The Studio

I was sitting at my desk last night, but turned around with my feet up on the backboard of the bed.  My six year old daughter came in excited and jumped on my legs.  She was wearing a pair of earrings that we made together.  The pair she had on tonight were fashionable plastic color stars reusing the string from another pair.  She recently modified the design by wounding up the string around the post because she didn't like dangling ones.  The first pair she ever made was a piece of clay stuck onto the end of empty clip ons.  They didn't last long.  The next were a pair of extra buttons held on by dental floss.

She wanted to tell me about the art studio her mother was going to set up for her in the basement.  She loves doing projects and this way we wouldn't have to worry about the mess.  She told me it had the added benefit of helping to conquer her fear of the basement.  I’m sure the second idea was not her own but like all kids, she has a wonderful ability to make our hopes her own.

With great animation she told me about the papers and paints that would make up this studio and maybe a tent over the whole thing.  I leaned forward and looked right at her and asked if she wanted to know a secret.  She paused and with a serious look she nodded.  I told her I always wanted to be an artist and asked if it would be ok if I could have a studio next to hers. 

Because this was a secret she bounced on my legs as she moved closer.  Yeaaah!! she said.  Then in hushed but excited tones she said she always wanted to be an artist too.  It was like two foreigners from the same country finding each other in a far away land.

We preceded to build up our studios describing in detail the folders we would use, how we could create sculptures, the different paints and pencils, and how we would display things all over the walls.

The Father-Daughter studio continued to take form.  She could sense my genuine excitement as I continued to imagine all the amazing things we would create side by side.  I have always been extremely proud of the pictures and crafts she has done, but now I had elevated her to some world renowned artist in a high ceiling loft in NYC snubbing pretentious collectors from Milan, Berlin, and Tokyo.

I was momentarily distracted from my runaway fantasy as I could see she wanted to tell me something.  Great bring it on, how can we make this magical world even better?  She said her dream was to make one kind of picture.  She wanted all her art to be pictures... pictures of puppies.

I looked at her and smiled... puppies… huh... hmmm... ok then, puppies it is.  I now look forward to the creation of an amazing world of puppies.   God bless her.

Horse Power

A couple fun events for the kids...

Not sure they both met the height requirement and I really wasn't sure they could make it around the whole track, but they did great. There must just be some instinct in each of us to drive fast followed by one to violently smash into the person in front of us...

Brave New Girl

This was all her idea...

First she ties the string to her tooth and the doorknob, and then slams the door shut.

She presents the result to her brother for inspection....

Complete success!! This is one brave girl.

Here are a few movies ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dx0K0wSPTfM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-BMoy1OXTo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0xxOv58ky8

The “MUST DO” List When Visiting the Balkans

1) Buy car insurance from a guy that insists you have at least one beer before leaving his office.

2) Do a number two in a well established outhouse on a 100+ degree day.

3) Ration water like you live on Mars.

4) Harvest potatoes with a pitchfork until you can’t stand up straight.

5) Drink a three sip espresso at an outdoor café as Mussolini-era Fiats billow smoke out as they pass.

6) Eat watermelon you pick yourself and that is freshly chilled in a nearby underground stream feed river.

7) Pass high speed oncoming traffic on a single lane country road, without closing your eyes.

8) Breathe the crisp blowing air on a plateau situated high up somewhere in the Black Mountains.

9) Enjoy field corn that has exploded after being boiled for four hours.

10) Visit an outdoor market and buy authentic designer T-shirts from Albanians that has the word Alabama proudly displayed on it.

11) Curse traffic using three languages in as short of a sentence as grammatically possible.

12) Attend a beauty contest where all the contestants are wearing layered heavy wool traditional dress on hot sunny day.

13) Cut thorn weeds with a sickle, gather them up and set them ablaze at nightfall. Now sit back and recall the first time you read Lord of the Flies.

14) Have boiled cheese as your side dish to your main course of bread and cheese.

15) Discover that “white meat” is not the red part of a slab of pork belly.

For Sale

We went for a walk yesterday. We started later in the morning than we should have given the heat, but typical for when trying to plan something around here, even something as simple as a group walk.

We took the road upward this time, our destination the cemetery. Today we passed a man sitting on an incline along the side of the road. He was sitting in front of two medium sized containers with a large rock on each to hold the lids down. The man was old, skin darkened from a generation of working the fields. He was rather thin with deep groves cut into his face. His cloths were sturdy but worn and faded, almost a workers uniform.

Gjulia looked at him with interest. She does this with many things new to her, but this man held special interest. As we continued our walk, I got the sense she wanted to ask or say something. I looked down and she said, “That man is very poor isn’t he?” He certainly looked very poor to me, but I wondered what in particular made her deduce this. I asked her what made her think the man was so poor. Without hesitation she replied, “Because all he had for sale were rocks.”

Perfect Day

It’s 12:50am and I’m lying in bed with Noah while he tells me a story about how he once slept through the whole day. As he tells me this story, I drift off into thought about all the nights I have put him to bed. Of course it was always about 4-5 hours earlier than this, but tonight that just doesn’t matter. In fact, very little matters. I’m here with my son, in the house where I was born in the hills of nowhere. The unscreened windows are open, the night air is cool and there are least five species of crickets vying for first chair. I hug him close while he speaks in an endless stream of words. He pauses mid sentence and says, “Papa, can you please stop holding me, you’re making me kinda hot?” I couldn’t help but smile from the simplicity of his sincerity. There are not many perfect days in life, but this is one of them.

Do Not Disturb

I wish I could put into words this idea I have here about the different sense of privacy they have over here. I’ve tried to make a little impact as possible but invariably I couldn’t help but spread out all over. After returning yesterday, I found everything folded neatly and put into various drawers. This required them to go through pretty much everything I own. I’m sure it never entered their mind that I would feel a loss of privacy, nor should it.

Today I was in my room trying to write something on my laptop. First one child enters and gently disturbs the peace. Then another followed by a third and so on until the entire regiment of kids are abuzz with activity all around me. The sense of spontaneous life in this room if a true gift and isn’t easily found or created.

The kids of course lost interest in me so I slipped out and headed for my uncles bedroom which is right in the middle of the house, door always open. I only hesitated for a moment before entering reflecting on why I now hesitate. I sit down on the bed and from this vantage point, can monitor all the activity of the house. I understand the lack of privacy here both on the practical and emotional level. What is given up here is exchanged for a sense of belonging that can only be felt and not described, at least not by me.

Those of us in the west greedily guard our privacy. The cost is a sense of belonging that resonates at the core. While maintaining this high level of privacy, we frantically search for that missing something, but unwilling to pay the seemingly heavy price to obtain it. As the generations pile on top of the bones of the past, we don't even know what it is we are missing. As humans we were meant to be in commune with one another, and at many different degrees.

I'm not sure how to give thanks for being given the opportunity to gain a glimpse of this lost time from the vantage point of the future. We won’t be living in this form of purgatory long enough to develop the rituals needed from which to provide a sense of comfort… whatever the heck all that means.

3 out of 8, don’t play these odds in Vegas

Morning One.

Looks like only 3 out of our 8 bags made it. The only one I actually cared about did not. I took out some of the kids clothes from their carry on to make room for some toys and plane activities, unfortunately I didn’t plan as well as I should have for the real possibility of a missing luggage. I didn’t leave a pair of sandals for Noah that I meant to so now he only has some regular shoes to wear around the house.

In many ways it feels and seems exactly like it did three years ago. Nobody seems different or older except for the kids, but even in them the personalities are the same.

Later…

We went back to the airport to check on the remaining bags. The airport is actually pretty nice and seemly very organized. Of course this doesn’t help our cause as we still have to ask where to go. We are pointed to an area that says Authorized Personal Only. As we approached the entrance, Vaseli keeps going much to my surprise. Some younger looking guy says something which sounded like an annoyed version of “Can’t you see the sign?”. Presumably he tells the guy that I’m looking for lost baggage. He then signals me to go through the door. Now I’m confused but head through the door nevertheless. I find three of five missing bags, luckily the only one I care about is among them.

These three bags are pretty large and I look towards the front entrance to size the customer service factor. I quickly determine that we’re just not there yet and I’m on my own. We’ll need a few more decades between us and the communist experiment formally known as Yugoslavia.

I precariously stack one bag on top of another and drag them away. To my surprise the young guy that was supposedly in charge said he would take one of the bags for me. As we headed out the smile on my face again turned to confusion as he is quickly heading to an area in the opposite direction of where we were we came from. As I looked back, I saw on Vaseli’s face the expression of a man that just heard a surprise verdict.

I went into this hallway where there was an older looking guy in a uniform sitting at a small table, legs crossed, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. I couldn’t make it out exactly, but two fuzzy words started to come into focus. The first was “Interrogation”, the next was “Turkish”. A woman in a similar uniform appeared out of a side room with a stream of words I had no chance of deciphering. Usually I’m more prepared with a slightly more respectful reply, but in this case I just gave a random response in English almost like a Rorschach experiment.

What followed was a string of circler questions leading to the same destination, “How much do you want to pay to get out of this torture chamber” or so I imagined. Luckily for me I once went through a real communist border interrogation during my first visit here. This uniformed refugee of the past, even with his costume and slanted looks didn’t really intimidate me. After playing the part of a dumb tourist, I think he grew tired and told the woman to have me open up one of the bags. I give the “Like I Care” look in return. Looking a different direction, he picks the suitcase in the middle which also happens to be the medium sized one.

The woman asks me to open it up and I gladly oblige. It opens up revealing a whole lot of very boring looking cloths. The old commandant in charge quickly loses interest… nothing to play with here. The woman barely lifts a few items as asks almost apologetically to please close it up. To my surprise she strikes up a conversation after I tell her the important suitcase is the larger one they didn’t pick because it has some of my kids clothes in it. With an actual smile on her face, she says she is surprised I’m old enough to have kids. At first I’m not sure if I should take the bait, but I figure why not. I tell her she has my passport in her hands so she can see for herself.

I then made the mistake of saying that in fact it’s my birthday in a few days. This is true, but not technically speaking, meaning it’s not what is reported in my passport . Luckily I don’t have to explain the details of this and I leave saying “Hvala”, hesitating a bit first, of course, the woman delighted with my attempt.

On Our Way

We are waiting here at Frankfurt … seven hour layover. This terminal is really spread out. Since we are doing a transfer there is no central area, just lots of gates, few seats and less to do. There is virtually no information on the little airline known as Montenegro Airlines and with one flight a day, it basically doesn’t exist here.

I can’t say I’m excited about going… in many ways it’s just one of the infinite things I’m meant to do. However there is this sense of peace about going there and I am looking forward to it.

Later….

Got my first taste of the “Balkan” way. It’s that mix of frustration, annoyance and awe. Every culture has its own version; some probably even have names for it. When I see people not cueing up properly, or talking too loud or any other of the annoying habits, I think, I’ve arrived, time to see how to make lemonade out of these sour lemons.

We are stuck on the plane, first waiting for late passengers, then after missing our take off slot, delayed another hour sitting on the tarmac. It was very hot, very cramped, two cranky kids, everyone speaking all forms of Babylonian. Its not quite like being in the third world, but I think its as close as you can get on a modern aircraft.

One woman came in very late, saying Sh@#%t this and Sh@#%t that all the way down the aisle. Then she finished up with a Mo%$# Fu@#%en. Ending in an “EN” makes it classic. She is no longer at her seat, not sure what that means, but we got people walking around with babies, kids going up and down, some infant screaming all the way to the back, right next to me and some big guy that surprisingly slept through it. I’m just waiting for the old lady with the caged rooster to walk down the aisle, all four beady eyes staring at me.

Six Planes for a Good Cup of Coffee

Everyone knows how much I like a good cup of coffee. So I set out in search of it. Detroit to New York to Madrid to Milano, then two hours down to Modeno.

The drive down from Milano was quick as a "professional" was at the wheel. He spoke nearly no English but had my Italian beat by about 100 words. I tried playing the "How do you say 'X' in Italiano?" The game didn't go over so well, as I just couldn't seem to get the idea across that I was asking him to help me learn some words. The only exception was the word "rain" and I have already forgotten how to say it because of sheer exhaustion from the previous failures. On the way back I had the same driver, we both decided it was best I investigate the landscape in detail.

I stayed in a very nice hotel next to downtown. The elevator said it would hold four personne but I'm glad I was the only one ever in it. The room was one of the smallest I've ever stayed in but it was just my size.

In the narrow back wall behind long, dense curtains, was a balcony door that opened to the full width of the room. The room was stuffy as none of the power is activated until you put your room key into an interior slot. Such a sensible requirement, like only passing on the left.

My bathroom surprised me with its relative opulent size. It certainly wasn't large, but again just my size. I was immediately intrigued by the two toilet like objects. One was certainly a traditional toilet although square and rather squat sans the back tank part. The other was a boday, I'd seen then before but not in a while. I turned the water on for a bit and tried to image what I would with it. Not sure why I thought someone would rush in and catch me playing with it, but quickly turned it off and pretended never to notice it again.

Then there was the long cord with red tab that was in my shower as well as some public bathrooms. My first instinct of course was to pull it to see what it did. But then I had this image of me in the shower with a shocked look on my face as four emergency crew members bust down the door.

I did some walking around after freshening up. It as a beautifully Italian town; twisty streets, hidden courtyards, little cafes, people riding bikes, old men sipping coffee and elaborate architecture from at least a million years ago.

It took me some time to finally decide to sit down somewhere. I guess because I grew up in a foreign speaking family, I have never been comfortable not knowing the language. After pretending to look around, I asked someone young looking for a coffee and water. They had to look towards this older woman who had to ask again what I wanted. This is the time I so prayed I could just play the part of accidental tourist.

The chair I sat in wobbled on the cobblestone, my ashtray was full of someone elses butts and abandoned gum. My coffee was great, all three tiny sips. After the required minimum sitting time and number of nods at the statues in the plaza were both reached, I decided to leave. I forgot to research the etiquette of tipping so I decided to leave none. I figured I'd rather be a nasty American then a dumb one. As it turned out I ended up being only a nervous looking one.

I went to a traditional family restaurant for dinner. Seven tables, one sitting. The owner immediately brought our a few mini breaded deep fried meatballs, he tells us its his grandmothers recipe. There could have been anything inside, even the missing apron string.

He then brought out what they called a scampi, but it looked like a crayfish playing the part of a mini lobster. It must have been doubly hard for it to appear dignified as it was sticking half way out of a glass filled with asparagus puree. After I ate the sliver of meat off its tail, I set it aside on a separate plate tucking in its mini-me claws in so it appeared to be angry. Hey at least I ate your tail, looks like your buddy at the other table was simply set aside as a garnish, I thought.

The main course was a huge section, not slice, of a local cow. It was mostly raw, no processing, no seasoning, lots of fat. A phase from the Old Testament kept coming to my mind "an aroma pleasing to the Lord". A salt mixture on the side was its only companion. I'll be digesting this meat until at least the Republicans get back into office.

The highlight however was what the owner called pre-dessert. It was a small dollop of ice cream with parmesan cheese and a dripping of very thick balsamic vinegar. Any other place and you would have thought "hmmm nice, a little ice cream with white chocolate flakes and syrup". Now I have to admit, I'll try anything and pretend to like it. And by pretend I mean to rely on my super power to genuinely not care that I don't really love to not, not like something. Its a gift I'm particularly thankful for and normally comes in handy. I did not call on it in this case.

This dish was truly amazing. I didn't specifically want to love it, but I did. This wasn't the "want this everyday" kind of love, but rather the "I love this moment" type. The parmesan taste was not an accent flavor but instead the primary one. The owner cleared this up by saying that when he made the geleto, after the cream boils he adds equal parts parmesan as cream. I was going to stand up, put my fingers to my lips and yell "Magnifisento!!" but just couldn't muster up the courage.

It was a good trip. I've always enjoyed discovering the various cultural flavors of the world, I only wish I had more opportunity.

One thing I noticed a few times on this trip is that the Italians, and I think this is true for most of the southern Europeans, is that if anyone even asks them for directions they will not only go out of their way to help but they will also walk you over to where you are going. In fact, once I saw two gentlemen come out of a business to help and then after arguing a bit, they both walked this guy down and around the corner and watched him until he walked out of sight.

Sign of the Times

In a Tokyo bar:

Special coctails for the ladies with nuts.

Detour sign in Kyushi, Japan:

Stop: Drive sideways.

In a Bucharest hotel lobby:

The lift is being fixed for the next day. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable.

In a Rhodes tailor shop:

Order your summers suit. Because is big rush we will execute customers in strict rotation.

In a Rome laundry:

Ladies, leave you clothes here and spend the afternoon having a good time.

In a Leipzig elevator:

Do not enter the lift backwards, an only when lit up.

On the faucet in a Finnish washroom:

To stop the drip, turn cock to right.

In a Belgrade hotel elevator:

To move the cabin, push button for wishing floor. If the cabin should enter more persons, each one should press a number of wishing floor. Driving is then going alphabetically by national order.

In a Paris hotel elevator:

Please leave your values at the front desk.

In a hotel in Athens:

Visitors are expected to complain at the office between the hours of 9 and 11 A.M. daily.

In a Yugoslavian hotel:

The flattening of underwear with pleasure is the job of the chambermaid.

In a Japanese hotel:

You are invited to take advantage of the chambermaid.

In the lobby of a Moscow hotel across from a Russian Orthodox monastery:

You are welcome to visit the cemetery where famous Russian and Soviet composers, artists and writers are buried daily except Thursday.

In an Austrian hotel catering to skiers:

Not to perambulate the corridors in the hours of repose in the boots of ascension.

On the menu of a Swiss restaurant:

Our wines leave you nothing to hope for.

On the menu of a Polish Hotel:

Salad a firm’s own make; limpid red beet soup with cheesy dumplings in the form of a finger; roasted duck let loose; beef rashers beaten up in the country people’s fashion.

Outside a Hong Kong tailor shop:

Ladies may have a fit upstairs.

In a Bangkok dry cleaner’s:

Drop your trousers here for best results.

Outside a Paris dress shop:

Dresses for street walking.

From the Soviet Weekly:

There will be a Moscow Exhibition of Arts by 15, 000 Soviet Republic painters and sculptors. These were executed over the past two years.

A sign posted in Germany’s Black Forest:

It is strictly forbidden on our black forest camping site that people of different sex, for instance, men and women, live together in one tent unless they are married with each other for that purpose.

In a Zurich hotel:

Because of the impropriety of entertaining guests of the opposite sex in the bedroom, it is suggested that the lobby be used for this purpose.

In an advertisement by a Hong Kong dentist:

Teeth extracted by the latest Methodists.

In a Czechoslovakian tourist agency:

Take one of our horse-driven city tours – we guarantee no miscarriages.

Advertisement for donkey rides in Thailand:

Would you like to ride on your own ass?

In a Swiss mountain inn:

Special today – no ice cream.

In a Bangkok temple:

It is forbidden to enter a woman even a foreigner if dressed as a man.

In a Copenhagen airline ticket office:

We take your bags and sent them in all directions.

On the door of a Moscow hotel room:

If this is your first visit to the USSR, you are welcome to it.

In a Norwegian cocktail lounge:

Ladies are requested not to have children in the bar.

In the office of a Roman doctor:

Specialist in women and other diseases.

In an Acapulco hotel:

The manager has personally passed all the water served here.

In a Tokyo shop:

Our nylons cost more than common, but you’ll find they are best in the long run.

From a Japanese information booklet about using a hotel air conditioner:

Cooles and Heates: If you want just condition of warm in your room, please control yourself.

From a brochure of a car rental firm in Tokyo:

When passenger of foot heave in sight, tootle the horn. Trumpet him melodiously at first, but if he still obstacles your passage then tootle him with vigor.

Two signs from a Majorcan shop entrance:

-English well talking.

-Here speeching American

In a Hong Kong supermarket:

For your convenience, we recommend courteous, efficient self-service.

In an East African newspaper:

A new swimming pool is rapidly taking shape since the contractors have thown in the bulk of their workers.

In a Vienna hotel:

In case of firee, do your utmost to alarm the hotel porter.

A translated sentence from a Russian chess book:

A lot of water has been passed under the bridge since this variation has been played.

In the window of a Swedish furrier:

Fur coats made for ladies from their own skin.

On the box of a clockwork toy made in Hongkong:

Guaranteed to work throughout its useful life.

In a Tokyo Hotel:

Is forbitten to steal hotel towels please. If you are not person to do such thing is please not to read notis.