Sometimes A Week Is a Long Time

Laugh if you want, but a week is a long time to be away from home these days.  I didn’t think so in my previous (pre-kids) life.  But now, I miss those little messy faces, those laughs, even that sound of “Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy” 45 times a day.

(And yes, I miss my husband too.  I’m sappy like that.)

A week is also a long time to sit through meetings. 

No, correction.  It’s a ridiculously long-ass time to sit through meetings.

To be honest, I have not technically been in meetings for a full week.  I had a little fun trip on the side before the work part of my travels began (see here), and now that seems like a decade ago.  You know why?  Because I just spent three consecutive days sitting in a conference room with 30 other people for nine hours.  The discussion, the analyses, the PowerPoint decks, the small talk in between.  And then the mandatory team dinners.  By this afternoon, I felt like my spinal column was going to collapse into itself if one more person uttered one more word or showed one more PowerPoint slide in that conference room.  They’re all very nice, but it was massive overload.  It’s going to take a while to regain sensation in my brain.

A week is also a long time not to have personal email access in any reliable or consistent manner.  I’m sure that many smarter people than I have found a quick and easy way to use their iPhones abroad without incurring huge roaming fees, but let’s say it’s not intuitive, at a minimum.  Anyway, this isn’t a tech blog — the point is that I’m more than a little addicted to being connected to an email account other than the one in my office — meaning, other than the one that receives messages from those people in the conference room lockdown.

A week is a long time in some good ways too.  It’s a long time not to have to cook, clean, pay bills, do laundry, organize kids’ activities or go grocery shopping for what I invariably forgot on my last trip to the store.  It’s a long time to not race for the train every morning, but instead walk through St James park and past Buckingham Palace to get to and from work every day.  Definitely an improvement over NJ Tranist and the PATH train.

My week is over tomorrow.  Back to the household lists and things to get done.  But I’ll be sprung free of the conference room and I’ll get my email back in order — and I get to see my family.  Then it will feel like it has been forever.

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Sunday in a Favorite Place

I have an uncle who is one of my favorite people on the planet.   He gets me — he always has.  I rarely have the chance to see him because he lives in Amsterdam, but this weekend was one of those rarities — and on his turf.  Even better.

I have to go to a meeting in London this week and I was really glad that P did not blink at my idea to take advantage of the proximity and jump on up to Holland, even though it meant leaving him and the kids behind for a full week.  (I’m fairly certain he’s planning a secret revenge golf trip or something, but that’s OK.  Huge points for encouraging me to tack on the Dutch mini-vacation.)

My uncle moved to Amsterdam 26 years ago to live with his Dutch partner, so he’s practically a native at this point.  I’ve been here to visit probably about five times and, every time, I love it more.  It’s an amazing city — the food (more on that soon), the history, the people, the architecture, the weather (just kidding — it’s usually raining Biblically when I’m here — ditto yesterday).  I could live here.  I love it.

So you combine a favorite place with a favorite person and it makes for the most lovely of weekends.  And, there’s more…

My dear friend Grace, who recently moved from New York to Switzerland, met me for the weekend.  How lucky am I?

My uncle and his partner, Gene, live here — the uber-charming, uber-narrow grey house in the middle.  It’s like a postcard, but better, because I get to go inside and stay there.  The house was built in 1732 and is to die for.  The details and decor deserve an entire blog.  I cannot do it justice here, but suffice it to say that they have flawless taste, coupled with backgrounds in art and antique dealing. 

Every time I come, I take this same photo.  I love this view, right at the end of their street.  Can you imagine walking out to get a newspaper and seeing this every day?

A few other shots of their immediate neighborhood.

It’s hard for me to describe the feeling I have when I am here.  This city feels so familiar, inviting and comfortable to me, and yet is still a distinctly foreign place.  This ain’t New Jersey (no offense to my fellow Garden State dwellers).

Another reason to love Holland:  Some of the best cheese and chocolate on the planet.  There are no other words to accompany this photo — let’s just give it the moment of respect it deserves.

Speaking of food…Last night, we had an epic dinner prepared by my uncle.  Great conversation, great family, great friends — old and new.  It was one of those evenings when everything just worked out beautifully. 

Today, we walked the city, with no particular destination.  We chatted, we ate, we drank.  We window shopped and took cover under awnings when it rained horizontally, and then hailed.  Twice.  And it was just about a perfect day.

(Oh, and if my photos aren’t appearing or other formatting stuff is off, it’s because I’m trying to figure out Windows commands in Dutch.   I can repair any damage when I get back on an English computer.)

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Fear of Flying

I don’t know that I’ll ever be comfortable flying.  On the “dislike scale,” I range from hesitant to terrified pretty unevenly.  Today, I am somewhere closer to really, really nervous.

I know the odds are always in my favor.  It still rattles me, especially when flying alone and far like I’m doing tonight.  I don’t know how the road warriors of the business world do it — all that travel, all those planes.  Not for me.  Perhaps I’ll just conjure up images of George Clooney from “Up in the Air” to calm my nerves.  That could work.

Or maybe seeing an image of a nice, peaceful-looking flight will help.

Now that I’m looking at it again, it sort of reminds me of the opening sequence of “Lost.”  Perhaps not the best calming tactic.  I would be terrible going up against the smoke monster and drinking Dharma beer in a hatch.

Or maybe I’ll just have to rely on wine and in-flight enterainment to be my travel friends.  And fun awaits me when I land, so here’s to a calm head prevailing.

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Boardroom Bingo

It’s one of those days at work where those empty corporate phrases are flying around without mercy.  You know, when people talk like a Power Point deck.

In the elevator this morning, I heard two self-important guys discussing “the opportunities to realize our synergies and gain greater efficiencies.”  Seriously.

Uh, you mean, get your teams together? 

Then, at a meeting, someone asked me if I would “own the construct of the phraseology.” 

So you want me to write the memo? 

Or shall we brainstorm it first and then do a deep dive?  Then I could identify all of the key watch-outs and put the learnings into buckets before I circle back.  That would allow me to level set so that we’ll all be able to hit the ground running and optimize our resources.

Then we can all go back to BAU (business as usual).

What corporate lingo drives you bananas?

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There’s Trouble Brewing

Here’s the thing, Starbucks.  You can’t go implementing ridiculous policies that put the words “slow down” and “making coffee” in the same sentence.  Not when it means the line is 20+ people deep during the morning rush. 

Exhibit A:  This morning’s line (worth noting that I took this photo from an identically long line at the other cash register).  It’s a bad picture, I know — it’s from my Blackberry, and it’s blurred probably because my uncaffeinated hands were trembling.  But you get the idea.  This is clearly not a photography blog.

Read about the Starbucks nonsense here.

Yeah, it’s my own fault that I let you sucker me into waiting 10 minutes every morning for the privilege of paying you $4 for a coffee — we all have our vices.  And I need the caffeine in ways you probably spell out in your core business model, so I keep coming back.  I come back even though you wrap lines around like an amusement park ride every morning.  I come back even when you screw up my $4 drink. 

But now, this.  It won’t do.  Please work it out.  I don’t know how, but I do know that it involves water and milk and steam and coffee beans — not aerodyanmics or Middle Eastern politics.  Surely you can find a way to keep the caffeine flowing.  Quickly.

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Confessions of a Repeat Movie Watcher

We’re going to the movies tomorrow night with some friends to see The Social Network.  I’m looking forward to it and I’m horrified to admit that I seriously can’t remember the last movie I saw in a theater.  I’m not exaggerating — I really don’t know what or when it was. 

And yet I stand by my self-described movie buff status, even though I rarely get to the movie theater anymore.  So I was thinking about some of my favorite films — the ones I’ve watched over and over without getting tired of them.  I’m not going to write up a big list — there are too many — but thought instead I would share some great scenes, if not for your entertainment, then for my own.  (But I hope you like them as much as I do.)

First scene of Annie Hall.  This gets me every time.  It’s actually my favorite movie, start to finish, but the opening is particularly great.

YouTube Preview Image

The Copacabana scene from Goodfellas is just stunningly good.  I’m a total sucker for well-placed music in a film and Scorsese nails this.  Plus it’s just an amazingly long hand-held shot — there’s not a single cut — so that you feel like part of the trip through the Copa.  This made me want to marry a gangster when I first saw it at age 19.

(And sorry these last two won’t embed into the post but here are the You Tube links)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iayYZLB__5Y

The end of  Lost in Translation.  As far as I’m concerned, you have no soul if you didn’t love this scene.  This particular cut of the clip is kind of bad (it starts after the big moment/secret whisper) but it does the job.  I saw this in the theater when it was released  (more than once, I think) and I was a mess.  Great, great movie.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dPly3e12ca8

There are a ton of others but these three popped into my head as I thought about great beginnings, middles and endings. 

Help me add to the list — what could you watch over and over?

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Fall Skies

Sunday was gorgeous.  It was one of those incredible fall skies.  I dropped the father-son duo off at the Y for their Sunday morning swim class and grabbed a coffee in town with the baby (she opted for just a milk, slightly warmed).  We took a quick walk before we had to pick up the boys, and it was the best 30 minutes of sanity I had all weekend. 

We were off to a wedding that afternoon on a boat circling Manhattan.  It could have been a disaster, weather-wise, this time of year, but they got the best possible outcome.  I felt like a tourist (in a good way), getting that great perspective of the city, going under the Brooklyn Bridge and right in front of the Statue of Liberty.  I am a jaded New Yorker in many ways, but sitting on that boat, listening to music with a glass of wine and taking in that view — you really can’t beat it.

I would love this second photo even more if I didn’t  work in one of these buildings…but it’s still very pretty.

A great day for a walk, a wedding and quasi-tourism — all under the same brilliantly blue sky.

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Tales From a Garage Sale Virgin

I’m a huge nerd for being so happy about the success of our garage sale this weekend.  I hate clutter, so the purger in me was thrilled by the cleansing aspect of the whole thing.  Plus it’s just fabulous people watching, right in your own driveway.  I didn’t have the nerve to take photos of people as they were shopping (and risk losing the sale), but let me tell you, there are images distinctly embossed in my mind, for better or worse.  Hello, cross-section of America — welcome to the side of my house.

Let me first say that we never made any progress on the prep front.  I mean, none.  My neighbor Donna was in her garage and basement for a couple of nights leading up to the big event, sorting through her stuff and getting it all ready.  She made all the signs to hang up around town (which were fabulous).  My meager contribution was a posting on Craigslist.

P and I vowed Friday night, right in line with our last-minute ways, to get into that basement and at least mentally sort through what was staying vs going.  Didn’t happen — I fell asleep on the couch at 9:00.  We rolled ourselves outside at 6:45 Saturday morning (for a 9am start time, now advertised all over town) and found Donna had practically set up a retail establishment in her driveway.  Apparently, while we foolishly slept, she had been outside until midnight and back out there at 5am getting ready.  She had so much stuff, all organized and merchandized.  Racks of clothing hanging up.  Rows of shoes.  Major furniture.  And a bunch of items in between.  She had a nice little home base table with a calculator and a fanny pack full of small bills and change.  Donna was a garage sale rock star.

We were humbled novices.

We were dragging our stuff up from the basement and realizing that this garage sale was forcing life decisions.

“Aren’t we putting all the baby stuff out for sale?”

“I don’t know, are we?  What if we need it again?”

Family planning conversations in the driveway at sunrise before coffee — yes, we were sorely underprepared.

But I will tell you that it all went unbelievably well.  Donna’s signs brought us tons of foot traffic, despite the early birds (What is with these people?   You have to show up for first dibs 30 minutes before start time?).  And we had a perfect weather day.  I’m sort of convinced Donna arranged that as well. 

For me and my Type A-ness, I really just wanted the stuff gone.  Yes, I was happy to get money for it but the value of purging it far outweighed its retail value in my mind. 

And because we have a little history of keep vs purge debates in our marriage, there were a few items that we each were keeping a watchful eye on during the sale. 

Item #1:  P’s rollerblades.  I have known him since 1999 and have never witnessed him on rollerblades, though he insists on moving them from home to home with us over the years.  (Sold!)

Item #2:  Rolling dice glassware set.  This is a very kitschy set that was gifted to us.  P wanted to get rid of it.  I don’t love it but it has some sentimental value to me.  (Not sold — though plenty of folks considered it, or maybe just pointed at it.)

Item #3:  Bucket of noisy children’s books.  I’m all for cute kids’ books, but you know that feeling of wishing for a particularly noise-making book to break?  I was done with some of the key offenders in this category and felt other families may not be annoyed as easily by them.  Many noisy books sold, except for the one I hate most — because I was dumb enough to keep it in plain sight where my son could notice and promptly reclaim it.  (Epic fail.)

Overall, I’d say we sold 90% of what we put out there — and managed to make some good money too.  So it was ok to be underprepared.  I think my sales associates were also helpful and quite charming.

My daughter handled the rug and pillows department.

And my son was the general greeter/sales manager.

So why is there still so much stuff in my basement?  We may have to do this again, come springtime.

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Who Says You Can’t Go Home?

I distinctly remember my parents going to their 20th high school reunion.  It was 1986.  There were diets, new hair cuts (my mom sporting the then-stylish asymmetrical look) and certainly new outfits involved.  They had, after all, been high school sweethearts and they were really looking forward to meeting up with old friends. 

I was 14 at the time.  I hadn’t yet entered high school and surely couldn’t imagine being 20 years removed from it.

On Saturday, it was my turn to go to my 20th high schoool reunion.   I am as old as I remember my parents being on that night of the new hair cuts and outfits.  And this old gal had a great time catching up with old friends and chatting with others I literally hadn’t laid eyes on since 1990. 

If you didn’t grow up in New Jersey in the 1980s, I don’t know that I can sufficiently prepare you for the tragic fashion and hair that we grew up embracing.  I’m starting to think that Snooki owes us all a few bucks for stealing our look and trademarking it.  Here are two shots that an old friend unearthed for the occasion.

And here’s one from Saturday.  I’m really glad we gave up the Aqua Net.  It wasn’t all that becoming.

My parents moved away from my hometown after I graduated from college, as a result of their divorce.  Because they aren’t there, I rarely go back, although it’s not more than 40 minutes from where I live now.  It had probably been a couple of years since I had last driven up there. 

Every time I do make that drive, it really has an impact on me.  It’s that feeling of space and time being all mushed up.  Sure, things change — the old Grand Union is a Stop & Shop and they added a McDonald’s where no fast food had ever existed.  But so much is the same — The Old Forge where my dad would meet up with his buddies, the crazy winding roads that I can’t believe (really can’t believe) we learned to drive on, the gorgeous reservoir, the billion stars you can see at night because there are no streetlights.  And I like that it’s the same.  I like that this place is hermetically sealed in my memory as is, and that I can think of a thousand stories to go with every street I passed on the way to that reunion. 

I drove past my grandmother’s old house and the house my parents first bought a few blocks from her.  I drove past the lake where we had spent many summer afternoons, where I learned to swim and dive and play Marco Polo.  ??I drove past the old check verification business where I had my first job.  I drove past the neighborhood where we all drank bad beer in the woods. 

I felt 5 years old, I felt 12 years old, I felt 16 and I felt 38.  I felt both like the small child who had grown up here, and like the mom who had her two young kids back home with a babysitter while driving to the reunion. 

And the reunion itself was a lot of the same — this feeling of bouncing between nametags, bouncing between “I know I knew you,” and “I wish I had known you more” and “I’m so glad we still know each other.”  It’s odd, right?  Because it’s not just about the fact that you spent four years in a school together — it’s about all that stuff in between.  Being from that same town, that same place — and being happy to come back to it, to see what has changed and what has stayed exactly as your memory has preserved it.

So thanks LRHS Class of 90, it was really so much fun.

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Another Candle on the Cake

P celebrated another candle on the birthday cake this week, and my little sous chefs helped get the cake all ready. 

They had mini-meltdowns waiting up for the guest of honor to get home from a late meeting, but cake fixes everything, doesn’t it?

Except for the clean up.

Happy 29th (again), P.  And many more. xo

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