So wrapping up our tremendous road trip--the last stop back eastwards was Gettysburg, PA. I had been before, but somehow it was even better this time. Maybe it was James's infectious enthusiasm for the intricacies of military history. (That sounds sarcastic, but it wasn't meant that way--I don't think I would have understood how the actual battle worked without him.) Maybe it was the awesome new museum, which opened two years ago and is truly a model of how a modern historical museum should be designed.
Anyway, now we are readying ourselves for the move to DC next weekend. Somehow I have accumulated a tremendous number of scraps of paper over the summer (I think most of them are receipts); this always perplexes me. But the scraps' day of reckoning approaches--need to clean out and get ready to make a streamlined shift to our next location. I am also working on getting my computer fixed--taking it to a repair shop now, fingers crossed, because I am not ready to rush into making the great PC vs. Mac decision this week and would like to prolong my crappy Dell's life.
If anyone does have thoughts on a good laptop, they are always appreciated, however.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Sweeping through the Midwest
Back home in Jersey, finally, and as always, feelings are mixed. Which is a polite way to say they are rather negative. But it'll be nice to do laundry.
Jersey is not, for instance, as nice as Chicago, which always strikes me as a truly American city and has fantastic architecture to boot. And tasty foods. Yum. Then we were off to stay with friends in Madison, Wisconsin and Bloomington, Indiana. With a visit to University of Michigan while we were near Ann Arbor and a hotel room on the Ohio State campus in Columbus, we pretty much did the Big 10 tour.
The verdict is that all those campuses are very large and very pretty and often rather similar-looking. But in a good way.
Notable activities: in Wisconsin we went berry-picking! It was great fun. Also in the vein of rugged DIY-ism, we assisted with the process of making homemade pierogi from scratch, something I have never quite gotten around to doing (though my long experience with eating pierogi made me, I fancy, good management material for the process). Here you can see the finished product, along with some Wisconsin vodka:
And in Indiana, we hit the State Fair--I had never before been to a State Fair, and for all those who have heard the myths, yes, it's true: they really do sell deep-fried butter and Krispy Kreme burgers (a bacon cheeseburger sandwiched between two donuts). It is pure excess and ridiculousness. But, you know, festive.
I also finally finished The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. I am skeptical of its qualifications for the Pulitzer, but it sure was fun.
Jersey is not, for instance, as nice as Chicago, which always strikes me as a truly American city and has fantastic architecture to boot. And tasty foods. Yum. Then we were off to stay with friends in Madison, Wisconsin and Bloomington, Indiana. With a visit to University of Michigan while we were near Ann Arbor and a hotel room on the Ohio State campus in Columbus, we pretty much did the Big 10 tour.
The verdict is that all those campuses are very large and very pretty and often rather similar-looking. But in a good way.
Notable activities: in Wisconsin we went berry-picking! It was great fun. Also in the vein of rugged DIY-ism, we assisted with the process of making homemade pierogi from scratch, something I have never quite gotten around to doing (though my long experience with eating pierogi made me, I fancy, good management material for the process). Here you can see the finished product, along with some Wisconsin vodka:
And in Indiana, we hit the State Fair--I had never before been to a State Fair, and for all those who have heard the myths, yes, it's true: they really do sell deep-fried butter and Krispy Kreme burgers (a bacon cheeseburger sandwiched between two donuts). It is pure excess and ridiculousness. But, you know, festive.
I also finally finished The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. I am skeptical of its qualifications for the Pulitzer, but it sure was fun.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
A border, a journey, and a story
After Toronto, we were off to Michigan, after the Border Crossing From Hell:
Two hours of my life I'll never get back. See the cars stretching wayyyyyyy back? Yeah. That was awful.
But after that, we got to spend time with my great-uncle and great-aunt in Plymouth, MI. It was nice to catch up with them, and on our last morning in town, my great-uncle took out a stash of family photos. I am sort of obsessed with old photos--I love being able to visualize my family's past.
Some of them were the garden-variety smiling portraits of the sort I had seen at my grandfather's house as well--all of them living as displaced persons in London, gussied up in their Sunday best for a day off from the factory, grinning at the camera. Moving on, some got more interesting--a group of Polish women in Kampala, Uganda, my great-grandmother among them, smiling in the tropical setting, even though they were all refugees far from home with little idea of their future. I asked my uncle if he liked Africa, and he told me of course--it was one long summer vacation for the children. He liked shooting birds, and the only danger he remembers were the crocodiles living in Lake Victoria.
But then one picture was really shocking, and my uncle pulled it out last. My Polish relatives have long had a fondness for taking photos with corpses, which I've always found extremely creepy, but I was glad this one was documented. It was a picture at my great-grandfather's funeral, while they were living in a labor camp in Siberia, where they had been sent by the Russian government at the start of World War II. My great-grandmother, my grandmother, three of my great-uncles (one who soon after went to join General Anders to fight and was never heard from again), and a couple friends were gathered around.
And they looked like hell. Their clothes were tattered, they were clearly wearing every piece of clothing they owned to warm up in the Siberian winter, they had no hats so the women wrapped scarves around their heads. My great-grandfather looked the worst of all--perhaps to be expected, as he was dead, but how gaunt he looked! It was sobering.
I wish I had taken a digital photo of that picture because a picture really is worth a thousand words. As in, it's one thing to hear and know in your mind that your grandparents lived a hard life--and it's quite another to have a window into their lowest moment. To see my grandfather and great-uncle old now, giving advice that I roll my eyes at, humoring them--this is my world now, and they are still, in their last days, figuring out how to navigate it, never quite adjusted to the relative ease and plenty their grandchildren take for granted. But what do I know of the things they know?
Two hours of my life I'll never get back. See the cars stretching wayyyyyyy back? Yeah. That was awful.
But after that, we got to spend time with my great-uncle and great-aunt in Plymouth, MI. It was nice to catch up with them, and on our last morning in town, my great-uncle took out a stash of family photos. I am sort of obsessed with old photos--I love being able to visualize my family's past.
Some of them were the garden-variety smiling portraits of the sort I had seen at my grandfather's house as well--all of them living as displaced persons in London, gussied up in their Sunday best for a day off from the factory, grinning at the camera. Moving on, some got more interesting--a group of Polish women in Kampala, Uganda, my great-grandmother among them, smiling in the tropical setting, even though they were all refugees far from home with little idea of their future. I asked my uncle if he liked Africa, and he told me of course--it was one long summer vacation for the children. He liked shooting birds, and the only danger he remembers were the crocodiles living in Lake Victoria.
But then one picture was really shocking, and my uncle pulled it out last. My Polish relatives have long had a fondness for taking photos with corpses, which I've always found extremely creepy, but I was glad this one was documented. It was a picture at my great-grandfather's funeral, while they were living in a labor camp in Siberia, where they had been sent by the Russian government at the start of World War II. My great-grandmother, my grandmother, three of my great-uncles (one who soon after went to join General Anders to fight and was never heard from again), and a couple friends were gathered around.
And they looked like hell. Their clothes were tattered, they were clearly wearing every piece of clothing they owned to warm up in the Siberian winter, they had no hats so the women wrapped scarves around their heads. My great-grandfather looked the worst of all--perhaps to be expected, as he was dead, but how gaunt he looked! It was sobering.
I wish I had taken a digital photo of that picture because a picture really is worth a thousand words. As in, it's one thing to hear and know in your mind that your grandparents lived a hard life--and it's quite another to have a window into their lowest moment. To see my grandfather and great-uncle old now, giving advice that I roll my eyes at, humoring them--this is my world now, and they are still, in their last days, figuring out how to navigate it, never quite adjusted to the relative ease and plenty their grandchildren take for granted. But what do I know of the things they know?
Addendum on Toronto
Something I forgot to mention when extolling the virtues of Toronto... we had the best day ever on the Toronto Islands. Lovely. Much of it is like a big open park, where even we (worst cyclists EVERRRRRR) could ride bikes and explore--and then there are amazing little island communities who went to court to save their little island communities when the city tried to push them out to make a park. Seeing the adorable bungalows with fabulous views, I could see how people wouldn't want to leave.
Here's James exploring one of the little residential enclaves... it's like a secret garden or something:
It was such a fantastic place to chill out--definitely worth half a day on any trip to Toronto.
Here's James exploring one of the little residential enclaves... it's like a secret garden or something:
It was such a fantastic place to chill out--definitely worth half a day on any trip to Toronto.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Ode to Toronto
So I must say--I loved Toronto! It was like New York with a bit less stuff but also, no New Yorkers! (always the worst part of New York) so that was great. I deeply regret only bidding it medium on my A-100 bid list... that just feels ill-judged now.
As we crossed from Quebec into Ontario, it was remarkable to see how much more polite the driving seemed. This was the polite, diffident Canada we'd been waiting for! People actually drive on the right and only go into the left lane to pass! It was amazing--a sight I had never seen in years of driving in the U.S.
We stayed at the Gladstone Hotel, a funky place with art exhibits going on and really unique rooms (each designed by a different artist/designer), in the West Queen West neighborhood, Toronto's art and design district. It was nice to feel like we got to know one area well, and it gave us a totally different sense of the city than we would have gotten staying downtown. Plus, it's a good place to try to pretend to be a hipster, and to view the CN Tower from great, great distances--can you see it way in the back of the photo?
We also ate quite well--the highlight was Canoe Club, which was a fairly extravagant but amazingly delicious meal (I can't believe I had never thought of pairing scallops and pork belly before...).
Now we're in Madison, WI (so we've got some stuff to catch up on along the way), but we did get to see Scott Pilgrim vs. the World the other day, which was filmed and set in Toronto--great fun after our Canada experience, and we were totally down with the Pizza Pizza reference. Also, it was awesome.
As we crossed from Quebec into Ontario, it was remarkable to see how much more polite the driving seemed. This was the polite, diffident Canada we'd been waiting for! People actually drive on the right and only go into the left lane to pass! It was amazing--a sight I had never seen in years of driving in the U.S.
We stayed at the Gladstone Hotel, a funky place with art exhibits going on and really unique rooms (each designed by a different artist/designer), in the West Queen West neighborhood, Toronto's art and design district. It was nice to feel like we got to know one area well, and it gave us a totally different sense of the city than we would have gotten staying downtown. Plus, it's a good place to try to pretend to be a hipster, and to view the CN Tower from great, great distances--can you see it way in the back of the photo?
We also ate quite well--the highlight was Canoe Club, which was a fairly extravagant but amazingly delicious meal (I can't believe I had never thought of pairing scallops and pork belly before...).
Now we're in Madison, WI (so we've got some stuff to catch up on along the way), but we did get to see Scott Pilgrim vs. the World the other day, which was filmed and set in Toronto--great fun after our Canada experience, and we were totally down with the Pizza Pizza reference. Also, it was awesome.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Au Canada
Checking in... I am not a very reliable blogger right now, I suppose. We are having an amazing time on our road trip, and I apologize for leaving any readers behind a few cities ago. So let's catch up.
Quebec City was a bit touristy, but hey, it's beautiful. Here's the money shot of the Chateau Frontenac and the old city, taken from the Citadelle:
I enjoyed each city in Canada progressively more. Maybe that had something to do with going deeper and deeper into blissful vacation mode, but it also may have something to do with the cities becoming less French. You see, Frenchness is something I love in theory--who doesn't want to step into a Renoir painting, complete with plenty of red wine? But in practice, it involves a lot of skinny girls in black glaring at my clothes and salespeople who mock our American accents (and this was frickin' Quebec, not Paris we're talking about). So I felt like we were on a steady upward trajectory to Toronto.
Not that we didn't enjoy Montreal. There is certainly much to appreciate, and we felt we had barely scratched the surface of the place. Of course, we DID try poutine. That's a necessity, right? So I present, for your viewing pleasure, "Poutine: The Photo Essay." (Note: can you tell we've just returned from an Henri Cartier-Bresson exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago?)
The scene: 10pm, Les Banquises, a 24-hour diner rumored to have the best poutine in all of Montreal. The place is buzzing, and the tattooed waitresses mill about, occasionally bothering to take or deliver an order. We order the poutine.
It arrives, a plate of french fries covered in gooey gravy and fresh cheese curds. Um... or yum?
James looks dubious.
And perhaps rightly so. The cheese curds are kind of rubbery, the gravy is super salty, and the fries sag under the weight of it all. James thinks he gets the drunk food appeal; I think that, even drunk, I have better taste. Mozzarella sticks, anyone?
Quebec City was a bit touristy, but hey, it's beautiful. Here's the money shot of the Chateau Frontenac and the old city, taken from the Citadelle:
I enjoyed each city in Canada progressively more. Maybe that had something to do with going deeper and deeper into blissful vacation mode, but it also may have something to do with the cities becoming less French. You see, Frenchness is something I love in theory--who doesn't want to step into a Renoir painting, complete with plenty of red wine? But in practice, it involves a lot of skinny girls in black glaring at my clothes and salespeople who mock our American accents (and this was frickin' Quebec, not Paris we're talking about). So I felt like we were on a steady upward trajectory to Toronto.
Not that we didn't enjoy Montreal. There is certainly much to appreciate, and we felt we had barely scratched the surface of the place. Of course, we DID try poutine. That's a necessity, right? So I present, for your viewing pleasure, "Poutine: The Photo Essay." (Note: can you tell we've just returned from an Henri Cartier-Bresson exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago?)
The scene: 10pm, Les Banquises, a 24-hour diner rumored to have the best poutine in all of Montreal. The place is buzzing, and the tattooed waitresses mill about, occasionally bothering to take or deliver an order. We order the poutine.
It arrives, a plate of french fries covered in gooey gravy and fresh cheese curds. Um... or yum?
James looks dubious.
And perhaps rightly so. The cheese curds are kind of rubbery, the gravy is super salty, and the fries sag under the weight of it all. James thinks he gets the drunk food appeal; I think that, even drunk, I have better taste. Mozzarella sticks, anyone?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Des catastrophes
Wandering again (a little French in honor of our time in Quebec)... I never thought it would be so difficult to provide my address. A good way to look extremely sketchy: when someone asks you your address, go "um..." for several seconds, then start to say something (my old diplomatic pouch address, I think), but at the same time, your husband starts to say something, and he's chosen a different one (my parents in New Jersey). The person concerned gives us very funny looks while we confer, by furtive glances, as to who has chosen the most appropriate address to use for that moment.
And now we don't even know what our potential address will be come September. We were all set for the Oakwood Arlington, in Rosslyn--or so I thought, until I got an email announcing they were overbooked and we'd be shifted to the Crystal City location.
Um, that was when the Katie ball of fury exploded. Crystal City is not a neighborhood, it's a mall with some scattered pods for worker bee-types who put in 16-hour days and don't care where they live. For 10.5 months, that is just not an option for us--especially considering James was majorly not sold on living in NoVA at all. It's a great option for so many people, but we weren't sure it was for us. So we are now in limbo--I refuse to live at Crystal City, Oakwood says they will see what they can do, and I am trying to figure out alternative options in case it doesn't work. All while on vacation. Sweet.
And now we don't even know what our potential address will be come September. We were all set for the Oakwood Arlington, in Rosslyn--or so I thought, until I got an email announcing they were overbooked and we'd be shifted to the Crystal City location.
Um, that was when the Katie ball of fury exploded. Crystal City is not a neighborhood, it's a mall with some scattered pods for worker bee-types who put in 16-hour days and don't care where they live. For 10.5 months, that is just not an option for us--especially considering James was majorly not sold on living in NoVA at all. It's a great option for so many people, but we weren't sure it was for us. So we are now in limbo--I refuse to live at Crystal City, Oakwood says they will see what they can do, and I am trying to figure out alternative options in case it doesn't work. All while on vacation. Sweet.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
O Canada
Hello from Quebec City... we are having a lovely time and practicing our French by reading road signs that make no sense. ("Circulation fluide"... okay, I think I know the literal meaning of the words, but what on earth does that mean in relation to traffic and street signs? We'll never know, perhaps.)
People are very serious about speaking French here--I thought it would be like a cute thing they pull out sometimes, but no, they actually, like, speak French. And only use English if they deem your French inadequate (guilty!) and then don't look so happy about it.
We just had a lovely dinner at Restaurant Le Saint-Amour, where we ate exquisite food served in beautiful style in perhaps the ugliest room I have ever laid eyes upon. Seriously, this place was garish. Also poorly designed for heavy rain, given water started gushing in the back door, flooding one corner of the dining room at some point. But the food was amazing, and we had maybe the nicest waiter ever. A successful first night out in Quebec.
Backing up, Maine was absolutely lovely. And full of lobster, much like my belly by the end of our stay. I definitely hereby endorse the incredible Snow Squall Inn in Wiscasset, if anyone ever goes up yonder.
People are very serious about speaking French here--I thought it would be like a cute thing they pull out sometimes, but no, they actually, like, speak French. And only use English if they deem your French inadequate (guilty!) and then don't look so happy about it.
We just had a lovely dinner at Restaurant Le Saint-Amour, where we ate exquisite food served in beautiful style in perhaps the ugliest room I have ever laid eyes upon. Seriously, this place was garish. Also poorly designed for heavy rain, given water started gushing in the back door, flooding one corner of the dining room at some point. But the food was amazing, and we had maybe the nicest waiter ever. A successful first night out in Quebec.
Backing up, Maine was absolutely lovely. And full of lobster, much like my belly by the end of our stay. I definitely hereby endorse the incredible Snow Squall Inn in Wiscasset, if anyone ever goes up yonder.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Poetic Sundays: Beach Glass
Because we are on the water, an old favorite I first learned to love during summers at the Jersey Shore, before its image was annihilated by an atom bomb of pop culture...
Beach Glass
Amy Clampitt
While you walk the water's edge,
turning over concepts
I can't envision, the honking buoy
serves notice that at any time
the wind may change,
the reef-bell clatters
its treble monotone, deaf as Cassandra
to any note but warning. The ocean,
cumbered by no business more urgent
than keeping open old accounts
that never balanced,
goes on shuffling its millenniums
of quartz, granite, and basalt.
It behaves
toward the permutations of novelty—
driftwood and shipwreck, last night's
beer cans, spilt oil, the coughed-up
residue of plastic—with random
impartiality, playing catch or tag
or touch-last like a terrier,
turning the same thing over and over,
over and over. For the ocean, nothing
is beneath consideration.
The houses
of so many mussels and periwinkles
have been abandoned here, it's hopeless
to know which to salvage. Instead
I keep a lookout for beach glass—
amber of Budweiser, chrysoprase
of Almaden and Gallo, lapis
by way of (no getting around it,
I'm afraid) Phillips'
Milk of Magnesia, with now and then a rare
translucent turquoise or blurred amethyst
of no known origin.
The process
goes on forever: they come from sand,
they go back to gravel,
along with the treasuries
of Murano, the buttressed
astonishments of Chartres,
which even now are readying
for being turned over and over as gravely
and gradually as an intellect
engaged in the hazardous
redefinition of structures
no one has yet looked at.
Beach Glass
Amy Clampitt
While you walk the water's edge,
turning over concepts
I can't envision, the honking buoy
serves notice that at any time
the wind may change,
the reef-bell clatters
its treble monotone, deaf as Cassandra
to any note but warning. The ocean,
cumbered by no business more urgent
than keeping open old accounts
that never balanced,
goes on shuffling its millenniums
of quartz, granite, and basalt.
It behaves
toward the permutations of novelty—
driftwood and shipwreck, last night's
beer cans, spilt oil, the coughed-up
residue of plastic—with random
impartiality, playing catch or tag
or touch-last like a terrier,
turning the same thing over and over,
over and over. For the ocean, nothing
is beneath consideration.
The houses
of so many mussels and periwinkles
have been abandoned here, it's hopeless
to know which to salvage. Instead
I keep a lookout for beach glass—
amber of Budweiser, chrysoprase
of Almaden and Gallo, lapis
by way of (no getting around it,
I'm afraid) Phillips'
Milk of Magnesia, with now and then a rare
translucent turquoise or blurred amethyst
of no known origin.
The process
goes on forever: they come from sand,
they go back to gravel,
along with the treasuries
of Murano, the buttressed
astonishments of Chartres,
which even now are readying
for being turned over and over as gravely
and gradually as an intellect
engaged in the hazardous
redefinition of structures
no one has yet looked at.
Zoom zoom zoom
On our way, don't know where we're going... no, that's not true, I just like that song.
Greetings from Portland, Maine! Our road trip started off strong in Boston this weekend. Though I lived in the Boston metro area for four years, I now go back to Boston and cannot believe I ever lived there. Like, really cannot fathom it and have few sense memories associated with much of anything. Very odd--did I sleep through four years of my life? It's like showing up to a totally new city but randomly knowing your way around already.
My bizarre relationship with Boston aside, we had a great time catching up with friends, eating good food, and drinking good drink. Myers and Chang was a fun restaurant--my Coco-Lime Cooler in a coconut-shaped glass was awesome. And we ate, you know, food, but yay for drinks.
Today we hit the road for Portland, perhaps a tad worse for wear after all our lovely drinks this weekend. This is a cute city, though 90% of activities seem to involve food, which is bad for our waistlines (home leave is a nightmare this way, as we rush to eat everything we've been forced to live without for two years) but quite delicious.
Greetings from Portland, Maine! Our road trip started off strong in Boston this weekend. Though I lived in the Boston metro area for four years, I now go back to Boston and cannot believe I ever lived there. Like, really cannot fathom it and have few sense memories associated with much of anything. Very odd--did I sleep through four years of my life? It's like showing up to a totally new city but randomly knowing your way around already.
My bizarre relationship with Boston aside, we had a great time catching up with friends, eating good food, and drinking good drink. Myers and Chang was a fun restaurant--my Coco-Lime Cooler in a coconut-shaped glass was awesome. And we ate, you know, food, but yay for drinks.
Today we hit the road for Portland, perhaps a tad worse for wear after all our lovely drinks this weekend. This is a cute city, though 90% of activities seem to involve food, which is bad for our waistlines (home leave is a nightmare this way, as we rush to eat everything we've been forced to live without for two years) but quite delicious.
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