Bits and pieces

I wondered if America would feel foreign to me,  but it doesn't. I've loved slipping back into my former life and especially enjoyed spending time with friends in familiar settings, just having the years peel away and not having any sense that we've been separated by time or distance. I know it sounds trite but I have to say it anyway: I feel so blessed by friendship, so rich in relatiionships, so glad to be connected to a community and to a place.

Last week we made some bold moves regarding our future and there are many more decisions to make, but in between the heavy lifting of long-term decision making were many smaller moments that I just cherish:

Visiting the Westmoreland Berry Farm with friends and sharing barbeque sandwiches and ice cream sundaes made with fresh fruit while sitting under a covered patio overlooking acres of fields and orchards.

Watching the kids pick up with their old pals and play with abandon, swimming in the lake, having  "chicken fights," catching fish, enjoying the pool, catching grasshoppers, digging holes, and doing all the things kids do.

Spending two hours sitting on the floor of Border's looking at art and papercraft books, which always seemed to be on the lowest shelves.

Reading two novels back-to-back and starting a third one. (For some reason, I only read novels when I'm on vacation. At home, I normally read non-fiction, blogs, and magazines.)

Watching Tour de France coverage every night on TV, cheering for the Belgians, and preferring the BBC broadcasts to the American ones.

Having bagels and coffee at my favorite bagel shop, enjoying not just the food but the sense of revisiting a place where I spent so many ordinary yet happy moments.

Driving without anxiety.

Looking at houses and imagining a new life.

Having Southern food: turnip greens and ham, hashbrowns, pinto beans, BBQ, sweet potato fries, iced tea, banana pudding, biscuits, cornbread.

Reading my hometown paper.

Finding everything on my shopping list and indulging my passion for paper and art supplies.

Sitting on Rock Grrrl's balcony every morning with a cup of tea.

Discovering that while it is sometimes difficult for all four of us to be in a small apartment, it hasn't been quite as bad as I feared it would be.

Strolling through gigantic malls and shopping districts and realizing that after my initial visit to Target and Michael's Crafts that I was DONE and not really interested in doing more shopping.

Picking up my new glasses, which have progressive lens, and being thrilled that I finally can see at all distances.

Discovering that the Versace frames I splurged on are worth every penny. I love my new glasses so much that I don't want to take them off at bedtime. (And yes, I will post photos. I promise!)

Relishing the way the moist heat of a Virginia summer feels on my joints as well as the blast of cold air that hits me when I step inside a house, store, or restaurant.

Life is good--even if I do miss Petey, my handsome black cat.

July 16, 2007

Resolution

We went for the 40-year old house tucked into an established neighborhood minutes from downtown and the train station. Last night we made an offer and it was accepted, and I was both elated and panicked, hoping we'd made the right decision.

The house sits on three-quarters of an acre and backs up to National Park land, a historic battlefield. We can reach the park by walking right through our woods and have access to miles of paved park road for bike riding and lots of hiking trails.

The house is brick with a walkout basement. It has an amazing fan-shaped deck that wraps from the back to the side of the house. Below the deck is a stone patio with pavers laid out in a circular pattern like our driveway in Belgium. The yard is professionally landscaped with planting terraces and stone walls that lead down to mature woods. E may never have to mow grass again.

Inside the house has a slightly rustic colonial feel. The kitchen has solid wood custom cabinetry that's stained a rich Misson brown, and the countertop and backsplash feature ceramic tiles made and cut by a local potter. Even the cabinet hardware is custom made by an area artist.

The owners are antique collectors, and the fireplace mantel is antique. The stair rail was made from an old communion rail from a church in Manassas. The master bath vanity is an antique sideboard with a custom sink. The house has beautiful hardwood floors, recently renovated bathrooms, and lots of nice touches. There's a skylight in the kitchen, recessed lighting throughout the house, big windows facing the woods, a second fireplace in the family room, a security system , beaded board paneling, and an entire room lined with built-in bookcases. It also has an oak wet bar in the family room, and Di, it has a lovely built in wine rack. Ahem.

On Tuesday we're meeting with the owners to discuss the house's history and the stories behind the antique elements. They're very happy to have a family with children moving in because they raised their children there. Our kids loved this house more than the beautiful nearly new one we viewed, something that pleasantly surprised me.

Buying this house eliminates the uncertainty about where we'll live when we move back to the U.S. in 2008, and it helps us all visualize our future. Each big decision we make relieves some of the tension we've been facing. Now we just have to decide whether to come back in March and relocate the kids in the middle of the school year or wait until next summer, when movers are swamped and international shipping slower. And then there's the matter of whether to return the kiddos to private school or give public school a whirl...We'll see

July 15, 2007

The dilemma

Do we choose the 40-year-old brick house that is rich in character, well maintained, and is nestled into woods on a professionally landscaped lot that backs up to National Park land? The house is full of stained wood and very cozy and the yard is all plants, flowers, trees. No grass.

It has hard wood floors, custom cabinets, kitchen counters with tile hand made by a local craftsman, an incredible deck, and a beautiful stone patio. It has a finished walkout basement with a family room, library, and bedroom. It comes with a 42-inch plasma TV.

What it doesn't have is room for a table in the kitchen, all three bedrooms on one level, or a lot of storage (for Christmas decorations, camping gear, tools, extra dishes, etc).  It only has a one car garage, a problem for E, who is not comfortable parking cars outside. We'd have to rent a storage unit  and downsize, experiment with different furniture arrangements to see what would make the house work, and sacrifice some conveniences. The setting and neighborhood are so fabulous, it almost seems worth it.

The second house is practically new, and it's a classic modern colonial with a two-car garage. Spacious, bright and airy with 9 foot ceilings, a gourmet kitchen (double ovens, cooktop, counter bar, etc), a big breakfast room, an adjoining family room with a wall of transomed windows and gas logs in the fireplace, a full fledged laundry room with a folding table (woo hoo!), a full basement, and four perfectly proportioned bedrooms, and a big jetted tub in the master bath, sinks for both kids in the other upstairs bath.

What's not to love? The setting. The neighborhood is devoid of trees and mature landscaping and when you step into the small backyard you have an unobstructed view of every house's backyard on the street. No trees outside the windows, no place "natural" to rest one's eyes. A perfect house--a crappy lot and a small deck I'd never want to sit on because it feels more like a stage for the neighbors to view than anything else.

So can we suck up the storage and parking issues in the other house and make it work for us in exchange for a gorgeous natural setting or do we go for a house that will meet all our short and long term needs for space, storage, and modern amenities, but will never feed our love of the outdoors?

And did I mention we met with the mortgage guy and the financing might be tricky not because our credit isn't fine but because we won't be occupying the house as our primary residence until next summer? If we say we're going to rent it out, it becomes an "investment property" and probably won't be financed. We already own one home so we have to package this financing as a loan for a second home and it's a bit whack. And of course, we'll have to be making mortgage payments on this house long before we get to be free of our rent payments in Belgium.

Are y'all confused, anxious, excited, and thoroughly undecided? You are? Good. Me too. We're in this together.

July 14, 2007

House hunting

E and I bought our first house when I was 21. We lived in Oklahoma, a place where real estate was cheap, cheap, cheap. In the early 80s we bought a small three-bedroom brick house that was only a few years old, and it cost us all of--wait for it, y'all--$36,000. Some of y'all drive vehicles that cost more than our first house.

In 1990, we moved back to Virginia and were shocked by real estate prices. This time around we bought a bigger house on a bigger lot in a lake community, and that charming Cape Cod cost us all of $139,000. I was a nervous wreck about spending that much money on a house. It seemed extravagant; I couldn't sleep at night.

But oh, how I loved that house--the way the light moved through it, the hardwoods and pine trees that swayed outside the windows, the cozy corners upstairs. Over the years we tore out carpet and put in solid oak floors, we replaced the cheap vinyl in the kitchen,  and we added on a family room with floor to ceiling bookcases and built in cabinets surrounding a fireplace, loads of windows, and pretty French doors.  E built a garden shed in the backyard. Later we completely remodeled the master bath and had a Jacuzzi put in.

When we decided to move to Belgium, we rented the house to a friend, who allowed us to use a closet upstairs to store some of our family heirlooms, and promised to give the house the TLC it deserves. She's done just that and our house is spotless and perfectly maintained.  But as much as we love that house, it's in a poor location relative to schools and E's office. After living close to everything in Belgium, we're no longer willing to embrace the commuter lifestyle and spend hours in transit each day. When we move back, we want to be in a better location, closer to everything.

I found and contacted a realtor in advance of this trip so she could do some legwork before we arrived in the U.S. and target the area we were interested in. On Tuesday we visited a number of homes and were reminded how hard the home buying process is.  We'll be spending a lot more money for a lot less house, and weighing advantages and disadvantages against the house we already own complicates things.

So far in the process, I've been able to visualize myself happy in a number of settings while E has had a harder time.  Tomorrow we hit the road again to step into people's homes and private lives, to witness the places they've loved and raised families. Some folks are retiring, some people are being transferred, some are already gone. Each time we unlock a front door, I know someone's hopes are being raised, that someone is praying we're the right buyer. Some of the homes are immaculate, lovingly tended and decorated, and you just know it's hard for the owners to let them go.  As I look through these houses, the specter of my own beloved house follows me. I feel protective of the homeowners, wanting to reassure them in some way that I understand what these rooms hold for them, what the house means, and that if we buy it, we'll tend the ghosts of their memories with love.

July 13, 2007

How do you react to nekkid people?

I have never been someone who is comfortable in my own skin. While other toddlers or preschoolers shed their clothes with abandon and loved to dash about in the buff before or after a bath, I never did.

When I was a kid I wouldn’t even undress in front of my best friend or her mother. I closed the heating vent when I used the bathroom, eliminating the chance anyone could see me undressed. As a teen I never liked the locker room, even though I participated in sports. I never went skinny dipping with friends at the river or hauled my girlfriends into a dressing room with me at the mall. I kept everything under wraps. Things didn’t change much when I hit adulthood. I never slept in the nude, I didn’t like to see myself naked, and I was even self conscious about it around my husband.

Since moving to Europe where attitudes about nudity are very different, I’ve tried to analyze why I feel and act the way I do. Europeans are not uptight about nudity; they see it as a natural state and not necessarily sexual, a perspective that makes sense to me intellectually. I’ve navigated mixed sex dressing rooms at pools and spas, seen people strip down to their underwear or go topless at the beach, and gotten used to the idea that there are no dressing gowns at the doctor’s office and I’m just going to have sit around mostly naked during medical visits. When I went to a European spa for my birthday, I wore my swimsuit but secretly admired the ease and assurance of those who chose to be naked. Why couldn’t that be me?

Certainly being raised Catholic probably has a lot to do with my modesty. From an early age, it was understood, if not openly communicated, that the body should be covered, that there was shame in being undressed, that it was somehow an invitation to trouble. The restrictions attached to both unmarried AND married sexual expression spilled over into attitudes about nudity. It was hard to shake the idea that being naked and unashamed was somehow a sin.

But there was more to my modesty than that. While I embraced feminism as a teenager, I had a hard time (and continue to have a hard time) with body image. Even as my higher self decries stereotypes and the power of the “beauty myth,” there’s an insecure 15-year-old inside of me that is forever awkward and adolescent regarding body image. It’s not easy to admit that because I want to think I’m too smart to buy into all that crap, but I’m being honest here. (As my friend N so deliciously put it: “I may be shallow, but at least I’m self aware.”)

While I’ve made great strides in accepting myself, I still occasionally battle self-consciousness. When I was younger and very thin, I felt gawky and stork-like. Older and rounder, I sometimes feel matronly and dumpling-like. Most of the time I’m fine with the way I look, but occasionally I find myself recoiling at my faults, real and imagined. The worst part of being smart enough to see how stupid all this is is that I get a dose of guilt along with my Bridget Jones moments of self-judgment.

Certainly those holes in the fabric of my self confidence explain a lot, but if I dig deeper into my psyche, I can see that the issue transcends the sexual shame entrenched in my upbringing and the all pervasive media images of perfectly toned, airbrushed young women. When I’m naked, I feel vulnerable and out of control. Shedding my clothes for me is exposing my tender white underbelly to the world visually AND emotionally. It’s as if uncovering my body also uncovers my soul. I prefer to keep it all concealed in a carefully wrapped package, protected from judgment.

How about you? How comfortable are you in your own skin?

July 10, 2007

Blogger babe gets new glasses

We rolled out of bed at 6 a.m. this morning so we could hit the road early and slide down I-95 for very early dentist appointments. Do we know how to have fun on vacation or what?

E flossed his teeth for the first time in months, I brushed thoroughly, and the kids confessed to feeling queasy about their checkups. Four exams, four cleanings, a few x-rays and $614 later, we exited the dentist's office. It was only 9 a.m. That left us an hour to grab coffee and bagels and read the newspaper before my 10 a.m. eye exam.

I didn't get out of the optometrist's until noon--and we still needed to pick out glasses. We went to the mall so I could hit Lenscrafters because I wanted the instant gratification of same-day optics. This was the moment I'd been waiting for. I've been desperate for new glasses for months, frustrated by all I couldn't see, and entranced by the idea of getting hip new frames. Europeans wear such sleek, modern glasses that I felt dowdy in my classic half-rims.  I was also sick of dealing with the stacks of cheap, ill-fitting drugstore readers that I'd accumulated while waiting to get new glasses.

The Lenscrafter chick understood that while I'm fat and 45, I haven't surrendered all notions of coolness. Y'all know that after a certain age a woman is only as good as her best accessories--which is why middle-aged women love shoes, bags, and glasses.

While I like the idea of bold plastic frames, they just don't work for me. When I put the chunky square ones on, I look like Woody Allen (pervert!). When I put the round ones on, I look like Edith Bunker (doormat!)  I needed to forget plastic frames and find something not quite square because I have a square face, but not quite round, because that screams granny. My new prescription is for bifocals and the lens needed to be big enough to accommodate progressive lenses.

I found a pair of half rims by Adrienne Vitadinni that had a pinkish bronze metal frame on top and lenses with a hint of a cat-eye shape. Subtle and flattering. The second set of frames I favored had a rich purple metal frame and sidepieces and a a slightly angular shape. I loved them. The purple was an unexpected punch of color but not overwhelming, the shape modern without being too edgy, and the rimless bottoms blended into my face. Predictably, these were expensive frames: Versaces. They cost way more than the other ones.

My practical side told me to get the Adrienne Vitadinni's--they would go with everything and not make too much of a statement. But my inner Grrrl loved, loved, loved the flair of the purple Versace's.  That Grrrl kept telling me that every two years I get new glasses and every two years I forego fashionable glasses for the same basic style--conservative, classic frames. It was time for a change--and it was time to quit skimping on something I wear EVERYDAY.

So I ordered strong readers in the Versace's and had the other frames written up for bifocals. At the last minute, I thought, "Hey, why should I only wear my cool purple glasses when I'm home alone doing art or reading a book? This is wrong! Those royal Versace's deserve to be seen!" So I switched my order--getting the "quiet" pair of frames set up as readers and the bolder pair as bifocals.

The readers were ready in an hour, and when I put them on, the first thing I noticed when I looked in the mirrow was that the 100 degree temperatures in Virginia had melted my makeup and it was all caked up in my pores. EWWWWW! Gross! I'd probably been walking around looking like that for hours. I grabbed a napkin and wiped my face off.

Then I admired my new readers and rubbed my hands together dreaming of those Versace's. And yes, you can bet when they come in next week, I'll be posting photos of them peched on a not-so-greasy nose.

July 9, 2007

Rock on, girlfriends

Di bestowed me with a Rockin Girl Blogger badge of recognition, and invited me to recognize five other Rockin Girls in the blogosphere.

Amber at The Believing Soul is intense, spiritual, and a wiscracking smart ass. This is a rare combination. I love that she asks The Big Questions, sorts through the substantial baggage handed down to her by her dysfunctional family, and makes her way through the ups and down of daily life with grace, humor, and more than a little cussing.  She's my Soul Sister.

Wordgirl at Half of the Sky is navigating the transition from stay-at-home mom of three teenage boys to soon-to-be empty nester. A writer with considerable wit, she's also an artist and a former teacher looking for the best way to use her talents. She's wry and sassy and an ardent feminist. She also despises the color pink and will hate the Rockin Girl button.

Mama Tulip at Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket? is riding the rollercoaster of parenting Julia and Oliver while working through grief over her mother's death. Her writing is smooth even when her emotions are raw. She has tremendous comic timing and doesn't sugarcoat her experiences. She also has multiple tattoos, so how could she not be a Rockin Girl Blogger?

Tammie (aka Teebs) at Soul Gardening was one of my first friends in the blogosphere. Tammie is thoughtful and grounded and writes beautifully and honestly about her life and her past. She struggled for years with infertility and now is dealing with the demands of her darling infant son, who has reflux and doesn't sleep. She sorts through her experiences and emotions with a lot of grace. She's also passionate about music and likes to shake her booty at events like Bonnaroo--a real Rockin Girl.

Nance at The Department is going to have mixed feelings about receiving a Rockin Girl Blogger award. She's not a joiner, she's not a girl, she's not into these sorts of things! She'll  mix a dirty martini and figure out how to handle this. Nance is a high school teacher with a passion for literature, creative writing, and politics. She also has a massive crush on Brian Williams and more than a little interest in shoes and fashion. The Department is a gathering place for smart, witty women and a few sharp men.

Now all of y'all Rockin Girls need to pick up your badges here and share the honor with five of your favorite girl bloggers. Rock on!

July 8, 2007

Fourth of July

We spent Fourth of July with my friend Michelle and her family. Michelle and I met under stressful circumstances, when our sons were born and hospitalized in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. We were both dealing with disappointment and anxiety, sleeplessness and hormones, but still we hit it off and discovered we lived in the same neighborhood 20 miles from the hospital.

Since then we’ve navigated parenting, moving, and medical crises and celebrated lots of happy milestones together. Michelle shares my quick wit and naughty sense of humor, and when we’re together, the conversation gets steadily more outrageous and the laughter gets louder and louder. Where most people cut some discussions off with a “Let’s not go there,” Michelle and I always go THERE. We have a way of raising a ruckus and making our mild-mannered conservative husbands a little uncomfortable.

Wednesday night at the fireworks was no exception. The display was especially spectacular, and we were really enjoying it but anticipating the grand finale. A few times there were pauses in the program and then the fireworks would resume with rapid-fire launches.

V: “Faster, faster! Higher, higher!”

A series of colorful rings of light exploded into the air.

V to Michelle: “Look, it’s the Big Oh!”

Michelle: “Even better--multiple Ohs!”

V: “Multiple Ohs! I think I felt the earth move.”

Michelle: “Me too. I think I need a cigarette.”

V: “That was a great finish. I know I'll sleep well tonight.”

*****

This morning I woke up to an e-mail from our friend Bernie. He works in a multinational office with E in Belgium. (E is the only American.) The office members were invited to a Fourth of July celebration and decided to attend.

While attending the party, a Norwegian fellow asked Bernie, an Englishman, the following:

“Do you have Fourth of July in the UK?”

Bernie’s reply: “Of course we do. It’s right between the third and fifth of July.”

July 5, 2007

I came all the way from Brussels to America...

...to discover a Belgian restaurant within walking distance of Rock Grrrl's apartment in Occoquan, Virginia.

Life is full of surprises.

And today is a historic day, y'all. No, I'm not talking about the celebration of American independence, I'm talking about something really important to the world and blogosphere: this is my 500th post! When you see the fireworks tonight, you'll know the U.S. is celebrating a truly momentous occasion. I fully expect the President to send me an e-mail and invite me for dinner. I hope he serves BBQ. : )

July 4, 2007

Home is where your tub is

Today we ventured down I-95 and east toward our old stomping grounds. I had wondered how it would feel when I finally started seeing familiar landmarks. Would I be elated? Wistful? Or would I feel like a foreigner?

As the highway pulled me toward my former home, the overriding feeling I had was that I had never left Virginia. My life in Belgium became a dream I had woken from, and now I was once again back in my old routines. It was as if my mind had pulled a file from a folder called July Day in Virginia and hit replay.

Sure, there were changes, but nothing overly dramatic. When I saw my old house, I wasn’t awash in nostalgia. The kids were startled how “small” the yard seemed, and sad to see they were almost too tall for their old playhouse and too heavy to climb the trees in the front yard. Our tenant, J., had left the keys to the house so we could go inside.

I wandered through the rooms feeling less like I was revisiting my old home and more like I was seeing it for the first time. I kept thinking, “I really like this house,” while admiring various details. J has a different decorating style than I do, and it was interesting to see how she had put the rooms together and made the house her own. It was spotlessly clean and perfectly kept. It looked new.

I was thrilled to be able to use my old washer. It has double the capacity and takes half as much time to wash a load as my Belgian washer. So satisfying to stuff the drum and click it on and see it come to life. I know I’m a weirdo, but really, I so appreciate the convenience of my American appliances now. I wanted to reach out and hug my Kenmore frontloader.

When I stepped out to talk to E, who was working in the yard, he told me that J had said I could use the Jacuzzi if I wanted.

“Really? She really said that?”

“Yeah,” E said, “She’s the one who brought it up.”

I didn’t waste another moment. In a heartbeat I had the water running in the Jacuzzi and was grabbing a towel. When I lived in my house, I practically had a spiritual relationship with the master bath. Y’all, I’m not joking.

I can’t describe how good it felt to slip into that tub, start the jets, and experience the paradox of roiling water creating inner calm.

I don’t know if we’ll ever live in this lovely house again.

I don’t know where my children will go to school when we move back.

I’m not sure what town we’ll live in or what kind of home we’ll be able to afford, but while I’m sitting in the Jacuzzi, none of that matters.

The hum of its motor says “No worries,” and as my muscles unknot, I agree.

July 3, 2007