23 March 2009

Spring At Last

The weather gods were on my side this weekend and I spent most of it outside, gardening. After a cold and foggy start, Saturday turned into a gorgeous sunny day. Sunday's weather was a little bit of everything but still nice enough to be outdoors. It was glorious. I had so much fun working my butt off. And the post-workout beer in the sun tasted just wonderful.

Everything is coming back to life. The rhododendrons are packed with buds ready to burst into white, purple, fuchsia, and red flowers. The azalea that didn't flower at all when we moved here and only had five flowers last year, is also loaded. A little love was all it needed. The blue bells are popping up everywhere, even under the apple tree where we added two feet of dirt. The trilliums that I transplanted from the side of the house to the side of the barn have all survived. Little bits of green peeping through the soil wherever I look.

Not just plants are coming back to life. The frogs are singing their hearts out at night in the wetlands behind our woods. If we don't block off the gap underneath the front door, they hop on inside. We had three little frogs in the barn a couple of days ago. The salamanders are waking up as well.


I cleaned up wheelbarrows full of leaves, pine tree branches, and other winter debris. The flowerbeds around the house are looking spiffy again - yard maintenance was included in the rental contract. My herb garden is starting to take shape. And the bird feeders are filled with sunflower seeds and ready for guests. Just not these. I don't care how cute they look together.



This is a new barn, birds! Go poop somewhere else. Filthy creatures.

21 March 2009

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!

17 March 2009

Kiss The Irish

Carla opened the door for us this morning, decked out in green. A green t-shirt and matching hair band with little bobbing hearts, with the words 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' written on them. It is St. Patrick's Day today. The celebration of Ireland's Patron Saint and America's excuse for drinking green beer.

May your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow,
And may trouble avoid you wherever you go.


Happy St. Patrick's Day! Slainte!

16 March 2009

Rainy Monday Musings

I noticed this morning, as I was driving to work through downtown Olympia in the pouring rain, not a single person was using an umbrella. This is in stark contrast to Bilbao where positively everyone whips out an umbrella at the first drop falling from the sky. It must be a hair thing. Olympia is a hippie town, meaning beanie hats galore, year round. Basques are better groomed. They must not like hat hair. Or wet hair.

While pondering this phenomenon, I also realized I have a tendency to move to rainy parts of the world. I wonder why that is. I just really like the color green?

15 March 2009

The Tour - Part II

In every house I have ever lived - whether rented or owned, there have been projects that never got done. Boxes awaiting unpacking, French doors in need of paint, mirrors and light fixtures on the floor instead of hanging properly, etc. While at first it annoyed me that things were unfinished, after some time had gone by I stopped noticing.

The same can be said about the barn. It is not that we have become complacent, it is just that we have gotten used to our surroundings. Until we take a picture. Then it becomes painfully obvious how much still needs to be done. Pretty much everything, really. Hence my reluctance to post pictures of the inside.

But since we were on the subject of potties, I thought I'd continue the tour into the bathroom. This is it. The Luggable Loo. It really is a bucket.


I put quite a bit of research into toilet options, when the date of moving into the barn drew near. It is, after all, a necessity. The idea of frequently dropping my pants in the woods in the middle of winter did not appeal to me. I looked into renting a Honey Bucket (a port-a-potty), buying or even building a compostable toilet, and available camping gear. I loved the Bumper Dumper but it does not appear to be suitable for use indoors. Perhaps one day, when we go camping.

(picture taken from bumperdumper.com)

The advantage of a Luggable Loo is that it is luggable. When it's cold, we lug it next to the stove. When we want privacy, we lug it somewhere else. Almost as good as a bathroom with walls and a heated floor. Almost...

14 March 2009

The Young And The Cunning

Update from the potty training front. We have had one hit so far, to everyone's delight but Lola's. She was SHOCKED. There have been several misses too. You have to be quick when she yells "Poopie!"

Most of the time however, when she stands in front of me, pulling on the snap buttons of her onesie, it's a ploy to get me to take off her clothes and diaper. Once she's naked, she sits down on the potty for a few seconds pretending to strain. Then it's "All done!" and she's off. Good luck getting her dressed again. I am as much in awe of this cleverness as I am annoyed by it.

13 March 2009

Dancing Deer & Other Olympia Wildlife

I miss the deer. More precisely, I miss seeing the deer. It is entirely possible they visit us every day, waltz around the barn, and do cartwheels on the trails. With no windows we will never know. Of course once they start eating our flowers, I will a) know they are still here, and b) wish they would go away. We have plans to plant some vegetables again this year, meaning we will have to build a fence around the patch. If we don't, we will not eat anything we grow.

I miss the birds too. With spring almost here, the birds are coming back to Washington. Last year I had to refill the bird feeders almost every single day. In Holland they tell you to feed the birds only in the winter, and only when there is snow and ice. Here the birds are mostly fed in the summer. From the living room window we would watch the steller's jays argue loudly with the squirrels over who gets to hang out in the feeder the longest. These fights were usually settled by the arrival of Sandman. The squirrels would stuff their cheeks with sunflower seeds and bury them around the yard, resulting in sprouting sunflowers EVERYWHERE.

Wildlife in Olympia is very different from wildlife in Amsterdam. Not just the birds and the squirrels. We have coyotes in our backyard, raccoons, possums (I have yet to see a live one, every possum I encountered so far was roadkill), snakes, mice, and chipmunks. And of course, last year's BIG pussycat, the cougar. Also known as a mountain lion, panther or puma. A VERY BIG pussycat indeed.

She was in our backyard at least once, on a Saturday night. Ryan and a friend were sitting on the back deck when they heard her bone chilling growl. She has since moved on to the forest around the Evergreen State College a little north of us, but not before treeing two students in the woods behind our house. On of them, Paul, is now our renter. While climbing a tree to escape from a cougar isn't exactly a smart move, we thought it fitting he should live on the property he could see from way up high.

Next weekend Lola will be at a slumber/birthday party, and with Ryan at work, I will have the whole Saturday to myself. In honor of the arrival of spring, I am going to spend that day in the garden, rain or shine. No matter how high the pile of dirty laundry or how large the amount of dirty dishes. Nothing is going to deter me.

When Ryan gets home, he can break out the chainsaw and cut down fallen branches and trees. The December snow wrecked quite a bit of havoc in our yard. The plum tree broke into three pieces. It didn't like us pruning it even a little bit last year, so I am sure it will never give us fruit again after this mutilation. And I am going to clean out the lighter debris from the winter storms, tend to the flowerbeds, and lure the birds away from the house and to the barn.

I am SO ready for spring!

11 March 2009

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.

05 March 2009

Desert Delight

Ryan and I are easy to please these days. Running water and a working toilet is really all it takes to make us happy. Throw in the Arizona sun, a saguaro or two, good company, and a few cocktails and we are in Heaven! And there's no blogging in Heaven; too mundane.


Note to mind: never polish your toenails in the presence of a toddler.

03 March 2009

Happy Birthday, Love


Advice from a Tree
By Ilan Shamir

Dear Friend,

Stand tall and proud
Sink your roots deeply into the earth
Reflect the light of a greater source
Think long term
Go out on a limb
Remember your place among all living beings
Embrace with joy the changing seasons
For each yields its own abundance
The energy and birth of spring
The growth and contentment of summer
The wisdom to let go of leaves in the fall
The rest and quiet renewal of winter

Feel the wind and the sun
And delight in their presence
Look up at the moon that shines down upon you
And the mystery of the stars at night
Seek nourishment from the good things in life
Simple pleasures
Earth, fresh air, light

Be content with your natural beauty
Drink plenty of water
Let your limbs sway and dance in the breezes
Be flexible
Remember your roots

Enjoy the view!

01 March 2009

Potty Training


Lola handed me a turd this evening, as she was getting ready for bed. A fresh one, still warm and slightly sticky. I didn't immediately realize what it was when she laid it in my hand. Ryan got it just before I did. We have officially begun potty training, I guess. Please join us on our exciting journey as we learn to aim for the potty, rather than mom's hand.

27 February 2009

It Was Not A Dog

Pam and I were comparing Dutch and American sales tax systems this afternoon. The US have a horrible system where not just every state but every county within every state charges a different tax percentage. And then every city within every county within every state adds a little bit of tax of its own. An online retailer must accommodate this administrative madness. Sales tax is based on where the merchandise is shipped to, not from. The Dutch just charge the same outrageous amount everywhere. Low taxes but enormous hassle versus high taxes but easy collection. We're not sure what we prefer.

Meanwhile, Shelly was outside trying to keep the dogs from charging the biggest coyote she had EVER seen. "Seriously, it was HUGE," she said. It might have even been a wolf. (That's highly unlikely though, since there's only one known pair of gray wolves in Washington and they live on the other side of the state.) When whatever it was realized it had to take on two dogs, though, it decided to take off.

"Didn't you hear me screaming at the top of my lungs?" she asked, panting.

"No, we were engrossed in sales tax talk."

We all went looking for it, camera in hand, but of course it didn't show itself. We did find a large hole under the fence and perhaps a den just outside the property. Never before have I gone looking for wild animals while at work. How cool is that?

26 February 2009

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.

25 February 2009

The Party Sink

It's called a party tub. Ours is bright red, oval shaped, and made of plastic. Its purpose is to be filled with ice and drinks at parties. For us it is a sink. It holds our dirty dishes until we are ready to clean them. And sometimes, like yesterday, it doubles as a wash tub or a bathtub.



Lola has obviously beaten the bug.

24 February 2009

The Bed Bug Bit

Lola was felled by a stomach bug this weekend. It started with loss of appetite - not even strawberries could entice her to eat, followed by the fun diapers, and last but certainly not least, projectile vomiting.

I had heard her cry a little bit after I had put her to bed Sunday night. But while she is by no means a fussy sleeper, it is not unusual for her to protest a little. I therefore didn't think anything of it and ignored it. After a couple of minutes she was quiet and I assumed she had gone to sleep.

Around 11 o'clock she cried again. There was something about it that made me go upstairs. She was still sleeping. But when I moved a stuffed animal to the side I could feel the cold wetness. Then the stench hit me and I turned on the light. My poor shivering baby! She must have been laying in her vomit for a few hours.

Oh, the guilt.

We had been reorganizing the upstairs earlier. It was Lola's first night in her new room. While I changed the sheets on her bed, Ryan held her. He told her about his first night in the barn when he too projectile vomited. On the wall. It was a bonding moment in a smelly sort of way.

For the first time, I felt VERY frustrated by not having warm, running water.