The Need To Bead

I have been working for Bello Modo for about ten months now. I should clear up right off the bat I am NOT a jewelry maker. Never have been. I was perfectly safe here. I could work with all the pretty, shiny, yummy beads and still go home with a full paycheck rather than owing the boss money at the end of the month because I spent it all on beads.

Slowly but surely, as I got more familiar with the inventory and the art of jewelry making, an urge to be creative started to build inside. At first I could satisfy it with website work and reorganizing the shop. But soon that was no longer enough. I expanded my activities to include some crafty projects, embellishing a birdhouse and a notebook with some very cool brass pieces.

Then one day, Pam brought back gold, copper, and silver colored heart banded resin donuts. I cannot say exactly what about these beauties I love so much but my need to bead could no longer be contained. Yesterday I made my very first necklace. I added a few large copper resin nuggets and strung it all together with a handful of seed beads. Add a large copper clasp and voila, this is what you get.


Now I am really in trouble...

The Day My World Changed Forever

I cannot recall what the weather was like on the day Lola was born. Yesterday I looked at pictures of my boss' daughter giving birth. It was a beautiful series of a beautiful event. The soon-to-be mother had her eyes closed for the duration of the birth. She probably won't remember what the weather was like either.

I caught myself looking at the clock frequently yesterday, counting the hours until 9:00 PM. That was the hour my water broke two years previous, announcing Lola's arrival. Two years ago at this very moment I was still huffing and puffing away. And counting my way through contractions. I counted for 23 hours straight.

Lola is not yet aware of the significance of her birthday. I am. It is more than the day she was born. For me it is the anniversary of The Day A Mother Was Born. I know in time, when Lola gets older, this day will be all about her. And that is as it should be. But for now, it is very much about me, too.

Happy Birthday, Lolalief. I love you. I am deeply honored, grateful, and blessed to be your mother. And Happy Birth Day, me!

Going With The Flow

Working out makes me feel good and it makes me look better. Nevertheless, I almost always have to push myself to go to the gym. That is not the case with yoga. Yoga is my new crack, along with blogging. I have wanted to take yoga classes for years but never actually got around to it until I was pregnant. And despite my best intentions, I didn't keep it up after Lola's birth. Until late last year.

I didn't want to be one of those New Year's Resolutions People that crowd the gym for a few weeks after January 1, so I started my yoga routine in December. (Coinciding with our move into the barn and the loss of a shower. They have wonderful showers at the gym.) Usually I take two classes a week: Gentle Yoga and Yoga Basics. The first emphasizes relaxation, the second is much more of a work out. Both are great, and I feel thoroughly revived after each class.

Maya, my Monday night yoga teacher was teaching in Hawaii this week (on a side note: what is up with EVERYONE going to Hawaii this year?) and her class was taught by Anne. Anne normally teaches Gentle Yoga on Saturday mornings. I really liked her teaching style. And since I did not have a child this morning, I got up when Ryan left for work and went to the gym to treat myself to Anne's regular class.

Every one of my yoga teachers has her own way of teaching. I love all of them; each fulfills a different need. Anne appears to be a grounded person yet spiritual at the same time. She radiates energy. She said things in class this morning that resonated in me. "Send your dreams into the universe. Give what you seek and receive it tenfold." She told us to take our deepest desires into our hearts and thank the universe as if we had already received them, whatever they were.

I find it interesting that the very second I voice my anger at the universe, I am reminded that all I have to do is ask and I shall receive. It feels like the universe commented on yesterday's post through Anne. If I put out there what it is I need, what I dream about, what I desire, I can make it happen. It is the power of believing that makes us realize our dreams.

I have been pondering the question all morning. What is my deepest desire? What do I really want the universe to give me? What do I NEED? "Money" seems to be the obvious answer, but there is more to it than that. I am going to do some more meditating on the subject and just go with the flow in the meantime. There is lovely spring weather to enjoy. The Farmer's Market is opening this weekend, and there is always yard work to be done.

Balancing Act

In my last Wednesday night yoga class we practiced a new balancing pose. It is called a half moon pose. I did reasonably okay on my right leg, but failed miserably on my left. Or was it the other way around? I don't know what that says about me. Something insightful, I'm sure.

Earlier that day Ryan and I had a fight. A BIG fight. It came out of nowhere. Anger, fear, frustration, and resentment just poured out of both of us without any real cause. It surprised me. Because in spite of our circumstances, we are doing okay. Much better than the year before, I think. I mean that.

But it doesn't take much, evidently, to throw us off balance. We are so absorbed in our survival that we pay too little attention to romance. To doing things as a couple. We work, eat, crash. Our Friday night Date Night isn't much of a date these days. We need to redirect our energy to us. We can only make it through this if we find our balance together.

I am very angry with the universe at times. All I wanted was a family of my own. I do not understand why I have to forsake EVERYTHING else including plumbing, now that I have my wish. I am sure in a few years I will understand the point to this balancing exercise but I fail to see it right now.

I am not too blinded by our life however, to realize we are being looked after. Just after Ryan had left Wednesday morning, and I was left wondering what to do now, the phone rang. It was our Fairy Godmother whom we hadn't spoken to in months. She felt she needed to call us. Talking to her cleared the way to talk to each other.

Today all is right in our world again. Relatively speaking, of course. Still no plumbing. Tonight we will have our Date Night. Lola is spending the night at Carla's allowing us to practice balancing poses together. Or something.

Nelsons Of All Trades

There were some problems with the plumbing up at the house. Water was backing up into the kitchen sink. All efforts to tackle the blockage with aggressive chemicals or more environmentally sound solutions had been unsuccessful. It was time to call a plumber. Unfortunately our preferred plumber, and the only one we could afford, was a) not available this week and b) does not deal with back-up. Can't say I blame him. For that kind of money I wouldn't want to deal with filthy smelly slush either.

No choice but to do it ourselves then. We are not slum lords, after all. Somewhat hesitantly we took on the project of replacing twenty feet of clogged piping from the kitchen sink to the intersection with the septic tank. To be fair; Ryan did the dirty work. By the time I got home to give him a hand, he had already cut out the old pipe and dealt with the black goo that dripped out of it. All that remained was fitting the new PVC pipe.

It went flawless. Even though we both have very little experience with plumbing, we managed to fix the problem in less than an hour. What's more, we fixed it without having a domestic. I am so very proud of us!

After a celebratory beer, we turned into lumberjacks. Again, Ryan had done the hard work. He had downed three trees that had been dead for some time earlier yesterday morning and cut them into pieces. While he chopped them to a size that fits the wood stove, I stacked them in the wheelbarrow. We are now burning homegrown wood.

All this time, I was making chicken tandoori in the crockpot. And thinking of ways to decorate a bird house. We are the most versatile couple I know. In addition to PR & communications and marketing & sales, we plumb, axe, cook, create, etc. Fine catches, both of us. Really, someone should offer us a job!

I Am Lola's Mother

Yesterday, as I was leaving Ralph's, the fancy supermarket where you can also drop off your mail and pay your taxes, I saw a familiar face. It was a little boy with his mother. I realized it was Dawson, one of the other kids that Carla cares for. A very sweet and shy two year old, who just this week started talking to me. Before he merely looked at me from underneath his eyebrows. Lola loves him very much. I had never met his mother, however. She looked at me looking at her child. I doubled back.

"Are you Dawson's mother?", I asked her. She gave me a puzzled look and answered tentatively "Yes."

"I am Lola's mother," I said to her, holding out my hand. We shook hands and smiled at each other.

"Oh, Lola! Dawson loves her. He talks about her all the time. Lola. Lola."

We talked about the kids for a little bit and then we said goodbye. As I was walking to my car, I chuckled. For the first time in my life I had introduced myself by my honorary title, and not my name. But then it hit me: we had ONLY used our titles, we never exchanged names. I have no idea what to call her, other than 'Dawson's mother'. And neither does she. Obviously I must practice my introduction. I have too many names already and do not need another one.

"Hello, my name is Hanneke. I am Lola's mother." Easy enough. I should have no trouble mastering this!

Always Be Prepared For Tea With The Queen

I can stay! When we came home from Arizona my new permanent resident card, also known as the green card although there is nothing green about it, was waiting for me. We have convinced Immigration Services of my good intentions (or they finally realized the US is NOT the place to be at the moment if you're looking for a job) resulting in the removal of the conditions of my residency. It did not go smoothly, though.

Because we had just gotten married when Ryan filed the petition to import me, my initial green card was only valid for two years. Three months before it expired, I had to send in a new petition to have the conditions removed, along with evidence I entered my marriage in good faith. I figured having a child would be the ultimate proof, so except for the hefty check, all I sent USCIS was a copy of Lola's birth certificate.

Not good enough, as it turned out. They wanted proof of residency, too. My name on the deed to the house, the mortgage, the power bill, the phone bill, etc. All things that were already in place when I moved in with Ryan and therefore in his name only. Great. Two of our friends were kind enough to sign an affidavit, testifying Ryan and I are genuinely in love (they have been inside the barn...) and living together. And that was accepted. I am good to go until 2018. Don't know what happens then.

However. For the next nine years I am stuck with an ID that has the Worst Passport Photo Ever on it, taking over first place from my previous Worst Passport Photo Ever. The one that was on my passport AND my driver's license because I had to replace both at the same time when my purse was stolen. The one that was taken in my platinum blond phase. ("Are we talking Marilyn Monroe here?", Chris, my hairdresser, wanted to know when I asked him if he thought I could get away with that color. I miss Chris. So does my hair.) In addition to being white, my hair was very short and the roots were showing. I did not wear make-up and I was in a foul mood because of the theft and it showed.

I have never been so happy to have my passport expire. The official in charge of renewals totally understood. When the new Dutch driver's license was introduced, I jumped at the chance to replace that one too. Again, nothing but understanding at City Hall. "Is that really you? Would you like us to expedite your request?"

This picture is much, MUCH worse. It was taken mid December when we had just moved into the barn. I was still trying to find a shower routine without a shower. My hair was dirty, I was tired, and again, no make-up. I thought all they wanted was to digitally store my fingerprints. Of course they also wanted my picture. What was I thinking? I am sure in nine years time I will receive equal understanding from USCIS about my relief to be able to replace the card. But until then I am going to have to live with the fact I forgot the first rule of passport photos:

Do your make-up and your hair as if you're having tea with the Queen!

It's going to be a long nine years. And no, you cannot see it. I am NOT going to show this picture unless I absolutely have to.

Expat And Anthropologist

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary the definition of expatriate is: to leave one's native country to live elsewhere. That's me. I have left my native Netherlands to live in the United States of America. I am, technically, an expat.

For me however, the word is synonymous with the superficial, arrogant, British banker or stock broker in South East Asia I once saw in a documentary on expats. He lived like a pig. He asked his maid to iron his clothes naked because "that's how she likes it." She didn't look like she liked it. This inhuman being made my skin crawl. And whenever I hear the word expat, he pops into my head. I therefore always refer to myself as The Dutch Girl, never as an expat.

Besides my negative connotation with the word, I don't feel like an expat either. Most likely because I lived in the United States as a child. I went to an American elementary school, an American junior high school, and for a whole year, I was part of an American family. It may not be in my genes, but there is definitely a little bit of American blood flowing through my veins. And when Ryan and I go shopping together, HE is asked the question: "Where are you from?", not me. Okay, that happened ONCE. But it happened, much to his dismay.

Nonetheless, it's time I face the facts. I look at my surroundings through Dutch glasses. (Proving it immediately, I realized upon rereading this post. The correct English expression is through Dutch eyes. The Dutch use the term glasses.) I compare my new country with my old country all the time. Classic expat behavior. Or is it? I am, after all, an anthropologist too, albeit without degree. I guess I am both. When it directly concerns me, my expat-side surfaces. When it's an observation on American culture, the anthropologist in me sets the tone.

For a while now, I have been thinking about the direction in which to take this blog. It is, first and foremost, a way to bring my daily life back to the people that were a direct part of it, not too long ago. And to include my (new) friends and family that live in different time zones. I do not want to change that. But I do not want to turn it into Lola's blog, either. While she is an adventure of olympic proportions, that is not what I meant when I titled my web log. (It is tempting, though. She is such a funny little person at the moment. Very helpful and loving, yet independent and exploring. Learning new words everyday. "Hoppetee" is the word for today. She loves it, repeats it over and over. But I digress. Focus, Hannes!)

Yesterday, I looked into spreading the word about my blog. I submitted it to a few websites for approval. I was asked under which header to file it. So far I have filed it under Family or Life. But online magazine rack Alltop provided the category Expats (where you can now find me). That got me thinking. I have a little extra to bring to the table here and I should make use of it. And since I did not finish my anthropology thesis, Expats it is!

Hanneke N. - Expat and Anthropologist. Cool business card. It really is a shame about that thesis.

Moment Of Clarity

The pills are kicking in! For the first time in a week my head does not feel foggy. I should take advantage of that feeling and clear something up.

Whenever we can't find something in the barn, it is because Lola took it. This is probably true in less than half of the cases. And whenever I am having a bad day, it's because Life In The Barn is getting to me. But I have had the occasional bad day all my life. Everybody does. It is just nice to have circumstances to blame. That doesn't necessarily mean that they are.

Thank you for the virtual hugs, though! It feels good to be loved.

Melodrama

Oddly enough, I felt much better after posting the last entry. I did not even have to resort to actual screaming. Which is a good thing because my head still pounds, though not as hard.

There wasn't really one event in particular that got to me, more a series of tiny little things: headache, sore throat, uncooperative child, bank closed even though it was past nine o'clock and they were not being robbed, too many cold medications to choose from... The usual minor irritations. Nothing to warrant a bout of screaming or running away.

Some days the weight of our situation just seems to be heavier than other days. That's all.

Some Days...

...I just want to scream! Or get in the car and keep driving. Things are NOT going my way today. And my head is pounding due to a severe sinus cold. What's a girl to do?

Take two aspirins and keep breathing. It'll pass. It always does.

Blind Blogging

When I blamed Lola for the missing mouse a few posts back, I was not joking. She really did take the mouse. And killed it. Of course, this was no ordinary mouse. This was a very sophisticated mouse, with matching keyboard missing an H. And one of the ALT keys but that is not as inconvenient. The set is rather expensive to replace. Fortunately we have more than one computer and I have been using Ryan's laptop the past couple of weeks. But all my documents and pictures are on the desktop and it is starting to bother me that I cannot get to them.

Ryan is in Chehalis at the moment, making music with his buddies. I was kind of looking forward to doing a bit of writing and surfing the web while he was gone. After I had put Lola to bed, I settled onto the couch with a cup of tea, only to find Ryan had taken the laptop with him. Shoot! Now what? I was not in the mood for watching television and I have no idea where the books are. I could play with my kumihimo disk but my heart was set on something else. And since I remember the pre-mouse days, I thought I'd give the desktop a whirl.

So far I have managed to fix the internet connection, download the emails that were piling up on a distant mail server, send out a few emails, and empty the memory card of my camera. All with the TAB, the ALT, the ENTER, and the arrow keys. Not bad, huh? Bursting with confidence I decided to go online. That was a bit more challenging. I got stuck on Facebook. Not too key-only friendly. After a few attempts I gave up. There are limits to my determination. I surfed to Olympic Adventures instead.

There is a line in the Brett Favre post that bothers me. I want to change it. According to my self-imposed editing rules, heavy textual editing is only allowed on the day of posting. A post should really be finalized before it is published, but things always look different in print. Even in virtual print. I often find myself doing some tweaking after I publish. Sometimes quite a lot. Once the date changes though, the words are set in stone. Only typos and grammar errors can be corrected. This means I have two and a half hours to edit my post.

However, when I tried to sign in to Blogger, I accidentally changed the language to Arabic. Oops. I did not mean to raise the bar quite that high. It felt like I was stumbling around in the dark. I could not find my way out until I finally realized the web page should be read from right to left. Now that things are back to normal, I can go ahead and make my changes. I wonder if I am also able to upload photo's without a mouse. Hmmmm, let's see...

No.

Go Packers!

Breaking News! Brett Favre is retiring. Again. Let's hope this time things go a little bit more graceful.

In case you are wondering “Brett Who?”, I am talking about football. American football, of course; twenty two overdressed men and a rugby ball. With Ryan being from Wisconsin, our allegiance is to the Green Bay Packers. Wisconsinites, also known as Cheese Heads (just like the Dutch!), really love their Packers. I was THIS close to being one of those wives with a portrait of former Packers quarterback Brett Favre (it is pronounced Farve) hanging above the mantel piece, were it not for two things:

1. Brett retired last year too, and then pulled a Heintje Davids (Dutch singer who kept coming out of retirement). It turned rather ugly when the Packers didn't want him back. Very embarrassing incident in an otherwise very impressive career.

2. I no longer have a mantel piece.

Brett was relocated to the New York Jets in real life and his Packers portrait to the laundry room. He was left behind when we moved. Ryan informed me this morning the renters have relocated him again. He now resides over the stove in the kitchen. Nice and warm, albeit greasy.

To say Americans love sports is an understatement. I wonder sometimes if their love of competitive sports accounts for their competitive nature or if it is the other way around? Either way, it pales in comparison to their love of sports statistics, most of which involve Brett Favre these days. The result of a very long career.

I must admit I love to watch the game, too. (So does Lola. She walks up to the television and tells them off if they're not playing well. I think. I don't understand her but she sounds like she means it. Hand gestures and all.) I understand the basic rules and that helps a lot.

And it's fun to root for a team. I miss watching the speed skating championships in the winter and cheering on the Dutch. Even with Americans in the competition, there is just no interest here. It's not broadcasted on any of the dozens of sports channels. The only occasion I had to root for the Dutch was during last year's European Soccer Championship. Which I did, once I got into the habit of watching early in the morning.

Sunday before last was Super Bowl Sunday. No Packers though, they did not make the play-offs. (But Bruce Springsteen was there for half-time entertainment! I was happy.) The last game of the season was played by the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Arizona Cardinals. With Ryan's parents trading in Wisconsin for Arizona during the winter months, we adopted the Cardinals.

The Steelers won. They are now the Champions of the WORLD. Modesty is a vastly overrated virtue (JKG).

Groundhogs & Other Reliable Forecasters

I guess the Punxsutawney Groundhog, the most famous of groundhogs (no idea why), was right after all. Six more weeks of winter lie ahead of us. It was supposed to be a LITTLE snow mixed in with the rain today. At least, that is what the weather guy told us yesterday. And it was repeated on the radio this morning, on my way to work. You probably don't believe me anymore when I insist snow is rare in Western Washington, do you?


To add insult to injury, now I am sick. Because the continuous sneezing was wearing me out, I decided to make it a short workday today. That was probably a wise decision, considering the amount of snow that was coming down. Slipping and sliding I slowly made my way home. I had to make a little d-tour half way there because my car would not oblige when I wanted to make a right turn onto South Bay Road. Too much snow. Had to make a left turn instead. Or end up in a ditch.

The snow forced me to ignore every single STOP sign on the way. The downhill ones because I simply couldn't stop, the uphill ones because I needed to keep my momentum going. I am getting better at driving in the snow, though. I no longer move like a little old lady. I just keep telling myself to drive at a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. Just pretend you're riding a bicycle through the sand. Let the car find its own way. And that works. I made it home safely.

And now I am going to bed. With a great big box of tissues to keep me company.

Who Am I?

Earlier today I went to the bank to make a deposit into my account. It's a joint account, in the names of Ryan J. and Johanna V. N. Johanna V. N. does not exist. The bank knows this. But our checks and my debit card say so anyway.

All my life I have been Hanneke van H. I was never that crazy about Hanneke but it has been a part of me since birth. My mom loves the name. I was named after my paternal grandmother and things could have been much worse. I could have been called Annie.

The Dutch tradition of giving a child a so-called 'calling name' is unknown here. I find that most Americans do not see how Hanneke has its roots in Johanna, my official name. I am not sure why. It seems obvious to me. And if you have no trouble saying Jack to someone named John, or Dick to Richard, why is Hanneke instead of Johanna so strange?

Another problem is the fact that I have two middle names. The second name rarely makes it because most automated systems only allow for one middle name. Sometimes I can squeeze an M in there, mostly I am Johanna A. Americans don't do initials only like the Dutch. They always write your first name in full. I like that.

Of course, I had to go and make things extra complicated when I got married. I hyphenated my name. I opted for Van H. - N. I should have gone for straight up N. Even remaining Van H. would have been easier than adding N. to my name. And not in front of, like the old days. No, I had to be all emancipated and attach it behind Van H. Johanna A.M. Van H. hyphen N. doesn't fit in ANY computer system.

But the greatest difficulty concerning my name is its pronunciation. Whenever I use my supermarket club card, for example, my name is printed on the receipt. The cashiers have been instructed to thank you for your business using your name.

"Thank you, Mrs..." and then it goes quiet. "How do I pronounce your name? Would you like carry-out service?"

I even changed my name on my resume to Johanna N. - Van H. Just to ensure fear of mispronouncing my name does not scare potential employers off. A thoughtful albeit unsuccessful strategy.

Mostly I go by Hanneke N. these days. And that works fine although quite a few people believe my name is Monica. I tried Johanna N. on for size once, but it didn't fit. I answered the phone with it, hoping it was an invitation for a job interview, and my sister burst out laughing on the other end. Haven't done it since. It just doesn't roll off the tongue right.

I did attempt to change my name. I went to the Social Security Office to request an official change of name. They cannot help me. Because I am a resident, not a citizen, Homeland Security has to okay it first. And since Homeland Security is not even convinced I entered my marriage in good faith - evidently having a child does not count as proof - I am not going to bother with a name change. I am too busy gathering evidence of my legitimacy.

Maybe that's the reason they are requiring additional documentation. I didn't lose Van H. and that caused suspicion. Or perhaps just confusion.

25 Random Facts

I passionately hate chain emails. Especially the ones that promise you your every wish come true if you forward the email to at least seven other people. If you don't, the opposite will happen. Your life is going to suck. Forever. Or something to that extent. I always, without fail, break the chain. Live dangerously! (Maybe that is why I am living the American Nightmare at the moment, rather than the American Dream? Hmmm...)

There is this thing currently going around on Facebook where you write 25 random facts about yourself, tag the people that are somehow connected to those random facts (and have a Facebook-account), and then it's their turn to write 25 random facts about themselves. Someone was just telling me about it earlier this week. And what do you know? I log in to Facebook and I have been tagged. It's my turn.

What do I do now? I really enjoyed Sheila's list of random facts and it seems only fair I also make an effort. But is fairness an issue here? What about my hatred of chain mail? Who do I tag? I was thinking about the following solution. I will make my list, publish it, but perhaps not tag anyone. But that's silly, really. Then it's just a list of random facts. I have my weblog for that.

Oh, what the heck...!

So, aside from despising chain emails, what other random facts can I convey about myself?

1. The only time I came close to having a pen pal was with Mats Wilander's older brother. I can't remember his name, actually I think it might be Ingmar, but my dad dubbed him Pete. Whenever there was tennis on the television, he would ask me: "Heard anything from Pete Wilander lately?" He kept this joke up for years. Long after Mats Wilander's career ended.

2. I am a firm believer in love at first sight and listening to your heart. It doesn't make for an easy path necessarily, but most definitely one worth following.

3. Because Dutch is not really the most un-useful language to be fluent in, globally speaking, I was once determined to learn Gaelic. I even went so far as to purchase the book AND the cassettes for Teach Yourself Gaelic. When I moved to the US, they didn’t make the cut.

4. I am half a thesis shy of a Master’s Degree in Cultural Anthropology. And no, I can’t finish it because the Dutch higher education system has changed and I missed my window of opportunity. I am a wanker. (Two facts for the price of one.)

5. Amsterdam will always be the most beautiful city in the world, but I do not miss it. I really love living the country life. I want to have chickens! Of course, being a mere ten-minute drive from downtown Olympia probably disqualifies us as country folk. But I can pretend.

6. I once sang Battle Hymn of the Republic on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

7. The day of my 40th birthday lasted 25 hours. I met Ryan that year, got married, and conceived Lola. I am not too big a fan of ‘life begins at 40’ because it ignores the previous 39 years, but I cannot dismiss this. My life as I know it began at 40.

8. I can type with ten fingers. Totally self-taught!

9. I fantasize about one day having a great big house with a wrap-around porch and having our entire family come and spend the holidays with us. I would decorate each guest room with its own Christmas tree. Very Martha Stewart.

10. My first car was a 1969 Fiat 500L. Cream colored, very cute. Until my purse was stolen I actually walked around with a picture of my car in my wallet.

11. I fall deeper in love with my daughter every day. She is the most beautiful, cutest, funniest, smartest, sweetest girl I have ever met. There is no one like her. And I am NOT prejudiced.

12. I wish I were a better photographer. More specifically I would like to do more in black & white. But having a digital camera makes me lazy. It’s so easy!

13. I haven’t seen my sister and my nephews since I left for the United States. That is far too long. They have become dudes and she has become an aunt since then. It is so cool be an aunt.

14. One of my best friends and I owe our friendship to Bruce Springsteen.

15. We were also THIS close to becoming Huey Lewis groupies. If that had actually happened, you would NOT be reading about it.

16. I have never been admitted to a hospital in my life. (Knock on wood.) I was not born in one and I did not give birth in one.

17. Last week I succumbed to the pressure of working in a bead store and purchased beads, cord, and a kumihimo disk. This is a dangerous development. It can be very costly to work in a place where you really like the merchandise and get an employee discount, as my co-worker can confirm.

18. I am eleven years, four months, and four days older than my husband. This is only apparent when we talk about music. Whether it’s about my awesome eighties record collection or Ryan lecturing me on the proper way to flip a record. “Honey, I was flipping records when you were sh***in’ your pants.” (This is not my line. This is what Ryan thinks I should have said that time, and I agree.)

19. I prefer driving a car with a stick shift, rather than an automatic. It’s just more fun that way. As long as you’re not stuck in traffic.

20. Occasionally I give in to my inner dork and google myself.

21. The most decadent thing I have ever done was fly from Amsterdam to Miami for the weekend to join three of my American Junior High School friends and celebrate our birthdays in Key West.

22. I would kill for a dishwasher. No, a washing machine. No, plumbing. No, …

23. The way Ryan and I got together is double cliché. We were set up at a wedding. Best thing that ever happened to me. Hands down.

24. To prepare for Life In The Barn, we watched Braveheart. Now those were rough times! I am pretty sure my Gaelic would have been better than Mel Gibson’s, though.

25. I do not count my blessings often enough. And they are plentiful.

Tag! You're it!

The Truth And Nothing But...

When I embarked on my Olympic Adventure, I expected something different. I cannot tell you what exactly but certainly not the situation I currently find myself in. The thing is, we’re broke. Not a little broke, no, Broke with a capital B. I guess Ryan and I felt that after having survived the first year of our life together – with a whirlwind romance, an international wedding, immigration, and a baby – we needed a new challenge.

With me not being able to find a job, our financial situation was not great to begin with. Then Ryan was offered a wonderful job with Siemens Building Technologies and things finally seemed to be going our way, the operative word being ‘seemed’. In this country privacy is a hollow phrase and insurance companies rule the world. On his last day with Comcast while he was briefing his replacement, Ryan received a phone call from Siemens HR in Chicago, telling him there was a problem with his driving record and he was deemed unemployable. “You’ll understand we have to withdraw our offer. Have a nice day.” Seriously, that’s what they said.

As it turns out, two and a half years ago, Ryan was late paying a speeding ticket. They are very straightforward about that sort of thing here; you don’t pay your ticket, they suspend your driver’s license until you do. He has long since paid his ticket but not until three years have passed, is an insurance company willing to insure an employee with a suspended license on his record. Or so Siemens claims. The credit-scoring type points system they use for the hiring of new employees tells Siemens Ryan is unemployable and if the computer says so…

Do I sound bitter? Perhaps a little bit. Where I come from, driving records are not available to employers. Being four weeks late paying a ticket results in a fine, not unemployment. We pulled out everything we had trying to persuade Siemens to put people ahead of policy but to no avail. Policy is policy! And they were so happy to have him on board. We’re talking 10,000 dollar signing bonus, company car, the works.

So, one moment you’re trying to buy more property, the next moment you’re bending over backwards trying to keep the one you have. Since that glorious day in June we have made a few interesting decisions that so far are not really working out too well. Underestimating the difficulty he would encounter finding another job, Ryan pursued his dream. He built a barn in our backyard. He has put everything into it; blood, sweat, tears, and quite a bit of money. We wanted it as a guesthouse at first, or perhaps a rental, but we quickly decided we were going to live in it ourselves and rent out the house.

And that’s what we have been doing since December of last year. Unfortunately, we ran out of money before it was finished. We have no running water (unless you consider a garden hose running from the well running water), no plumbing (we highly recommend Cabela’s Luggable Loo), no downstairs windows (not installed anyway), no insulation, and no stairs. There are a few other things not yet ready but you get the picture, I’m sure. Basically, we’re camping with all our stuff. We try to laugh at ourselves and our situation and not give in to self pity too much. And most of the time we pull it off.


On a positive note: the chimney is fixed and the barn is warm and cozy again. Of course, when we moved back into the barn, the storm had knocked the power out. I kid you not. Life is an adventure indeed!

Daddy's Girl

It was not exactly love at first sight for Ryan and Lola. This father - daughter relationship needed a little time to develop. Both the experts and amateurs assure us this is quite normal. More often than not, squirming and screaming babies do not render men weak in the knees. Now Ryan and I will never agree on just how much Lola cried (not that much) but we do share the opinion that she was - and is - loud. We never had to use a baby monitor. But Lola getting older and the two of them hanging out a lot this summer has greatly improved their relationship. That, and they both like to wrestle.

Interestingly enough, she listens much better to Ryan than to me. She can whine and fuss when we are alone but when she's with Ryan, she is much more pleasant. She'll be playing and having fun until I enter the room - then it's 'Dee, dee, dee!' (she is saying the Dutch word for 'that' but spelled properly it looks like 'die' and I don't want to give the impression she's evil), pointing at whatever it is she wants. And she just won't stop until either Ryan says something or I raise my voice.

Ryan is not so secretively rather proud of this. I am a little confused. Why is this? It's like she saves it all for me. Is it a compliment in disguise, do I baby her too much, is it because I usually feed her? She's always pointing at food. Do I not feed her enough? She's growing well and still at the top of the charts according to her pediatrician.

Carla tells me Dylan is the same. He'll be happy as a clam until his mother comes in, then the fussing starts. This does not comfort me. Lola is not yet two, Dylan is four years old. I am hoping this is a phase that will pass. But two and a half years seems a bit long for a phase.

Fortunately there are experts that write books about this sort of thing to help reduce the constant second-guessing that comes with motherhood. I am currently reading The Happiest Toddler on the Block. I like it so far and its predecessor The Happiest Baby on the Block made sense to me. And of course I have Ryan. Between the two of us we will tackle this. In his case, literally.

If It Ain't Broke...

There is a piece of our chimney pipe that needs replacing. The chimney works just fine but it's crooked and chimneys should be straight, both for technical and aesthetic reasons. In order to do that, we need to let the fire in the wood stove go out completely. However, it's cold in Olympia at the moment and the wood stove is our only source of heat, burning twenty four hours a day. But yesterday morning when we got up, the stove had gone out and we decided to seize the moment.

Now unless we really know what we're doing, Ryan and I should not do manual labor together, it hardly ever goes well. And with our stress levels the way they are, now is an even worse time. But the Dutch IRS had finally seen the light and deposited my 2006 tax return in my account and we were feeling optimistic. So we grabbed the replacement piece, climbed the ladder and started pulling on the chimney pipe.

It did not go well. What started out as a chill Saturday morning ended as a chilly Saturday morning with temperatures and temperaments just above freezing. There was yelling involved (both of us), throwing of wood (by me), thrashing of uncooperative chimney pieces (Ryan), tears (me again), talk of dolphins (Ryan - long story).

Unfortunately, replacement pieces cannot be bought at stores but have to be purchased online. There is shipping time involved. It will take up to a week to fix the chimney. And all that time we cannot use the stove. Our living room is quickly becoming a frozen tundra.

So, after blowing off some steam at the gym and defrosting in their hot tub, we bought a bottle of champagne, packed a bag, and moved into Shelly's house. She's still in Hawaii. Her cat Bubba was excited about having company until he realized we brought our cat Sandman. Bubba has been glaring and growling at him all night but Sandman is pretending not to notice and looks all innocent while he walks around the house as if it's his. He is very comfortable here. I am sure that will change as soon as he realizes he cannot go outside but has to use the litter box...

The Job Hunt

So, what have I been up to the past twenty months or so? Two things mainly; adjusting to being a wife, a mother, and a US resident, and looking for a job. I think I am doing okay at adjusting, but finding a job? Not so much. I cannot get a foot in the door in this town! I must have sent out at least one hundred (100!) job applications, the vast majority for jobs I am actually qualified for, and I have had four (4!) job interviews. Sad, isn't it?

And what's really annoying, is that for the most part, companies don't bother to say "Thanks, but no thanks." I hardly ever hear anything back. Local government is the one exception. They have consistently turned me down, but at least were kind enough to tell me almost every time.

Of course, the economic times are not in my favor. The Governor has called for a hiring-freeze for the State of Washington and the City of Olympia does not appear to be hiring either. Only essential positions are being filled. And like in The Netherlands, communications and marketing positions are not considered essential when money is tight. I should have become a teacher or a nurse.

Instead I have diversified into beading. The beading business is booming in this country and I am happy to be a part of it. I work at Bello Modo, an online store for beads and jewelry-making supplies. We work out of my boss Pam's house – actually, the business has grown out of her basement and is now located in its own separate building on the property – on the other side of Olympia. And while I continue to look for a job that matches my resume a little better, I am enjoying this one in the meantime. Being the organized counterweight for my creative colleagues, I get to reorganize things a little bit, both in the store and on the web. Meanwhile Pam and Shelly, my friend and co-worker, are off to Hawaii to do a show.


I have only done local shows so far because of Lola. Who spends the time that I am working with a wonderful woman named Carla and a four year old named Dylan. 'Dina', she calls him. Sounds like 'dinner'. She loves him. He likes her too, if only she would keep her hands off of his trains!