tastes bad and their politics are something awful, we must eat.
Steph: Too bad they can't deliver a movie to us also...
Andrea: Wouldn't that be fantastic...to have a VHS tape delivered to us!
Steph and Andrea (this was actually spoken together because we thought of it at the exact same time): We should start a Video Van business! We could stock a van with popular movies, have People call us, deliver them to the People and the People will return them to drop boxes within two or three days, details to be worked out later!
Within 6 months Kozmo.com was up and running...and then went under probably a year and a half later. Netflix is going strong now and seems nearly perfect to me. That is to say, the movie delivery business was OUR idea, we just didn't act on it.

Back to present and the Birthday Sock problem. This summer I had a gift shipped to my mom in Seattle and told Marvin to make sure it went under the Birthday Tree before her birthday, and was to remain there until her birthday (not to be opened before). Marvin picked up on my joke involving the Birthday Tree, and created one. It's a small, not too gaudy number that sits on the buffet behind the dining room table. How nice it was to go home for MY birthday and see birthday trinkets dangling from the branches and wrapped gifts sitting proudly beneath.
So as not to fail in a potentially profitable market yet again, I will offer a prototype of a Birthday Tree created by me to the first responder who wants one. I will not promise a timely delivery, or even something you would want to showcase year around. But I will create it, and you will get it. That's a Zandrea! guarantee.

New Music Review: Clogs and Bell Orchestre

One thing I love best about living in Boston is access to all the cultural events...concerts, operas and clubs. I really feel it's important to take advantage of what's offered. Having grown up in a city with limited (but some, still) entertainment, I really feel like I'm fulfilling an obligation when I have the opportunity to listen to great music.
Friday night G and I had tickets to a concert at the Museum of Fine Arts. Although we hadn't heard of the two groups specifically, the Bell Orchestre features members of the Arcade Fire, who we like. The tickets were cheap ($20 each) so we got dressed in our hipster finest and went.
The opening group, Clogs, appeared on a stage full of percussion and string instruments. This show was no stand up, drink beer and mosh event. I tried my best to focus, stay still and not be itchy. Fortunately the music was an innovative mix of ethereal, post modern rock, classical and jazz. I wasn't crazy about the last (and only) song with vocals; the rest were solely instrumental.
The Bell Orchestre followed with a similar style. During their set I found myself smiling at their creativity. At one point, there was a typewriter solo and it was so well composed, I wondered why I'd never heard the typewriter played before.
Both groups were tight and clearly enjoying playing together. There were no visual gimmicks and they weren't needed. I'm sure the MFA organized this series to draw a younger crowd, but I truly felt like anyone with artistic appreciation would appreciate both acts.

Halloween!

"Halloween is our chance to slip out of the stereotypes assigned to us, and find truth and beauty in caricature."
--Garrison Keillor

Halloween is not the loaded holiday that Christmas or Thanksgiving can be. There is little to worry about when this holiday rolls around. At best, it's a time to dress up, find a party and live it up, and at worst, it can slip by without inducing guilt (but a few pounds are highly likely with all the candy out).
G and I decided to host a Halloween open house yesterday. It was a good incentive to get the apartment in ship shape after weeks of stalled near completion. We cleaned and organized on Saturday, and spent Sunday morning buying pumpkins, candy and decorations. Guests were scheduled to arrive around 2:00, and at 1:45 I was worried I wouldn't have everything ready. Then G noticed that his computer said 12:45...and we remembered the "fall back" time change. An hour reprieve!
Friends brought pumpkins to carve and drank beer and cider. Although evil twin #1 couldn't make it, we were slightly relieved to put our fear of her knife weilding aside, and the cats were able to slink around, with Soul showing off his "black cat" costume.
By the end of the evening, we'd all shared stories, therapeutically carved jack o'lanterns, and consumed way too many simple starches.
And this morning, in classic candy hangover mode, Soul was passed out on the sofa with no energy to play or try to run out the door as G and I made our way to work.

Review of New Food: The Parsnip

The change in season (any season) inspires me to cook. This summer I made several strawberry cakes, using the cheap and abundant flats of strawberries from Trader Joe's. As the weather cools, I feel more comfortable standing over a stove or heating up the whole kitchen by having the oven at 400. Sometimes my zeal and optimism nearly outweigh my physical capabilities. I committed myself to making two savory pies for Rosh Hashanah last week, one involving cutting up a whole chicken (despite having watched my mom do this many times, I'm no expert and always wish for a sharper knife) AND phyllo dough. I had a vague recollection of using phyllo dough in college, but like many things from college, the specifics must have slipped away. Phyllo dough requires constant attention-- it must be frozen, then just thawed, then kept moist with a wet towel-- but not too wet. No matter what, the dough seems to flake, rip and tear and who can count out seven layers of micro thin dough, followed by five, followed by three? As the clock was ticking down to the arrival of guests, I just started throwing the dough over the chicken. In the end it was fine.
G and I enjoy cooking together-- a testament to patience and the adventure involved. Last fall and winter we made several trips to Haymarket for fresh, cheap produce, returning with a need to figure out what exactly to do with the pound of jalepenos we just bought (only 50 cents). This year we have been meeting after work on days the farmer's market is set up outside his office. We usually return with lots of potatoes, leafy greens, carrots, peppers and eggplants (so many eggplants-- there's only so much you can do with them!). I returned recently with several parsnips. This is not a vegetable I remember from my childhood-- it looks like the carrot's sickly, anemic cousin. But root vegetables are in, and I think many vegetables that had previously fallen out of fashion are making a comeback (cauliflower and the dreaded gaucho/cullottes pants must be in cahoots!). I decided to roast them along with the carrots and some yams. I covered them with a little water, some butter, cinnamon and herbs de provence and the kitchen began to smell like fall. I asked G, who'd also never tried a parsnip before, what he thought. His response? "Interesting." Probably the same response your mom would get when she asked how your afternoon with your weird cousin was.

Fresh Start

I've always lived in an Academic Year calendar, and with my birthday capping summer and heralding in this "new year" I always find Fall a good time for resolutions. Since retiring from my mentoring gig a year and a half ago, I've been waiting for a new volunteer opportunity. Volunteering my time is crucial for me, but I prefer active endeavors (face to face time) over envelope stuffing and making phone calls. I have early memories of cavassing neighborhoods with my mom in support of political candidates and a requirement in elementary school was to do an act of service each week and have it signed off. One doesn't have the luxuries, in fifth grade, of searching out too many service opportunities, but I do remember bringing the newspaper from the bottom of my elderly neighbor's driveway to his doorstep. At the very least it got me thinking of ways to repay others for all the benefits I received. By the time I was in high school, a criteria for graduation was 200 hours of creative and active service. I tutored elementary children after school and helped set up art shows. After I graduated college in Boston, I felt like I needed to be part of a community, and so started mentoring a school age boy once a week and did that for two years. The rewards of volunteering are non-monetary, but you feel like you are making a small difference in world where natural disaster, war and disease are right outside the door.
When Rashmi asked me two weeks ago if I would like to co-lead a Girl Scout troop with her, I hesitated. I knew there would be a long-term commitment and that I'd have to be "on" as well as give up personal time. But the hesitation was short lived.
Although I was a "Bluebird" and not a Brownie or Girlscout, I distinctly remember the after school meetings. All or most of the girls in my class were in my troop; we proudly wore our Bluebird uniforms (distinguishing us from our standard uniforms that girls in other grades wore those days). We each had small enamal bluebird pins. We met in the basement of a classmate's house and although the usual activities were probably crafts, I do remember a trip to the Coca Cola factory and the Wonder Bread factory (so 1950's, and yet this was probably about 1985).
To this day I love clubs; I have my book club, my music/cd club, a (sometimes) Spanish club...all group centered, stemming from my early immersion in groups, I'm sure. Why not give a few hours a month to give some girls the same chance I had?

Friendster BEWARE!!!!

ALL POINTS BULLETIN!!!

Dear Fellow Snoops,

I feel that I must warn all Friendster users that those on Friendster can now see WHO is looking at them!!! Very traumatic. [Apparently, I am HOT stuff in Indonesia.]

Yes, you can re-adjust your settings to "explore" anonymously, BUT those tricksters at Friendster like to add new features on a semi-regular basis and when new features are added our settings seem to go back to the default settings which makes us all vulnerable.

And yes, of course you can create fake accounts and stalk people that way. Just be sure to use a name that cannot be traced to you. Example: I should NOT use "blackturtlenecklover" or "ilovecheese"

Please remember, the internet can be your friend; it can introduce you to people and ideas and spectacular sales at Banana Republic, BUT it can also be used embarrass you.

Be safe out there...

Apocolypse

Four years ago Americans of my generation experienced an apocolypse. We were glued to our televisions watching planes hit the twin towers over and over, followed by endless news analysis, speculation, and from our government, promise of retribution. I would awake to NPR with newscasters telling me my life would never be the same. Collective shock became collective anger and defiance. We exuded a loud silence by displaying American flags on cars, windows, shirts, pins...
And now, four years later, in the aftermath of a natural disaster, Americans are witnessing another apocolypse. At first I was surprised that so many more lives of those I know and care about were directly affected than after 9/11. But then I realized the hit was much larger-- thousands to millions of people, miles, acres.
The difference as I feel it is there is no silence. The loud winds and rains of the hurricane ripped through, and millions of voices followed: offers of money, food, shelter...schools for displaced, jobs for the newly unemployed. This time the voice of retribution is not from the government to the initiator, but from the people to the government. And over it all is the beautiful music of the Gulf states. I've been listening to WERS and WUMB. Louis Armstrong, Nina Simone, Charlie Haden, The Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Donald Byrd, Wynton Marsalis all sing out reminding us of New Orleans and the South. They sing of hope among the hopeless. At the end of they day they pour a drink and know there will be a tomorrow.

Vacation Report: Summer '05

Having recently returned from a long vacation of mini vacations, and a short weekend trip, I think it's time to post on what this blog is really about. That is, shopping-- the how, to and why.
Close readers of Zandrea! might have noticed Zara's distress over the current upgrade (and thus lack of access) of the gap.com website. It is frustrating when you cannot regularly check for sales and availability of certain items but, there are alternatives.
First, think of gap.com as the "Jan" in the Brady Bunch and upgrade to the Marcia-- bananarepublic.com. If that's too out of your league, try oldnavy.com (baby Cindy of course).

When on vacation in a new city, it's great to explore unique and different attractions, but faced with a crisis, it's good to turn to the familiar. In San Francisco, the crisis was the cold (under 70 degrees-- needed a sweater). The familiar was Macy's. My mom, sister and I found the landmark and jumped in, much like delving into your best friend's closet. Unfortunately, the onset of the school year and end of summer left us with no sweater sales...so we headed to, [in my sister's voice] "Oh my God, a Loehmann's!" Unfortunately, the store was scheduled to close in half an hour. I knew this is when I most needed to put all my shopping training into practice. Within five minutes I had found the perfect sweater at the perfect price...but I saw my sister lagging behind. We had the following conversation:
"Liz, can't you find a jacket or sweater?"
"Oh, I love Loehmann's, but I can't focus with such a small amount of time! I can't see everything!"
"Liz, you don't have to-- just find what you need!"
"But what I need is a jacket, which costs money, which reminds me of my job, and I hate my job, and if I'm buying clothes, I should be buying BETTER clothes for a BETTER job! It's all so stressful!"
At this point, I realized I really couldn't help her, so I passed her off to my mom and went to look at the "better sportswear". As a sales associate announced we needed to make our final purchases, my sister took a deep breath and realized she would just have to return the next day, upon the 9 am opening.
Following the meltdown, we ate in Chinatown and felt rejuventated. Enough to look in a myriad of low cost souvenir stores. While most stores sold the same or similar trinkets, we felt like we should look in each one...and by 10:00 pm decided to also return the next day.
The next day we returned to Loehmann's (Liz purchased two job and vacation friendly blazers, stress free!) and then to Chinatown. *Readers note-- those with claustrophobia and efficiency issues are advised that the following description may cause anxiety!
As the night before, we perused the same stores for many hours...always hoping to find a different or cheaper treasure. The stores were packed with tchochkes including endless chirping bird and cricket toys. We paused for bubble tea and eggrolls, but then continued on...we were stuck in Chinatown and had to get out! The stores were endless! The discounts extravagant! As half our day (not including the evening before) passed, my mom, sister and I were finally able to escape the spell of Chinatown. We ate a well needed lunch at a faded glory of a restaurant and made our way to other San Francisco attractions...
My sister and I inherited from our mom a physical condition when unexpectedly encountering a discount store (Loehmann's, Marshall's, T.J. Maxx)-- sweaty palms, increased heart rate and the impulse to jump up and down squealing with anticipation. This overcame the three of us as we disembarked a bus our last day and found ourselves squarely in front of a Marshall's, caddy-corner from a Forever 21. My mom gave us half an hour to peruse Marshall's (again, closing time) and this time we were all ready. My sister turned in a great perfomance, purchasing shorts and two pairs of slacks and I got a $5 summer shirt and a lightweight fall sweater. Door in to door out was 45 minutes.
Yes, San Francisco is known for cable cars, sourdough bread and burnt out hippies, but we embraced what we knew, and were just as happy for it.

An Interview with Nora: The Avocado Plant

A: Did you eat the avocado? If so, how?
N: I ate the avacado in a burrito!

A: When did you plant the avocado seed?
N: I planted the seed 3 months ago.

A: I know you told me last night, but how long before the tree matures? And will it bear avocados?
N: And the tree matures in about 15 years to bear fruit but it takes 5 more before it produces fruit you can eat!

A: What is your favorite recipe using avocados?
N: I love anything related to avacados especially making guacamole.

A: Are you a hippie?
N:I am not a hippie... maybe?

A: Do you recommend starting it with toothpicks in a dixie cup of water, or planting it in soil and a pot?
N: Definitely put it in soil, I tried 2 times in water with toothpickswith limited success. One failed, one started then failed. This is the best yet... [current picture is from September 1].

A: What are some health benefits of the avocodo?
N: Avacados have good fat and also good vitamins for you. Use them in salad instead of dressing or cheese.

A:Have you ever grown anything else in your office? Maybe a potato?
N: We also had poinsetta plants that were only supposed to survive during Christmas but that we grew for a whole year. Then it became unruly and we decided that we would just get new ones next Christmas anyway. We have some other plants here, too. But nothing as exciting as the avacado tree!

Pen-Pal...Music Pal?

Refreshed from a beatiful vacation in Northern California, I return older, wiser and ready to delve into new possibilities. This has nothing to do with drinking too much wine in Napa, or inhaling "funny fog" in San Fransico. In fact, it has everything to do with NPR...
But first. I invite you to recall your first pen-pal. Perhaps it was a class project-- everyone in your home-room was matched with a 2nd grader in a classroom in Ohio. You took some time to compose a thoughtful and penmanship perfect letter on lined paper to Molly in Mississippi, or Oliver in Ohio. Maybe it was even Francoise in France. Oh la la! You'd send the letter and then...wait...and finally, a response! Rupa from Roanoke wrote about her pet guinea pig and a field trip to a local museum. So like your own life, and yet so different.
Listening to NPR Saturday, there was a story, paraphrased, "There are thousands of ways to express who you are and mixing a CD of your favorite music is the latest thing. Around the country, CD clubs are exchanging mixes, discovering new music and getting to know each other in a unique way. Every month, twelve members of the Bobcats await the latest delivery. Producer Gideon D'Arcangelo explores the world the CD clubs with members from New York City."
Not only do you get to receive a treasure in the mail, you get to discover new music, and while I hesitate to suggest making new friends, it is possible!

So reader, please post a response if you are seriously interested in joining such a club-- I found one willing participant on line already, and Evil Twin #1 might join...you would be responsible for making a mix cd and sending out 11 copies one month-- the other 11 months you would receive a different mix.

Roots: Part 2, Or, How To Grow An Avocado Tree

Hot on the heels of my post on my roots, is a new feature-- Nora's Avocado Tree. She has been growing it for 2 months. The first picture is from Monday....see the difference between then and NOW, Friday! Oh, wait, the pictures are reversed. Stay tuned for more updates...

Roots

In the past 9 years I've lived in Boston, I've settled in, but always kept a few things (banks, licenses) local to Wichita or Seattle-- my other "homes". Living in Boston can be a transitory experience; people move frequently because of roommate changes, rent increases, pest problems. And being young and with limited responsibility, it's nice to have the option to get up and leave at any time. My friend Rashmi notes that she always leaves one box packed, symbolizing a chance at impermanence.
This past year I decided to fully embrace Boston. I had the address on my checks changed (so what if I move-- I'll change it again) and yesterday I went to the DMV to finally get a Massachusetts driver's license (those who go out with me know I have no fewer than 3 ids-- two former driver's licenses and a passport). Alas, our best laid plans can hit a snag. I didn't have all the necessary paperwork (I did have two valid signatures, my checkbook, passport and old license, but nothing "official" with my current/new address). I was frustrated but knew there was nothing I could do. So it looks like I'll be off to the West Coast today...using my passport.

The Top 10 Things About Moving

10. The 24' standard transmission, if-you're-a-trucker-you'll-know-how-to-drive-this, van. Quick downgrade to 14' automatic transmission.
9. Not having ever gone to the Corrib Pub on Beacon, my closest bar (or the Holiday Inn bar, which is likely closer).
8. 6 half hour sessions on the stairmaster at the gym condensed into one 3 hour workout. In 92 degree heat.
7. Smog advisory!
6. Having one of the movers poop out halfway through the day.
5. G checking for a hotspot first thing after the movers leave.
4. What's more expensive than Trader Joe's? The Harvest Coop!
3. Water, water, more water...
2. Forgetting the coffee maker.
1. Eating dinner and having a beer at 9 pm on the front porch with G.

Reunion

I received an email a few weeks ago informing me of my upcoming 10 year high school reunion. Reunions strike fear in some, and barely containable anticipation in others. Although a few years ago I was excited and couldn't wait, now I feel a little ambivelant. I haven't returned to Wichita in 5-6 years, and feel I keep up with most people I want to. There was a link to our reunion website attached to the e-mail and I decided to check it out.
Success is truly in the eye of the beholder as many people have taken paths I would never have dreamed of (not attending/finishing college, married with children, conversion to evangelical Chritianity, living in small town America...). But those who have posted seem genuinely happy and excited to see people next summer.
Anyone who's seen "Romy and Michele's High School Reunion" will recall that the two friends decided they would go only if they reinvented themselves. The created for themselves new outfits, new jobs and fabulous resumes (including inventing post-its). I know the moral of the movie is to embrace what you actually have achieved, blah, blah, blah. But I am below that and want a fabulous past nine years and, in order to make this blog more INTERACTIVE, am soliciting suggestions (real, or imagined!) for my own bio.

Frame Blame

Zara's lack of anger has left a black hole and void which the rest of us must now recover. There are PLENTY of things to be angry about, so, in love as I too am, I will have to step up to the plate. I started today, not 20 minutes ago, when I went to The Art Store to return an inexpensive frame I bought last week. Details are below:
One week ago I purchased the frame, only to open it at home and see that the plexiglass was scratched (under 2 layers of plastic). Despite the receipt saying that returns would only be accepted for items in the original packaging, I thought for sure their customer service would step in with some sort of customer-is-always-right-here's-your-refund-with-a-smile. I took the opened frame in with the receipt this afternoon, and Jim refused to refund my $13. I explained to him that I was aware of the policy, but surely they would make an exception for this obviously inferior product. "No", Jim explained, because, "There's no way I can know that you didn't scratch it and we can only accept returns that we can resell." Could I speak to the manager? "No." Is there truly nothing I can do? "No." Not even an apology...I understand that in his peon part time job status, Jim's only following rules, but does that also entail offering no semblance of sympathy? Apparently. I started to walk out of the store, when Jim kindly asked, "Do you want to take the frame with you?" Seriously, it was scratched something awful-- completely unusable. And finally, "Well, do need parking validation?" My response to both these questions? "No."
Below is my e-mail fired off to customer service.

I purchased a frame at your Brookline Ave. store in Boston last week, and when I opened it at home, the surface of the plexiglass was scratched (under the double layer of plastic!). I understood from the receipt that the store couldn't accept returns for opened products, but I would have hoped that you would have a policy supporting the customer that trumps that policy. It's a $13 frame-- no great financial loss for me, or, certainly for your store. But now you have lost a multi-year customer-- worth a lot more than $13. I asked the man helping me if I could speak to the manager, and he said, "no". I was offered no alternative recourse (no refund, no store credit, and most importantly, NO APOLOGY!). Your policy, for honest consumers such as myself, is like nothing I have encountered at any other business, and is flawed.

**Editor's note: An e-mail exchange with the regional manager yielded an apology an explanation that the peon was likely following the policy for the frame makers, not the store, and a promise of a refund, if I bring the frame back to the store...which I would do, if I hadn't left it there in my fit of anger...The apology is good enough for me.

Where is Zara?

Dearest Zandrea readers,

You may have noticed that I have not added anything to this blog in many months. Andrea has diligently and most capably kept up the blog and has been exceptionally kind by not overthrowing the blog and declaring it her own. (Though, she is a pirate, and pirates do like to plunder and pillage, so it is probably just a matter of time before the inevitable coup d’etat….)

I will try to explain my absence. Please prepare yourself for an existential journey into my psyche.

Bottom-line, I have not written anything because I have had nothing creative to say. In the past, my creativity has been exclusively linked to my vast reserves of anger and resentment.

However, sometime in the fall of 2004, I fell in love.

The dank and musty hollows of my heart and mind are now full of “cheerful” thoughts and feelings. You know the usual: rainbows, waterfalls, unicorns, that horse with wings, cheeses (imported AND domestic), puppies, kittens, a revisionist account of my teenage years, etc.

I am happy. There, I said it!

I have tried to write.

A piece I started to write about my feud with several Brookline dry cleaning establishments stopped dead in its tracks when I had to admit that everyone makes mistakes. [Please note: the old Zara did NOT make allowances for human error.]

Another piece that was over before it started was to be about how annoying I find people who choose to procreate on this God forsaken planet. But then I thought maybe there will be peace on Earth and heck, shouldn’t that be shared with a new glorious generation??? [You are correct if you are remembering that the old Zara had no hope for humanity and was surprised we had not blown up the planet prior to the 21st century.]

So, back to the title of this blog piece…

Where is Zara?

Well, I am here. I am just trying to find my voice in the midst of all of this confounding romance. Trying to find humor and irony in between kisses and love songs.

Please be patient,
Zara

Maintenance

The time has come to do a little work around this site. At the request of a reader, I've decided to delve into the complicated world of blog programming and get some pictures up. The Evil Twins have made nice use of pictures for such favorites as vacations and museum outings-- I really felt like I was there too! In truth, it was laziness, pure laziness, that didn't get pictures up here before. I quick perusal of FAQs on Blogger and Flickr revealed precise directions for uploading pictures...without having to download any programs to my computer.
With that intro, please look to your left at the nice profile shot of mine and Zara's wrists-- a pair of handsome matching Swatches (did we synchronize our Swatches? Oh no, Parker Lewis, Zara would in fact arrive before me...).
More illustrated updates to follow...

First Annual Teen Drama Queen Movie Festival

The First Annual Teen Drama Queen Movie Festival just showed it's final official entry last night. Alas, there are no red carpet pictures to show, which is likely just as well since the temperature was 85+ with about 200% humidity. Only Mandy Moore's hair could possibly still look good in those conditions.
The entries this year were as follows:
Thursday-- "The Prince and Me" and "Chasing Liberty". Of the two, the informal consensus gave the prize to Chasing Liberty. Not because the story line was any more plausible, or the acting really any better...but because Matthew Goode is hot. And the subplot with Jeremy Piven and Annabella Sciorra was endearing. Movie attendees T, R and roommate L (and of course, myself) managed to gorge ourselves on a full dish of 7 layer dip...and wine, margaritas followed intermittently with chocolate covered pretzels and Exquisite cookies. Mmmmm!
Unifying theme through both movies: Men with foreign accents

Monday-- "A Cinderella Story" and "New York Minute". A Cinderella Story was a late entry (thanks to T) due to lack of Hilary Duff and also due to a Netflix mishap**. NYM was indeed as bad as the reviews made it out to be. The Twins escape (apartment critics) unscathed due to a power costume change montage. Evil Twin #1 and N joined T and R for the festivities this night. There was more wine and more margaritas, plus teen-tastebud-memory-flashback frozen pizza and microwave popcorn.
Unifying theme through both movies: ummm, predictability?

Tuesday-- "Saved!" and "Raise Your Voice". Let me take a quick moment to thank the movie festival participants-- especially those who trekked to Brookline from far away (yes, Cambridge is far) over many days in the heat and humidity. Especially also to T who provided the majority of the movies, and had thoughtfully provided back up movies in case the originally planned ones didn't arrive ("Crossroads" and "But I'm A Cheerleader"). This might have been deemed Satire Night, or at least, Movies-Which-We Might-Actually-See-In-A-Real-Festival,-Not-a-Ghetto-Apartment-Festival. T warnd us that RYV might make us cry 3-5 times and yup, it delivered. Saved! Made us laugh out loud and was close to home for some of us who had to endure years of Christian School and/or Youth Group. We reheated the pizza, ate more chips, more popcorn, more cookies, more wine (white Zin...how high school!) and french fries.
Unifying theme through both movies: Jesus

I was surprised that many people who came (I won't mention names) had already seen MOST if not ALL of the movies I chose! I was not surprised that the foods we ate in high school and which tasted so good again are best eaten only in high school and maybe in college...but after 25 one does not have the same metabolism as one who is 16.
**Netflix, with normally reliable turnaround, FAILED during the height of the festival, delivering movies a day later than needed. Either that or the mailman caught wind of the movies and decided to keep them to himself to watch first, before delivery.

Housekeeping

Sharing communal washers and driers involves patience and flexibility, but also acknowledgement of the tacit rules: do not remove other's clothes prematurely form either the washer or dryer; give others a fair chance to do so themselves.
When this system suffers a breakdown, a battle will ensue.

The scenario:
Wednesday morning (8 am):
Evil Twin #1 attempts to start laundry, but waits as all 4 washers are in use.

Wednesday evening (8:30 pm):
I go to put two loads of laundry in the washers, only to find they have laundry in them (the corresponding dryers are free). I decide to return in 15 minutes.

8:45 pm: I return to find Pathetic Redhead has moved the laundry out of one of the machines, and put hers in. I notice that she is sitting with baskets of laundry around her, and armed for a stakeout, with a Harry Potter book in hand. I ask her if the laundry in the other machine is hers ("no" she answers). I go to move it into a drier, and have a sneaky suspician that this laundry belongs to Evil Twin #1. I put it in the large drier, thinking that I'll dry it for her, along with my laundry, when it finishes in a half hour.

9:10 pm: Evil Twin #1 comes home, and declares that Pathetic Redhead (still camped out in the basement) has carelessly removed all Evil Twin's laundry to put her own in the large drier. I declare this unacceptable, as I had planned to dry my own laundry, as well as Evil Twin's, in the large drier. I fear the removal of my own laundry, so hoof it to the basement pronto.

9:15 pm: My wash is finishing up, and I notice that Pathetic Redhead has 12 minutes left on the drier. I decide it's time for a standoff. If she can remove laundry so cavalierly, and is willing to spend her evening in the basement, then I'm sure she'll have no problem removing her laundry from the drier to make room for mine. I wait.

9:27 pm: (I've taken my wet clothes out of the drier and put my second load in my just used washer.) Before all Pathetic Redhead's clothes have had a chance to settle, I ask, "You don't mind if I move your clothes out for mine, do you?" She's taken aback, but responds, "No...they're dry?" "Yes." I proceed to pull her clothes out of the drier as she walks toward me. I pass them to her then put mine in.

9:35 pm: I return to the apartment, where B tells me I should add enough quarters to the drier to assure that Pathetic Redhead won't be able to use it. Evil Twin tells me she will return with me, and we bring our drinks with the idea of scandalizing her out of the laundry room with disturbing conversation (or at least boring her).

9:45-10:30 pm: With some quick thinking and careful sleight of hand, Evil Twin #1 and I dominate the laundry room and win the battle...and return home with clean laundry. Pathetic Redhead couldn't stand the heat, and left humbled and several quarters less rich than when she arrived.

Bad Habits

With G away, I've noticed myself returning to my single-girl-lacking-responsibility self. Perhaps it's not bad habits so much as indulging guilty pleasures (akin to spending a week at Grandma's growing up in the summer). I've been staying up late reading and watching movies (G is an early to bed, early to riser, so we finish movies together only about half the time). I've forgone many a healthy dinner in favor of the easier and carb satisfying cheese and crackers dinner (in bed, no less). Yesterday I enjoyed Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee and not one, but two (!) donuts on my outside deck. I've been laying in bed in my pajamas until well past 11 on the weekend days.

Finally, I've been shopping...the always enjoyable pastime which is like a drug. I pride myself on my bargain shopping (the $20 rule has fallen by the wayside in recent times, but I've managed to resurrect it with the onslaught of Summer Sale! and free time). When Saturday looked like it wouldn't be a beach day after all, I improvised and went to Downtown Crossing. I was armed with a gift card to Filene's and hope to make short shrift of the $25 balance. Alas, I failed. The shirt I picked out for $35 rung up at just $19...it looks like another trip will need to be made to polish off that $5+. I forewent the Basement and H&M in favor of the less frequented TJ Maxx. A friend's recent purchase of several swimsuits for under $10 piqued my curiosity. There were slim pickings in the swimware department, but the skirts were cute and all under $20...and the four I tried on all fit. I closed my eyes and picked the one which would be mine. I also wasted no time in scouring the shoe rejects on the floor for a pair of cute wedge heels, size 7. Thoroughly warmed up with my keen eye on the lookout, I bought lunch (hot dog and Coke) and resumed my mission: birthday gifts for sister (unmentionable pending actual birthday next week). The five hour afternoon kept me entertained, provided an outfit for going out that night, and really, hardly made a dent in my checking account. In fact, it was perhaps not so much a guilty pleasure as a necessity!

Move Preparation: Installment 2

G and I found a charming apartment, moved most of his worldly belongings to the storage unit (the most precious electronics and comic books staying with me) and sent him on his month long trip to Israel. Save for the physical act of moving our stuff to the new apartment in mid-August, the big parts are taken care of. Packing, shmacking...any further proactive measures on my part would severely cut into what is shaping up to be : The July of Andrea.***

My friend J invited me to join her in a drop in hip hop dance class Saturday morning. We both enjoyed dancing (although often infused with alcohol) and thought, how hard could it be? We arrived at 9:30 am and to our surprise (read: chagrin) the Boston Herald was doing a piece on dance in the Boston area, and none of us would mind being photographed during the class, would we?
The warm up started fine-- we got moving and were able to stave off the headaches resultant from lack of morning caffeine. The instructor introduced some steps and we slowly went through, following her and feeling good...until she dropped to the floor,break dance style,then upped the tempo double time. No one else in the class seemed surprised by this. In fact, they barely regarded it as a challege. For the next 45 minutes, J and I attempted the moves and were duly humbled. My two plus years of yoga practice did not give me the upper arm strength needed to fall and jump up, over and over. My body ached in places I didn't even know existed the next day. Of course, we're planning on returning as soon as possible.

The July of Andrea includes activities that G would not enjoy. Activities that might make G throw up. Starting next week, I will screen not one, and not two, but three nights of teen movies (the bad ones-- lots of Mandy Moore, some Britney and many hijinks). Many of my girlfriends have expressed more than a passing interest in this, so it could actually become an annual, if not monthly, event.

Further Andrea events include Salsa dancing, sewing a skirt, learning some Hebrew and practicing my Spanish, conscientiously grocery shopping with reusable bags...and perhaps getting a Massachusetts Drivers License. I've already entertained three friends from out of town, and hope to entertain at least one more. I'll travel to DC to see my sister and I'll take the African Dance class at my gym before I move.

This is Molly's and Nancy's Fourth of July Parade Story

Another guest post, since the editors here are busy keeping busy. This tale is told alternately from my mom's (Nancy) and her dog's (Molly) perspective.

We wanted to have a great Fourth of July weekend. Molly was surrounded
by new people-she had gotten use to Grandma, but then here came Ginny
and Bob from Chicago and she was excluded from all fun outings and
didn't even get her customary walk on Friday or Saturday-because of the
cleaning frenzy that was taking place. When Ginny and Bob came to the
house, they just ate lunch then everyone left--and left her in her
"room." They did return home, but immediately stated fixing and eating
dinner-hardly any playtime.
Sunday was not much better from Molly's perspective--first left while
everyone goes sightseeing-but at least got left on the deck/den on a
beautiful day. Then, Marvin, Grandma and Nancy return home, but say
they need a rest (at least Nancy does, so no walk for me). Then more
dinner preparation for Julie and Susan coming over. Julie and Susan
played a little Frisbee (Molly got two new ones, both pink), but mostly
just talk and eating.
Monday, finally a dog day. First thing, up and out to the dog part-at
last some wonderful one on one with Nancy and lots of new friends and a
couple of trips to the river! It was heaven! Sometime after getting
home, though, Nancy thought she'd just take me to walk in the Bothell
Fourth of July parade with her to support the County Council candidate.
Well, we situated Grandma in a very low chair on the parade route and
then we walked up a hill (Molly getting pets along the way) to wait for
the little kids part to finish. We did get to go a short way down main
street, and I was doing ok, until those dressed up reenactors starting
shooting their muskets right behind us; I was really scared and just
wanted to leave. Nancy handed her sign back to Jeff because I was just
going way too fast; I was frantic; I wanted to get out of that parade
and away from those loud noises and I was hot!
I thought we'd never get back to the car! After we got Grandma into the
car, we were finally able to turn on the air-conditioning and go home.
Luckily, Nancy knew enough to let the hose run on me in the front yard.

And last night--even more firecrackers---way too much Fourth of July for
me!

Tales From the Fruit Cart: A Fruit Cart Announcement

Ever intrepid journalist Elizabeth Crawford takes a moment out of her daily reporting and source follow ups to update us on the MIA fruit cart.

It is [Employer's] turn to push the fruit cart again. My day is July 29. I thought you'd enjoy the announcement about it sent out by the president of [Employer]. See below.

It's time again for us to take the lead
And fulfill UCG's fruit and vegetable need.
I know you'd rather give out Twinkees and Hohos
But that won't regain your Fruit Cart Mojo.

A push, a shove and it's manna from heaven above.
(Well, not manna, but lots of green banana.)
Sing and dance and enjoy the grins,
But don't forget the napkins.

When: [Employer] does the Fruit Cart from July 22 through September. (Interns are signed up already.) There's one day for EVERYONE. Sign up now and improve the chances you'll get your preferred day.

Where: See the calendar sign-up sheet on the pillar near [fellow employee's] desks.

Why: The benefits of fiber are best not discussed publicly.

The readers of Zandrea! will wait with bated breath for the EC's July 29 turn and subsequent update, I'm sure!

A Cool Summer

Growing up in Wichita, Central Air was a necessity. The summers are long and terrible-- the heat is 80+ from April through October (I recall more than one Halloween wearing shorts and a t-shirt to school). It is not uncommon to go directly from the air conditioned house, to the air conditioned car, to air conditioned work. Public schools have half days the first week of school because the heat is so bad. Actual contact with Nature is driving the car to the neighborhood pool and spending the afternoon swimming (resultant in first day of school green hair each September, but that's another story). Henry Miller titled his 1945 critique of American culture, "The Air-Conditioned Nightmare."
"Nowhere else in the world," Miller wrote of the United States, "is the divorce between man and nature so complete."**
Before coming to college in Boston, my cousin told me not to bother packing t shirts-- it would never be warm enough in my 9 months academic year to wear them. She was correct, and I realized also the Central Air for people's homes was practically non-existent. Air conditioning units are the prefered means of keeping cool, when needed. In fact, many people get by with a window or stand alone fan.
The temperature hit near 100 this past weekend and I would have suffered through sans fan or AC, but for an inheritance from G-- his AC window unit to use while he travels for the next month. I generally prefer to keep my windows open, enjoy the cool night breeze and be awakened by the sounds of birds and garbage trucks-- idyllic morning sounds. But the past several nights I have guiltilly enjoyed the AC, being able to snuggle under the blankets and wake up refreshed-- not sweaty and sticky.
I'd like to believe that once G leaves on Friday, I'll revert back to my normally conservative persona and open the windows...but sometimes it's nice to be spoiled.


** Thanks to the New York Time's story Shivering for Luxury, printed Sunday June 26.

Souvenirs

Shopping in any foreign country holds such appeal that even (and especially!) the tchotchkes one gives and receives hold special personal value. When I was in high school, I started collecting the small "floaty" pens-- a cactus floating through a desert scene for a town in Texas, David or Venus floating up and down in Italy or a car floating under the Saint Louis Arch. The appeal of these pens is that they are cheap and portable, and have the benefit of reminding you where you (or your friend) was when purchased.
A former co-worker of mine traveled to India every couple of years, and before she would go, she would ask us to make a list, including spending limits, of things (jewelry, fabrics, etc) we would like her to bring back. For a total of $75, I received a custom made silver jewelry set and a hand embroidered wool shawl. My friend Rashmi has offered a similar service-- no doubt the shopping will be for her as fun as it is for us to receive!
Visitors to the U.S. often have lists of things that can be purchased here for cheaper than in their country, or perhaps not purchased at all. My friend Salma would come to Boston for usually a month at a time in the summer, and would stock up on Marshmallow Fluff, cranberry juice, Hamburger Helper and Gap clothes. Her shopping would be punctuated by frequent stops at Starbucks-- a surprisingly non-entity in her Mexican home. In return for accompanying her to the Hard Rock Cafe, she would bring me boxes of KinderEggs...a rare and expensive treat here.
I just helped G through a treasure hunt list for his aunt in Israel. The varied list included clothes, makeup and linens. An easy list save for the translation differences-- no fewer than 3 Bed, Bath and Beyond employees helped us convert the towels size from centimeters to inches.
I spoke to a friend last night who just got back from a year abroad. She buys a children's book (and asks her friends to do the same) from every country she visits, so her future children will have a world library.

Feel better soon?

A week or so ago I was on the phone with a work related call, and my office mate gave me a folder with a card in it to sign. I smiled at her and she left it on my desk. When I got off the phone to sign it, I realized I didn't know who it was for, but it was a get well card. She had already signed it and the person's name (beginning with a K) was not someone whose name I recognized). My office mate was away from her desk then, and I knew I had to go somewhere soon, so I just signed it, "feel better! sincerely, Andrea" and put it back on her desk. Later she came back and asked if I still had the card; I know I should have just asked her who it was for then, but I just told her I put it on her desk, and then I heard her open it and go, "oh...okaaaay." And then off to deliver it to someone else.

Move Preparation: Installment 1

Just as chicken pox, sunburns and your teenage years seem to get worse before getting better, so does the attempt at improving one's lot in life. G and I have decided to live together as the next step in our relationship, but unfortunately this entails finding an apartment, finding a replacement roommate (for me) and physically packing and moving.
When I moved to my current place a year and a half ago, my (good) life started falling into place. I had (and still have) a job that I enjoy, I had a good stash of friends and family and my new apartment and roommates seemed to be problem free. About a month after I moved in I met Gabriel and things have been going well ever since.
Gabriel started planning a return trip to Israel this winter. The month long service/vacation would allow him to reconnect with his home and allow him to "volunteer" his mandatory military service.
Eventually we decided it would be good to move in together just after his month long sojourn, in August. He and his other two roommates are moving just prior to his departure, which means he had to find a home for his two cats and store all his belongings.
Last night we took a load of boxes to his storage unit...which was something straight out of a murder mystery. When he signed the contract, they made him promise not to store firearms, explosives...or ex-girlfriends. We pulled the car into the unloading garage and adult contemporary rock (Sarah McLachlan) played softly in the backgroud. The automatic sliding doors opened and we followed the corridor down to his unit. I kept expecting someone to turn a corner in front of us, or for us to stumble upon a dead body, while the Police sang "Every Breath You Take" overhead. We moved quickly since I didn't want to spend any more time there than we had to.
When he finally pulled the car out of the garage, I pushed the button to lower the garage door behind him, hoping to run under it before it closed, but the mechanism stopped the door and wouldn't let me do that. So I closed the garage door and tried to get out the normal egress, but it locked from the inside as well as the outside. I knocked for G to let me out, but he couldn't find the cards with the codes on them in any of his pockets! For about 30 seconds I felt trapped and alone inside the scary storage unit while G was free outside...and worried about all aspects of the impending move (will we find a place before G goes to Israel or will I have to find one on my own? will it be affordable and nice or will it be in the ghetto with bars on the windows? will I find a good replacement roommate for my roommates?). Then I remembered I had the card in my pocket so showed it to G and he let me out.

*Editor's note: I should note it's not all gloom and doom! We are optimistic and while we have seen a couple of doozies, it's good to know that G and I are in the same boat and can commiserate after the bad apartments over drinks at the closest bar!

Vacation in Boston!

Memorial Day weekend is the traditional start of the summer vacation season. Sometimes it's nice to evaluate your current surroundings and "go on vacation" where you live. This works especially well if you'd prefer to be elsewhere, but can't afford to.
Boston is actually a popular tourist destination and with my sister in town for the long weekend, we decided to hit a couple historical hot spots.

Stop 1: Mike's Pastry in the North End for cannoli and cappucino.
Overheard conversation regarding Red Sox hero Johnny Damon by two authentic North End Italian American locals

Stop 2: Haymarket. Tons of cheap produce...but with the caveat that what they put into your bag might be different than what you would pick out (ie moldy hot peppers).
Overheard "conversation" between vendors calling each other "jerk".

Stop 3: Walden Pond. Due to the close proximity of other pond bathers, the quiet and solitude achieved by Thoreau is hardly reached.
Overheard conversation between two college students:

"There was a girl in one of my classes who was actually going to write about how following The String Cheese Incident is actually a religion! I'm so tired of these hippies!"

Also, school of large, ornamental koi spotted in pond. Koi were followed by canoers, as well as an intrepid wildlife photographer who ran past us and into the woods to get a land shot of the fish. College girls offered themseleves as photo subjects.

Stop 4: Mt. Auburn Cemetery. A scenic drive through America's oldest garden cemetery resulted in an abrubt stop by driver, G, when a medium sized animal loped across the street, and over a hill. G exclaimed, "What was that?!" Liz replied, "I think it's a marmot." G jumped out of the car, saying, "I'm going to get that dog!" and proceeded around the bend in search of the oversized rodent.

The long weekend brought the first nice and seasonable weather in weeks, if not months. We upped the vacation factor by making a fiesta with fresh salsa, margaritas, lanterns and candles and the newly cleaned back deck.

The next day was spent shopping in downtown crossing and memorializing the day with photo booth snapshots.

By the end, the vacation home away from home was well spent, with a true Memorial Day barbeque to mark the beginning of summer.