Spring break at Animal House

No toga parties. No secret makeout sessions. No drinking until you're face down on the lawn, and no food fights. It's not THAT Animal House--but it's close. While our friends travel, we're pet sitting. Meet the crew:

This fish is so photogenic and friendly. Mr. Congeniality. Introduce yourself because as you can tell, he's "damn glad to meet you."

What? You can't see our fish in this tank? They're hiding, ashamed of themselves, suffering from low self-esteem since they met the flashy Betas. Now they know they're the nerds of the fish world. They're never going to be cool and popular. They're not Betas, they're Deltas!

This is Benjamin Rabbit. He's the soft-eyed one that all the girls love. Doesn't he look sweet? Do you want to pet him? Of course you do, until you realize he sleeps in his litter box. We've all met guys like this--the ones with dirty secrets.

This is Picky. He doesn't look like a guy you could trust, does he? Your instincts would be right. This photo was taken just as he pooped on Mr. A's bathrobe.

Remember the gelatinous frog spawn? Now we have two tanks of tadpoles--or sperm on steroids, you decide.  They're the bottom-dwellers of Animal House--the scum suckers. 

Petey had a conversion experience over spring break. He's living in an altered state. One minute he was sleeping on the furry rug in his bachelor pad having a sweet dream about his blonde vet. The next minute he's on a road trip, going to see her! What a strange trip it turned out to be. He woke up with a sore spot on his neck, a wet tail, an inability to walk a straight line, and no memory of what had happened.

He's not the man he used to be. He's lost his swagger--and something else too.

Moral of the story: never fall asleep next to a blonde with a scalpel.

April 11, 2007

Down the Abbey Road

We spent the afternoon at a spring festival held at the Abbaye de Villers not far from Waterloo. Built in the 13th century, the abbey is now in ruins, missing walls, portions of the roof, and all the stained glass. Still, large parts of it are intact, and as I walked through the nave and the grounds I was astounded how a sense of the sacred still permeated the place hundreds of years after it was built for the monks. My son and I were both struck by the sense of treading on holy ground.

Flowers blooming in the cracks of the stone wall.

Out of darkness, into the light....Winter is over.

April 9, 2007

(More photos in my Photo Album)

Easter Sunday

I can’t remember the last time Easter was like this: warm, sunny, fragrant, green, and blooming. For once the weather cooperated and delivered the glory the day celebrates.

I woke to my kids coming into my bed, wishing me a happy Easter. At 11 and 9, they’re both big for their ages and yet their hearts are still so tender and eager. Holding my daughter close to me, I flashed back to the days when her diaper used to rustle as she climbed into bed with me, her thumb and forefinger tucked into her mouth, her other hand holding a blankie.

She and her brother bought Easter gifts for us. E-Grrrl gave me a bright red ceramic cup and a bottle of nail polish. Mr. A gave me a set of colored pencils to use on my art projects and a potted narcissus he bought at the flower shop.

There was candy before breakfast and an egg hunt outdoors. Unfortunately, my stomach tied itself into a knot and when it came time to leave for church, I had to stay behind. By mid-afternoon I was feeling better and ventured out into the sunshine for a long walk on my own. I wandered the dirt lanes and wandelings near my home—the acres and acres of forest surrounded by fields that will produce potatoes, wheat, rapeseed, and beets later in the season.

With my camera in hand, I took photo after photo of the wildflowers, inhaling the rich scent of the earth, grateful not to be slogging through mud on the footpaths.

Easter. Resurrection. Eternal life. All things made new.

I turned all those big ideas over in my head as I walked, schussing out what I believe, what I hope for.

When I lost my sister and parents, I found scant comfort from the idea of an afterlife. Did it exist? Did it not? Did it matter?

At the time all that mattered to me was that I was here and they were not. Whether I’d see them again or not was irrelevant to how life felt without them in it. Their life with me in this time and place was over. Period. End of story.

I don’t’ spend a lot of time thinking about heaven and hell. I don’t think of hell as a place at all but tend to agree with a priest who once told me he didn’t think hell existed, that the “wages of sin” were indeed death and that evil souls simply died.

And heaven--I don’t know. Is it a place? A presence? A state of consciousness? A state of being? Another dimension? Does it exist at all? I love C.S. Lewis’s vision of heaven as a “new heaven and a new earth” where all is familiar and yet better than anything experienced before. Walking through woods dotted with wildflowers and blooming trees, I want to believe in the possibility of a fresh and new creation. A world unexplored and yet not hostile, a place shared by many and exploited by none.

While I sometimes question what Jesus’ death means, I never doubt his resurrection. While I struggle to hang onto the idea of eternal life for myself and those I love, I have far less problem believing Jesus did indeed rise from the dead.

So today in the woods on Easter Sunday, I accept all the mysteries of faith and embrace the miracle of the children I gave birth to, the beauty of the forest in full bloom, and the potential of the brown fields rolling out to meet a green horizon and blue skies. Keats said it best: “Beauty is truth, truth is beauty.” It’s all you need to know.

April 8, 2007

© 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.

Wildflowers in the forest

The woods are loaded with wildflowers in the spring. First the pink and white ones dot the forest floor, and then later in April the dreamy purple bluebells will create a fairy-tale landscape.

April 6, 2007

Taking the train

Despite being willing to move my family across the world and live the expat life, I don’t consider myself adventurous. If I’m honest (and let’s be honest here), I can be a bit neurotic about travel.

I may be quick with a joke, a creative thinker, and a whiz at written communications, but I’m seriously handicapped when it comes to reading maps, visualizing spatial relationships, and having a sense of direction. I’m stumped by things that require assembly, I’m bad at jigsaw puzzles, and I have to travel a route many, many times before it imprints on my brain.

Because of this, I have a fear of getting lost. My husband, the human GPS, can create maps in his head based on scant driving experience. He “sees” how all the landmarks and roads in an area relate to a larger whole, has a finely tuned sense of direction, and notices geographical features. Me? I’m the Grrrl who can travel a route every day for a month and still not be able to tell you whether a given street is the first or second right, whether I’m going uphill or down on a certain portion of the trip, or whether I pass the church before or after I pass the bakery.

I can read maps, but I have to work at it and it’s a slow process. When I’m out and about, I have to consciously focus on what I’m seeing and how to get to a place. I have to study my surroundings, repeat a description of it in my head, and sometimes even write it down or take notes to jog my memory so that I can find my way back home or repeat the journey later. I’m excellent at remembering the names of places, streets, and things, and I use words to help me navigate whenever possible.

Still, I do get anxious about traveling to unfamiliar places alone and have to buck myself up a bit with a pep talk to overcome my resistance to visiting new places by myself. Add the language barrier to my interactions in Belgium, and I have another obstacle to overcome. I’m comfortable with mass transit in the Brussels area and do a bit of local driving, but until last week, I hadn’t ever ridden the train to another city by myself. Yes, I also have a fear of getting on the wrong train or getting off at the wrong stop and really getting lost. (I understand if you’re rolling your eyes at this point and calling me a baby. I admit I am one! I salute all of you that have boldly driven and traveled all over Europe solo. You go!)

This week though, I finally got my courage up regarding train travel because I really wanted to visit my friend Di in Antwerp. Her husband Gert kindly read the train schedule for me and recommended some “fast trains” to try based on his experience. On Tuesday morning, I took the bus to the metro station, the metro to the train station, and then found the ticket counter and bought my ticket.

Moments later Di called me on my cell to tell me there was a dispute over train service and a mini-strike going down in Antwerp. Oh no. When the train I was intending to ride was cancelled, I went to the information booth, and didn’t get heartburn when the man there told me the schedule was irregular today, and I should just go stand on platform 5 and get on the next train I see heading to Antwerp. He wasn’t sure when it would arrive. There were announcements being made in Dutch and French but because there were people using JACKHAMMERS on the platform at the time, I couldn’t hear anything. I didn’t dare leave to go to the information booth for fear a train would come while I was gone. Oh, why did this have to happen? I was so looking forward to seeing Di.

Happily a train appeared within 30 minutes. I hopped on it and watched diligently for my stop. Fellow passengers asked me for directions in a variety of languages, and while I regretted I couldn’t help them, I was glad to know I wasn’t the only one who sometimes becomes confused when traveling.

Di met me at the station in Antwerp so I wouldn’t have to ride the tram to her place by myself. As I greeted her with a big hug, I couldn’t help but let out a victorious, “I did it!”

Being a fellow expat, I knew she’d understand the sense of accomplishment that comes with stepping out of your comfort zone and pushing yourself to do something new, even if it’s quite ordinary. And I also know that the next time I ride the train to Antwerp, I’ll be ready to handle the tram all by myself.

April 5, 2007

Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.

There was a certain Grrrl....

Photo by Di Mackey

Who had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very, very  good,

And when she was bad,

She was horrid.

Di managed to capture both sides of the Grrrl today. Behind the smiles, there's a hint of something more--my "naughty" side, she calls it. Why am I blushing? Only Di knows...

Images copyright 2007 Di Mackey Photography. All rights reserved.

There's more of Di's work in my online Photo Album and at her Web site, www.dimackeyphotography.com.

Spring cleaning

OK, the title’s not accurate. I’m not exactly engaged in spring cleaning yet; I’m immersed in organizing at this point. As every domestic goddess knows, you can’t really clean until you declutter. Step by step.

I’ve gone through the kids clothes, discarded or passed on what they don’t need, and have gotten them outfitted for summer. This week I’m going through my own clothes and packing up everything that doesn’t fit me right now. Sigh. I’m trying to look on the bright side: I now have lots of room in my closet and the motivation to walk a bit more and eat a bit less.

Today I tackled the attic storage room, packing up the winter clothes into Rubbermaid containers, and pulling out spring fare. I still have to go through the stacks of children’s artwork that I’ve been piling in there. I’ll also be reacquainting myself with our stash of spare toiletries and office supplies so I don’t keep buying the same things over and over again. And I’ll be peering into the mysterious cardboard boxes, seeing if what’s out of sight and out of mind is worth keeping I already discovered a box of cassette tapes. I don’t even own a cassette player anymore!

My biggest nerdy accomplishment? Over the weekend, I caught up putting photos in photo albums. I even took the time to pull out my travel guide books to make sure I was correctly remembering and spelling the names of places we had visited. Oh it felt good to slide the last photo into place and put the album on the bookshelf.

I still have to do the kids albums. I’m creating a set for each of them using copies of my best photos. I don’t scrapbook the photos, but it still takes time to label them. I find if I leave the albums out on the dining room table and work on them in short increments throughout the week, it seems less overwhelming. Of course that means the table is a mess. Hey, you can’t have everything.

Bit by bit. I may have tortoise-like tendencies but remember: “Slow and steady wins the race.” With a little luck, I’ll get to the spring cleaning by summer. ; )

April 2, 2007

© 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.

Pardon me while I channel Lorelai Gilmore....

Sure, I want to play it cool. I want to pretend that I come from a family that gets news like this on a regular basis. I could act like an entitled WASP and just shrug off the e-mail I got last night with a casual "Of course. No surprise there." But that would be a lie, lie, lie! This is BIG, big enough for me to violate my Must Not Brag on the Blog rule.

What am I talking about?

My niece Anne was accepted at HARVARD!!!!!!

And Williams (the number one liberal arts school in the U.S.), and Carleton, Case-Western, Haverford, Holy Cross, and Macalester.

She received admissions offers from these schools not because her parents have money, not because she attended a top-tier private school, not because her parents or grandparents are graduates, but because she worked her gifted little butt off, challenged herself, and seized every opportunity she could to advance her education inside and outside of the classroom. 

Anne did the work but her parents supported her every step of the way, managing to get her where she needed to be during all her activities, encouraging her to aim high, and pinching pennies at home so that money would be available to fund some of her bigger educational adventures--traveling as a youth "ambassador" to Japan, touring Europe with an orchestra, playing at Carnegie Hall last year, and attending various camps and events.

A talented musician, Anne expects to make her career in scientific research or medicine.

We're proud of Anne not just for what she's accomplished but for who she is, for her humor, her humility, and her well mannered, generous spirit. She has set the standard on so many levels.

Take a bow, Grrrl! We're applauding over here in Belgium!

April 1, 2007

Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.

Friday night again

After rain and clouds and damp, the sun came out just in time to light up the living room and lure Petey the Black Kitten to the window sill. From his perch, he can check out the tadpoles and wonder, "Do they taste like chicken or tuna?"

E and the kiddos are out the door to go bowling with the church youth group. I am not a bowler. Plus driving to Waterloo on the Friday night of a holiday weekend makes me sure I'm gonna die in the car before we get there. If the aggressive drivers don't kill you, the cortisol will trigger a heart attack and finish you off. Go ahead, tell me I'm a baby. Won't. Go. To. Waterloo.

I'm home with the Gin Blossoms' New Miserable Experience and roots that have a date with L'Oreal Preference tonight. I ate jalapeno pretzels for lunch and Doritos for dinner. Y'all , when I wake up tomorrow morning retaining 10 pounds of water and lookin like a slit-eyed pig, don't lecture me about the salt, cause you know it's Friday and the Nutrition Nazis have the day off.

Plus Saturday morning is all about quality time in my bathrobe and my new PJs, which are ALL THAT. The outrageous price tag was worth it just because, my gosh, I feel so CUTE in these PJs. You know, when you're 45, you don't get to use the word cute to describe yourself very often. Carpe diem! Seize the pretty pastel moment!

I have two Netflix flicks waitin on top of the fridge: An Inconvenient Truth and Reality Bites. You know, those film titles could be interchangeable; they're both sayin the same thing even if the movies have very different messages. Maybe I should go for a trifecta and see if there's a movie called "Life's a Bitch and Then You Die."

But you know, life is good, and I'm thinkin when the haircolor is done, maybe I'll get out that pink nail polish and seize another pastel moment.

Have a good weekend!

March 30, 2007

Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.

On our way to Margaritaville

Last Friday was cold and gray in Brussels, but Cindy Lane's apartment was buzzing with conversation and pre-hangover happiness. 

Cindy's from Texas and knows how to mix her drinks and make her parties and Mexican food sizzle. She hosted a pick-your-own-theme party, and I decided on Margaritaville. I dressed in my beachy best, donning a sleeveless dress and flip flops in 38 degree weather, and I brought along my "lost shaker of salt."

Cindy had that 70s thang going on. Y'all should have seen her bell bottoms with the daisy appliques. Of course, she was wearing cute heels. She's no dirty hippie!

At first I was disappointed E had not turned on the flash for this photo, but you know, the bleary-eyed, out-of-focus vibe is just SO Margaritaville.

Good times.

March 29, 2007