tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84305562556952792422024-03-14T06:02:56.584-04:00Walden StreetOccasional Local Coverage, Live From New England.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-44345494530598523352011-03-02T22:53:00.000-05:002011-03-02T22:53:08.546-05:00There and Back Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRgeuZciyaEM8qYPYgqvVkpOaenP7xPR50K1h8vBQENlZSo1oy8eu0YtOAm57YkcwNr2rX76CiDdu0grxsjWsE8v2ZW2Lu-pjDX-CHilVAiX5HexWR_mAd0_VfmCkvYIRUTbItxzuaj49/s1600/flower1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRgeuZciyaEM8qYPYgqvVkpOaenP7xPR50K1h8vBQENlZSo1oy8eu0YtOAm57YkcwNr2rX76CiDdu0grxsjWsE8v2ZW2Lu-pjDX-CHilVAiX5HexWR_mAd0_VfmCkvYIRUTbItxzuaj49/s400/flower1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>In late January, Stephen and I took a short trip to Washington, DC. I was already planning to go for a three-day conference during the week, so Stephen decided to fly down to meet me on Friday night and stay for the weekend. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBoyt6tDWg04L_Mn4Jx-bRO_DywfcsagQsbyDx41ljsAk4U9RwWfAnAHPh5OT4JCB4Zpnhpyv5CEv9x5fqzlosjfE5MzQfVHYukmBdvQhMHgpIDMaEorHq6yw3R9cSF3xTjKLjqxGehj0a/s1600/ceiling1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBoyt6tDWg04L_Mn4Jx-bRO_DywfcsagQsbyDx41ljsAk4U9RwWfAnAHPh5OT4JCB4Zpnhpyv5CEv9x5fqzlosjfE5MzQfVHYukmBdvQhMHgpIDMaEorHq6yw3R9cSF3xTjKLjqxGehj0a/s400/ceiling1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
In past years, we've often visited the DC area in March, when Boston is still snow-encrusted and dreary but the first flowers are popping up in mid-Atlantic yards. It always cheers me up and gives me hope that spring truly <i>will </i>come again.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FF2WL7iWNhY7_LYJlRdu5IU0sm6kay4BAi30VRQwBo8l0c_cCbRX9SqDi834vweOfmTJ3L5NgJxsk51fdPILRcLM1_0dC65iJdCmM9ebWQmB6PoiEAxjGBoDhuHrqJ04YtnGVThfI6Xa/s1600/cactus1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FF2WL7iWNhY7_LYJlRdu5IU0sm6kay4BAi30VRQwBo8l0c_cCbRX9SqDi834vweOfmTJ3L5NgJxsk51fdPILRcLM1_0dC65iJdCmM9ebWQmB6PoiEAxjGBoDhuHrqJ04YtnGVThfI6Xa/s400/cactus1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
But this time we found ourselves there in the deep cold of midwinter, so we had to find our flowers and greenery indoors at the <a href="http://www.usbg.gov/">Botanic Garden</a>. It was warm and misty inside, and even the relatively cool and dry desert room full of succulents and cacti was a welcome break from the blustery weather outdoors.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzPcGRiDI7AmOklJQ7wzDwQYmq23DJSHlckx7he9t2Qcej0LQAOpAJFr4FXa2E-6XFbz21jOg-IyAEPyStatJ7FY0-c8cD_amWq2iekeP06nSCcLMgjdUlwli-meBuYzFou4-doEAblU1/s1600/orchids2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguzPcGRiDI7AmOklJQ7wzDwQYmq23DJSHlckx7he9t2Qcej0LQAOpAJFr4FXa2E-6XFbz21jOg-IyAEPyStatJ7FY0-c8cD_amWq2iekeP06nSCcLMgjdUlwli-meBuYzFou4-doEAblU1/s400/orchids2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Looking at these (slightly blurry) pictures reminds me that the <a href="http://www.smith.edu/garden/Home/events.html">spring bulb show</a> at Smith opens this weekend. We went last year and it was <i>packed. </i>The crowd was literally shoulder-to-shoulder, and we had trouble getting to the exit when the exhibit closed because there were so many people lingering in front of us. We New Englanders are starved for signs of spring at this time of year. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHnnyTRO-kTNz-kIUwUBIvu8O8H9341Joa30jIbyB78JkAu5dd8FG0zrL2Ils_I0dEQwjWf0Z2HIW3jEVvn9cOdvfqJTgImSb68rJqDRQ0-2Il4R0vw2B-McXffIscX4E3sb9jZOb7LuX/s1600/hotel1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHnnyTRO-kTNz-kIUwUBIvu8O8H9341Joa30jIbyB78JkAu5dd8FG0zrL2Ils_I0dEQwjWf0Z2HIW3jEVvn9cOdvfqJTgImSb68rJqDRQ0-2Il4R0vw2B-McXffIscX4E3sb9jZOb7LuX/s640/hotel1.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />
We also saw some greenery in our hotel, which had quite an elaborate courtyard. We had brunch in that little indoor "forest" down by the lagoon. Note the floating piano!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-23243100758745252852011-02-02T22:47:00.001-05:002011-02-02T22:49:25.194-05:00Snow Pro/Con<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrdqMo2eKNDd2-5qvJEtIFX4i4aPmWdNgPSEHaaEThyphenhyphenhoNBvWOUfuzwra2Ai-6Di68U7LhVIA7BhggcvdlGKj4r3RlBNH4S9zw1o85UL9VNVhBkxYfEdjBiQbaGOj63gGRYKAjijO5zCyC/s1600/snow1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrdqMo2eKNDd2-5qvJEtIFX4i4aPmWdNgPSEHaaEThyphenhyphenhoNBvWOUfuzwra2Ai-6Di68U7LhVIA7BhggcvdlGKj4r3RlBNH4S9zw1o85UL9VNVhBkxYfEdjBiQbaGOj63gGRYKAjijO5zCyC/s400/snow1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>We've had a <i>lot </i>of snow this winter - <a href="http://www.boston.com/news/local/breaking_news/2011/02/snowfall_exceed.html">70 inches</a> as of today. The average for the entire winter around here is 42 inches, and we've still got two or three months of winter weather to go! The extreme weather has its benefits and drawbacks.<br />
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<b>Pro</b><br />
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1. Snow days! This is my fifth winter in Cambridge, and my workplace has had one or maybe two snow days in all of the previous winters combined. This year, we've already had two, plus a handful of delayed openings and early releases. You just don't expect that to happen much once you're out of high school, but it's a nice surprise when it does.<br />
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2. New snow. Freshly fallen snow is so lovely, and week-old snow is so gray and dreary. It's been nice to have the fresh snow replenished so frequently this winter. The city looks clean and fresh and bright.<br />
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3. Extreme conditions. It's kind of thrilling to see snow piled higher than the cars, so high that you can't see over the snowbanks. The neighborhood feels like a different world with this new landscape. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih1tblmbZ5uwVMdlydj1ebgMVmZDC8jLZKEe1X7Ibfn7Zrgr91_sCZ6nKiixYeNEcttl9Pkn83D8osYTbO4vo9Tpviu1WRgIt-GujKWciVtU7NQCAbg2PxTNYQ187hNoMkU3cmYBLaKG8E/s1600/snow3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih1tblmbZ5uwVMdlydj1ebgMVmZDC8jLZKEe1X7Ibfn7Zrgr91_sCZ6nKiixYeNEcttl9Pkn83D8osYTbO4vo9Tpviu1WRgIt-GujKWciVtU7NQCAbg2PxTNYQ187hNoMkU3cmYBLaKG8E/s400/snow3.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<b>Con</b><br />
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1.Traffic pile-ups on the sidewalk. By "traffic," I mean pedestrians. I realize that I'm lucky not to have to rely on a car to get me to work, but the snow limits walkers, too. As more snow falls and there's fewer places to pile it, the sidewalks get narrower and narrower, which means no more passing lane. If you get stuck behind someone walking slowly, you're stuck for good. And if you run into someone coming the other way, one of you has to "pull over" into the snowbank.<br />
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2. Flooding. Our apartment is on an upper floor, so I'm not worried about my stuff getting ruined, but the office where I work is slightly below ground level, and any melt-off leads to water running in under the front door. I once had a minor moat around my desk during the spring thaw, and I anticipate that there will be a <i>lot </i>more water coming in once the temperature gets above freezing this year. And here's the gross part: the rising water flushes out cockroaches looking for higher ground. There is no insect that I like less than the cockroach.<br />
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3. Dirty snow. As I said, we've had frequent fresh snows this year, but at some point the storms are going to stop and the snow will begin the long, ugly process of melting away, gradually turning gray and black and revealing all of the litter that was buried beneath drifts as the snow fell. It will be an extra-long process this year.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-7179936427113146422011-01-23T23:36:00.000-05:002011-01-23T23:36:59.818-05:00Crafternoon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMbyYLViVOLUtFXPYJTKabavj35vtWl6ow9d6Tums97TD-UfpHUvxMVgVva3kTmKFR2438n7uav-imW6iRaBFoGq5G0oqmyFTtIA2x4FBMB1C3RSSYW2B2nMYtZiQO5R3H74UbK1a0SX1/s1600/knitting1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMbyYLViVOLUtFXPYJTKabavj35vtWl6ow9d6Tums97TD-UfpHUvxMVgVva3kTmKFR2438n7uav-imW6iRaBFoGq5G0oqmyFTtIA2x4FBMB1C3RSSYW2B2nMYtZiQO5R3H74UbK1a0SX1/s400/knitting1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I love to make things, but I rarely set aside time to do so. I like to handsew and knit and bake, but I put those things off until some indeterminate point in the future when I'll have more free time - as if that's ever going to happen. This <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/29/science/29tier.html">NY Times article</a> that I found a while back ("Carpe Diem? Maybe Tomorrow") really hit home. Like many people, I procrastinate when it comes to fun things as well as pain-in-the-butt tasks.<br />
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Luckily, I have some friends who feel similarly, so we've started meeting for a biweekly "crafternoon" during which we eat pizza and work on whatever projects have been languishing around our apartments. Earlier this winter, I finished crocheting an afghan that I'd begun before grad school and then put away for three years. I've repaired and altered a lot of my clothes at crafternoon, and I'm finally nearing the end of a hand-quilting project that I began in 2006. Stephen recently finished knitting a mitten that he'd had on the needles since college! I try not to get too ambitious and stress out over being super-productive, though. Sometimes I just chat and eat pizza if I'm not in a creative mood, or I'll make us a banana cake for dessert and call it a day. <br />
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I'm surprised at the extent to which this phenomenon has improved my quality of life. Instead of feeling overwhelmed when I think of non-essential projects ("When will I have time to re-hem that skirt? Never."), I just add them to the crafternoon to-do list. Now I just need to learn to set aside time for all of the <i>essential</i> tasks that I procrastinate on. I don't suppose filing my tax return counts as a craft, does it?<br />
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P.S. We thought we were so creative coming up with the term crafternoon, but it turns out someone has already published a <a href="http://www.crafternoon.com/">book</a> with that name! Oh well.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-65605162450391231812011-01-16T21:31:00.000-05:002011-01-16T21:31:28.593-05:00Schooled<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkvggUVHD5Wz-4VPBCDT0nXXjyAbVnwrVZSmBhu3H0iv-cHbeG47BwYzYzVAF0LN-dRFTvCR2oQQBkNS6h6m_C0X2fAqzvT4jIw3CciYvtQzZCqYb8VUcYdVifgd3EPFH9RwoCJOGDWB0/s1600/biology3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkvggUVHD5Wz-4VPBCDT0nXXjyAbVnwrVZSmBhu3H0iv-cHbeG47BwYzYzVAF0LN-dRFTvCR2oQQBkNS6h6m_C0X2fAqzvT4jIw3CciYvtQzZCqYb8VUcYdVifgd3EPFH9RwoCJOGDWB0/s400/biology3.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I really like school. I hate doing homework and having assignments hanging over my head, but I like learning new things and the sense of progress that school gives you: every lecture, exam, and paper brings you one step closer to finishing the class, and each class completed means you're a step closer to a degree. <br />
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Even though I finished my Masters program last May, I decided to take a molecular biology class in the fall, and I’m going to take another in evolutionary biology next semester. I haven’t taken bio since high school, and I really liked learning about the human body and going to lab sessions. The exams were really tough, though. I had to re-adjust my expectations of a “good” grade. But I'm undaunted! In face, I’ve got a whole long list of classes (epidemiology, negotiations, etc) that I’d like to take once I'm done with these. It’s like a hobby now. <br />
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I like that school moves in cycles, with high and low points of activity and new people coming in each year. That’s one reason that I like working at a university, too--the cyclical nature of the work--although it’s sad when our favorite interns graduate and leave town. <br />
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But I also like the breaks from school, the negative space around the semesters. As difficult as it was cramming for my lab practical and final exam in mid-December, I felt so relieved and light as soon as I left the lecture hall on the last day. And I really treasure the hours I have now, between the fall and spring sessions, to catch up on reading-for-fun and projects around the apartment. And sleep!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-36923755855115174502010-12-31T13:59:00.001-05:002011-01-03T13:59:12.807-05:00Scandinavia Mania: Best for Last<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHX0CAsufOWEMjRgURKcWCEGQJFFiefiiTOyucaguXZTd86Flegg7kJG-zWgirlvvplw5h9Us0YnrHhaIUHB3hyphenhyphenC_rcU_fF0bYvlWczeMbwSJhxQMJDilysO6dojdi3K-PXFidWBAiYFM/s1600/104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHX0CAsufOWEMjRgURKcWCEGQJFFiefiiTOyucaguXZTd86Flegg7kJG-zWgirlvvplw5h9Us0YnrHhaIUHB3hyphenhyphenC_rcU_fF0bYvlWczeMbwSJhxQMJDilysO6dojdi3K-PXFidWBAiYFM/s400/104.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Last stop: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dalarna">Dalarna</a>. Okay, this actually came in the middle of the trip, but I wanted to save my favorite part for last.<br />
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One of the things we'd been really looking forward to on this trip was celebrating <i>Midsommarafton (</i>Midsummer's Eve), one of the biggest holidays of the year in Sweden. We'd heard that the best place to go for traditional midsummer celebrations was Dalarna, a province in central Sweden. (You may be familiar with the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dalecarlian_horse">Dala horse</a>, a symbol of the region.) <br />
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Stockholm cleared out for the holiday weekend on Friday morning, and we left in our rental car, a great big silver gas-guzzler that we got as a free "upgrade" because all of the small cars were already booked. Yikes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaP2im957TbJYgN3pxh5qxPpihUaX0ei_Smc5a4QPXCV6d3HZ1H-tgBO-kV9SqgnvT5MLSqxK3SXZIBrsKNQfH-MD50eoPDtkXB-xlkAN1U6LBQbZSp6_GvU_D9QHwWZQPMKyShAy0PZAS/s1600/108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaP2im957TbJYgN3pxh5qxPpihUaX0ei_Smc5a4QPXCV6d3HZ1H-tgBO-kV9SqgnvT5MLSqxK3SXZIBrsKNQfH-MD50eoPDtkXB-xlkAN1U6LBQbZSp6_GvU_D9QHwWZQPMKyShAy0PZAS/s400/108.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The first festival we visited was in Tällberg in the late afternoon. When we arrived, there were lots of people in traditional costumes dancing in a cleared field. All of the women were wearing crowns of wildflowers, so I braided one for myself, too. According to our guidebook, these wreaths are sometimes saved and added to the New Year's bath for good luck.<br />
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We watched them raise the maypole, then went to a nearby cafe for a dinner of waffles with whipped cream and cloudberry jam.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8x2PGtzUv1D03QN6-ezfwLiqJyPWFUrvC2woseP1c7KX0IE7Do7p9upWFL5sxp_lHtHFVa2_mxMfMCM1H1Z8wfEo_4PsFRVp0nMgeRAeyVTT0vksW1dZZvO0hwJ9mnWSOnN5UY4MIKlk/s1600/115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8x2PGtzUv1D03QN6-ezfwLiqJyPWFUrvC2woseP1c7KX0IE7Do7p9upWFL5sxp_lHtHFVa2_mxMfMCM1H1Z8wfEo_4PsFRVp0nMgeRAeyVTT0vksW1dZZvO0hwJ9mnWSOnN5UY4MIKlk/s400/115.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Then we drove to Leksand, where there was a much bigger festival--more like an outdoor concert. Hundreds of people (maybe even thousands; it was hard to get a good look at the crowd) sat on picnic blankets watching a band play as the maypole was prepared. Then pairs of men lined up and hoisted the pole as the spectators cheered them on.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NGf1fq5rUANCG45w2idVLPemcfyIKCWtfukEFVg_O_XIZU7fnWzMQDYFweHkeDW4H2u8VPmM5En5ARoCdmt64-YenjNYcEkmy1nzG-b_il8JI_1yGyN0fFpeB4PaHiwJhvNrYHzqQApI/s1600/111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NGf1fq5rUANCG45w2idVLPemcfyIKCWtfukEFVg_O_XIZU7fnWzMQDYFweHkeDW4H2u8VPmM5En5ARoCdmt64-YenjNYcEkmy1nzG-b_il8JI_1yGyN0fFpeB4PaHiwJhvNrYHzqQApI/s400/111.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Once the pole was up, everyone rushed in (including us!) and danced in a circle. Stephen and I couldn't understand the words to the songs, but we tried to follow the crowd and figure out the moves as we went. The only song I can remember now was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sm%C3%A5_grodorna">Små grodorna</a> ("The Little Frogs"), but I think there was another about elephants, and maybe one about playing various musical instruments. There were a lot of drunk teenagers and the ground was littered with discarded bottles, which added an element of precariousness to the fast-paced dancing. There were so many people dancing that you couldn't stop moving even if you <i>were </i>able to see the hazards in front of you. Luckily we made it through unscathed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOKC6ONgCHIRI2Njg5QdWMv2gKExbdGNvk5PtOTNU4gSZiZs5VpZnE-nHc7GMvev3AdklLtREnnGkbn4oUUpEnHzE1TIU5Ay5dZOgvh6h7go4i5KPd9zEG5ipMl3d9HKUDd1e85vH73Tl/s1600/118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOKC6ONgCHIRI2Njg5QdWMv2gKExbdGNvk5PtOTNU4gSZiZs5VpZnE-nHc7GMvev3AdklLtREnnGkbn4oUUpEnHzE1TIU5Ay5dZOgvh6h7go4i5KPd9zEG5ipMl3d9HKUDd1e85vH73Tl/s400/118.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Since it was right around the summer solstice, dusk arrived very late. After the festivities had ended, we drove to Lake Siljan to watch the sunset. The water was calm and the colors were deep and saturated.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aIp-8jEfsXX4sz30sujy6Y5hLhopbFkWyvxMSFYHdseKNrnIba2q8RGsweFOrwH6BO5RWqF9mWV7mdSrAbQ6Wrqaj-LUEcPWnxob2rA1tYn5Fezz30USkgO3eHMAcC2wQoV_gJNDQ9KK/s1600/119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_aIp-8jEfsXX4sz30sujy6Y5hLhopbFkWyvxMSFYHdseKNrnIba2q8RGsweFOrwH6BO5RWqF9mWV7mdSrAbQ6Wrqaj-LUEcPWnxob2rA1tYn5Fezz30USkgO3eHMAcC2wQoV_gJNDQ9KK/s400/119.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>And then we got engaged! Here we are right after I asked Stephen if he wanted to get married, just as the last light was fading. Misummer's Eve is supposed to be an auspicious day for new beginnings. What better time to get engaged?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7CMki99y2xrNDghBnqX5AOWQwHV0Afe3QjDfZVhQ7klLua0-z2RWdamGKJmS5oqN6HHziHPCbybC2p5lWZx1LD42QIhwx_N07OFgZ6q3GCbHkmiC5cc7CmQy6YiX7ZMrMXXBIXEYb3DzZ/s1600/124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7CMki99y2xrNDghBnqX5AOWQwHV0Afe3QjDfZVhQ7klLua0-z2RWdamGKJmS5oqN6HHziHPCbybC2p5lWZx1LD42QIhwx_N07OFgZ6q3GCbHkmiC5cc7CmQy6YiX7ZMrMXXBIXEYb3DzZ/s400/124.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Well, that's a tough act to follow, but we still had a couple of days in the region before we went back to Stockholm. The next morning, we visited the house of <a href="http://www.carllarsson.net/">Carl Larsson</a>, an artist who painted scenes of rural Swedish life in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8fF6wIt8IZjAUpGEFXWXRRX6Fo-Bzfqq_oSmuPt6WJwArK0nzn6nNpv1ujR_7Sg4nKMdxhS_1GVkBSb4cYWy7oSidR4ePgUBvA44TUvvdZbhmLsqlRFUpEF0EcIIsH66W26fqqyCITIZJ/s1600/127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8fF6wIt8IZjAUpGEFXWXRRX6Fo-Bzfqq_oSmuPt6WJwArK0nzn6nNpv1ujR_7Sg4nKMdxhS_1GVkBSb4cYWy7oSidR4ePgUBvA44TUvvdZbhmLsqlRFUpEF0EcIIsH66W26fqqyCITIZJ/s400/127.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Carl and Karin Larsson had eight children and a very warm and loving home life which Carl depicted in many of his paintings. Apparently the Larsson family still owns it and occupies it for part of the year. It seemed like a great place to grow up. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWoktZaIShDxHAifih-fsaRqztieiuEMkpJtka-z1icSdk_WFMgvNCNdNTdqO644jz4epT8vS-S2im3CYFDMt-EX_ENc-2iygF_C6OtIEMfcjRse8gAt1dl9h-JPZqR3x3FnGXHC7zheg/s1600/137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaWoktZaIShDxHAifih-fsaRqztieiuEMkpJtka-z1icSdk_WFMgvNCNdNTdqO644jz4epT8vS-S2im3CYFDMt-EX_ENc-2iygF_C6OtIEMfcjRse8gAt1dl9h-JPZqR3x3FnGXHC7zheg/s400/137.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Our last stop on this leg of the trip was this little church in the town of Ovanåker where my great-great-great-grandparents, Olof and Ella, were married before emigrating from Sweden to the United States. Luckily, it was easy to find and looked almost exactly the same as in the decades-old photograph my dad had given me. (I think my paternal grandfather had a local genealogist take the picture when he was doing research about our ancestors in the 1980s.) We took some pictures and walked through the graveyard, looking at the names on the tombstones.<br />
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Finally, we had to pack up and say good-bye to Dalarna and to our tiny cabin with the lilac hedge, but I think this will always be one of my favorite places in the world.<br />
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The end! <br />
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</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-20894963938993311422010-11-11T15:08:00.001-05:002010-11-12T18:22:49.361-05:00Scandinavia Mania: Iceland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPyTVkQqmz0CKgQ4Ny60tDhXGrTCB92yiOCt8OR_KaVj7wTOGaoD_gbi0lfRBoEY8xrwizs9E4uZTA_Cz5IGp8cAgpy5yKof0GOWLp1QL1kxCmFiDAbqKRbxMM2BYFl175-JcNIc0UxzpM/s1600/176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPyTVkQqmz0CKgQ4Ny60tDhXGrTCB92yiOCt8OR_KaVj7wTOGaoD_gbi0lfRBoEY8xrwizs9E4uZTA_Cz5IGp8cAgpy5yKof0GOWLp1QL1kxCmFiDAbqKRbxMM2BYFl175-JcNIc0UxzpM/s400/176.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>We didn't get to spend very long in Iceland, either, but I loved every minute of it. (Except for the minutes when our credit cards were being charged. Food and transportation in Iceland are pricey!) We got in very late<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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</style> <![endif]--><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span>our original flight from Copenhagen was canceled, so we had to get a later flight through Stockholm. As always, the late sunset was disorienting. It wasn't bright out, but it was dusky when we arrived at 1:00am.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGf1zNmRr-MkvT_MV_YZgktGEeG9ntBWcqfp-9jZ1TzlTR_FPlOaaJTxib0ClEWcDmMk7_CmCn6zk5o4CSQlSrt7lG-09XtaGs71IMWltKCwJQ6oTQHGEv09oFSnMQ6mMPmretp-phgtr/s1600/177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGf1zNmRr-MkvT_MV_YZgktGEeG9ntBWcqfp-9jZ1TzlTR_FPlOaaJTxib0ClEWcDmMk7_CmCn6zk5o4CSQlSrt7lG-09XtaGs71IMWltKCwJQ6oTQHGEv09oFSnMQ6mMPmretp-phgtr/s400/177.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> We stayed in a cute bed and breakfast with a shared kitchen. I had toast with jam and a bowl of corn flakes in the morning, and wondered whether corn flakes are a universal breakfast food or just something that people buy for tourists. (I had corn flakes for breakfast at our hotel in Istanbul last spring, too.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJFu9zZCySjHYlsZV3a_3yxYHNIN9MrDITq7QQgBhJR4r_kptsFoknnOYs4FpbgdTKl_xHIb3t-DIBcspSpQGpnsuIT2t_Q9zEATIdo1e1mdyMgRYXAy5E2y9YuqpW5rZ4H-TwSJym8Ds/s1600/180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJFu9zZCySjHYlsZV3a_3yxYHNIN9MrDITq7QQgBhJR4r_kptsFoknnOYs4FpbgdTKl_xHIb3t-DIBcspSpQGpnsuIT2t_Q9zEATIdo1e1mdyMgRYXAy5E2y9YuqpW5rZ4H-TwSJym8Ds/s400/180.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
There were still lilacs blooming in July! Ours are usually gone by June.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcfyBaftc-gJKWbz9DhbBQlhtHYqdggataGsJ39xxVGzLB0nEjfi2PsL5_mxZv4YYDNGFu8etJoUK9Z6umSum_CqhBahCxgnHMx_QcaZj9r8v1Lipnq0Xwjh7hKCCkOhSZzuVpqjb7dA2/s1600/184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcfyBaftc-gJKWbz9DhbBQlhtHYqdggataGsJ39xxVGzLB0nEjfi2PsL5_mxZv4YYDNGFu8etJoUK9Z6umSum_CqhBahCxgnHMx_QcaZj9r8v1Lipnq0Xwjh7hKCCkOhSZzuVpqjb7dA2/s400/184.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>We didn't have much time to spend in Reykjavik. We headed for the Blue Lagoon in the morning so that we'd have time for a long soak before our flight back to Boston. What an otherworldly landscape! It felt like being on a different planet<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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</style> <![endif]--><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">—</span>except for the bar in the middle of the lagoon.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDRzLZnqaxZbAj_0ioI9D50em5DQ_VHv-aoQGZkrcRjcTQerf5IwnDRh9zre_kWxtLhh8thK_tfPjKFh0IpJ8WoKpSuerM3KopHqbU14nN0WOkI3dHsj2ALSZXeIIF1qTxUvzRXjqneYrG/s1600/2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDRzLZnqaxZbAj_0ioI9D50em5DQ_VHv-aoQGZkrcRjcTQerf5IwnDRh9zre_kWxtLhh8thK_tfPjKFh0IpJ8WoKpSuerM3KopHqbU14nN0WOkI3dHsj2ALSZXeIIF1qTxUvzRXjqneYrG/s400/2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>And then it was back to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keflav%C3%ADk_International_Airport">Keflavik</a>, the prettiest little airport I've ever seen. It's the kind of airport that LL Bean might design, with locally-sourced stone and wood, huge skylights, and shops selling woolen mittens and thick fleece jackets. <br />
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This is the only airport I've ever stayed in overnight. (We spent the first night of the trip in this terminal between flights.) I didn't get much sleep, but the stained glass window overhead was a nice view to wake up to.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-71996666955131052422010-11-07T15:01:00.000-05:002010-11-07T15:01:55.310-05:00Scandinavia Mania: Finland, At Last!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGia2OxNB1nc3SO4kETkwRRLdr6L6pmSpXd9uwHBfj1g_0fjFZSJ8VDfYtnld5QXUxj1APPVXfacfWGJkjpsfC7yxBXaao9u-ysJHecKPrv09Z0Ob6XWvl3AsUPY0UUWrD1IxjgiqD33q/s1600/141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRGia2OxNB1nc3SO4kETkwRRLdr6L6pmSpXd9uwHBfj1g_0fjFZSJ8VDfYtnld5QXUxj1APPVXfacfWGJkjpsfC7yxBXaao9u-ysJHecKPrv09Z0Ob6XWvl3AsUPY0UUWrD1IxjgiqD33q/s400/141.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Now where were we, lo the many months ago? Ah yes, Finland.<br />
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We were only in Finland for about 36 hours, not even enough time to make it to the mainland. We stayed on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%85land_Islands">Åland</a>, an autonomous, Swedish-speaking archipelago in the Baltic Sea.<br />
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To get there, we took a bus to Kapellskär, a port north of Stockholm, and rode the Viking Line to Mariehamn. The ferry was enormous, with several restaurants, a casino, and a duty-free shop--plenty to keep everyone occupied for the two-hour ride. <br />
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We got to our <i>stuga</i> (cabin) around 11:00pm. I was so excited to see a kitchen<i> </i>inside. It was our first opportunity for a home-cooked meal in weeks! Of course, we were too tired too eat by then, but I did make us some pasta with tomato and garlic the next night, and it was such a treat not to have to go searching for a cheap, vegetarian-friendly restaurant when we were both starving.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50c_VU7Krn3K_zdvwAyEnw2JK5VHacYxcug6MCEMk19wmvZaEdyVwdRDtkGh-55mi4PTma9BIyArcRBvjawYz7-njwOY_R9G_XM5Lts4SEqAc1ZZaVT1cexH36X_TucU6NX4KffT_Io7C/s1600/146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50c_VU7Krn3K_zdvwAyEnw2JK5VHacYxcug6MCEMk19wmvZaEdyVwdRDtkGh-55mi4PTma9BIyArcRBvjawYz7-njwOY_R9G_XM5Lts4SEqAc1ZZaVT1cexH36X_TucU6NX4KffT_Io7C/s400/146.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>We rented bikes and went out to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kastelholm_Castle">Kastelholm</a>, a medieval castle in the countryside. The trip was a little farther than I'd anticipated, so we had to bike back quickly to avoid the hefty late-return fees. I think we got back to the rental agency five minutes before they locked up. I haven't biked in a long time, so my backside was super sore by the afternoon--I had to pedal standing up for the last twenty minutes. Afterward, we celebrated our successful fine-avoidance with cones of <i>mjukglass </i>(soft ice cream).<br />
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And that was it for Finland!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-9513806554527870252010-08-30T19:03:00.000-04:002010-08-30T19:03:18.392-04:00Scandinavia Mania: Denmark<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2f-tNANu9jR9vUpwI8cKins40wy3LDDKklkGQmYN9-ypYqA7ZxmncbqEjsM5jUDNhLGhxT2mym3EbIgPuDqis7eOE6rq7vW_oKMek273p-ArAfl0FuClPNUnNpF0JshtTOUaph0wqZnbQ/s1600/162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2f-tNANu9jR9vUpwI8cKins40wy3LDDKklkGQmYN9-ypYqA7ZxmncbqEjsM5jUDNhLGhxT2mym3EbIgPuDqis7eOE6rq7vW_oKMek273p-ArAfl0FuClPNUnNpF0JshtTOUaph0wqZnbQ/s400/162.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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After leaving Sweden, we spent a few days in Copenhagen. On our first afternoon in the city, we went to see the changing of the guard. They're less formal than the guards at Buckingham Palace--I think they're allowed to talk and take pictures with the tourists. Their uniforms still look uncomfortable, though. Bearskin hats in July!<br />
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I was charmed by the hearts carved into the little red towers at each station. <br />
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We also visited the <a href="http://botanik.snm.ku.dk/english/">University of Copenhagen Botanical Garden</a>. It was a hot and humid afternoon, so being in the Palm House was almost unbearable. Stephen was brave enough to climb up the spiral staircase to the very top of the house, but I got lightheaded when I tried to follow him. We cooled off afterward in the shadier Orchid House, which had some very alien-looking flowers.<br />
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One of our favorite things to do was to sit by the canal in the evening when everyone was out drinking beer and cider and chatting with friends. Sometimes we'd stop on the way back to our hotel and buy gelato or waffles drizzled with chocolate sauce. The <a href="http://jazz.dk/en/copenhagen-jazz-festival">Copenhagen Jazz Festival</a> was in full swing, so we saw bands playing in practically every square.<br />
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One evening, we rented a boat at sunset and rowed up the canal, dodging the zippy motorboats and the wide, flat canal boats that motored past. We even got saw a jazz boat with a four-piece band on board!<br />
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On our last night in the city, we decided to walk out to the famous statue of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Little_Mermaid_%28statue%29">Little Mermaid</a>. As we got closer, we saw some kind of screen lit up near the shoreline where the statue normally sits.<br />
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A sign nearby explained that the Little Mermaid had been taken to China to sit in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Denmark%27s_Pavillion_at_the_2010_World_Expo_in_Shanghai.jpg">Danish Pavilion</a> at the 2010 World Expo. In its place was a video installation that offered a live broadcast of the statue as it sat in Shangai. I guess it's bad luck that we happened to be in Copenhagen during the one six-month period in 96 years that the statue was gone--but at least it hadn't been <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Little_Mermaid_%28statue%29#Vandalism_of_the_statue">vandalized</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-37704527233318124932010-08-20T16:57:00.003-04:002010-08-23T23:55:17.258-04:00Scandinavia Mania: Swedish Cities<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMIcJ8Z88Rd1Zz9mg3KNvNLzg_VJivM5Nu0_nsBq1G6bvCTPSWH0rEyGTky5oohJ-4tqe0XryG1BVYmeq86UlhquM2CWQMoTrgI-TOL7riCGK1S7YIPJsc4iiAE2fp2TJ2jtp0w3XVjWHz/s1600/103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMIcJ8Z88Rd1Zz9mg3KNvNLzg_VJivM5Nu0_nsBq1G6bvCTPSWH0rEyGTky5oohJ-4tqe0XryG1BVYmeq86UlhquM2CWQMoTrgI-TOL7riCGK1S7YIPJsc4iiAE2fp2TJ2jtp0w3XVjWHz/s400/103.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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We spent about a week of our trip visiting the two largest cities in Sweden: Stockholm on the east coast and Göteborg (a.k.a. Gothenburg) on the west coast.<br />
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In Stockholm, we saw the royal palace, browsed the public library, took in the view from atop the <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katarina_Elevator">Katarinahissen</a></i>, visited the vintage stores in Södermalm, and ate lots of quiche and pastries at our favorite <i>konditori</i>. <br />
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The city is spread out over an archipelago, so we spent a couple of days riding the ferries to and fro. <br />
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Since we were out during the day in the middle of the week, the islands were pretty quiet. We saw lots of young families on playdates, a few retired couples, and a smattering of other tourists. I was surprised at how many fathers we saw taking their kids out for the day, pushing strollers around and chatting with other dads. Swedes must have better paternity leave benefits than we do.<br />
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We spent one day visiting Fjaderholmen, an island with lots of artisan workshops and ice cream stands. What better way to follow a glassblowing demonstration than with a scoop of chocolate on the patio? We rested our feet and watched kids play with a giant Parcheesi set.<br />
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The next day, we visited Skansen, an open air museum and zoo on the island of Djurgården.<br />
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It was fun to go inside the historic buildings, but my favorite part was seeing the animals. We stood with dozens of other people watching the brown bears wrestle in their enclosure, and the reindeer nibbling moss in theirs. Stephen made friends with the goats at the barnyard. The only animals I tried to steer clear of were the noisy, aggressive peacocks, which would belly up to the picnic tables and loudly demand a bite of food.<br />
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A few days later, we took the train from Stockholm to Göteborg, the country's second-largest city. This city is also situated on the water, but we didn't visit any islands. We did go on one boat, though: our floating hotel! We had a harbor-facing window from which we could watch the sun set in the evening, and there was a good view of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skanskaskrapan">Skanskaskrapan</a>, the bright-red skyscraper commonly referred to as the Lipstick, from the roof.<br />
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For an even better look at the city, we took a ride on the towering Wheel of Göteborg one evening. There was a VIP booth with tinted windows and white Christmas lights, but we just rode in one of the regular carriages.<br />
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I really liked Göteborg. I had heard that the city was more industrial than Stockholm, but it had a youthful energy and we found some awesome cafes and museums during our brief stay (not to mention the lovely <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G%C3%B6teborg_Botanical_Garden">botanical garden</a> that we stumbled into when looking for a public bathroom). I'd like to go back someday--I'm sure there are more treasures there.<br />
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But there were still many other places for us to visit. Yet to come: Finland, Denmark, Iceland, and a Midsummer adventure!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-86138206880972607242010-08-02T23:12:00.002-04:002010-08-30T18:56:07.872-04:00Scandinavia Mania: Camping in Sweden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3fUZjPTQOuquUyOOUK1_s0PjT_FrRu2MlgK2hmrvSlwhy_Evonc7lBpxc3a6Pbndzt9uVtkJqHLoSAE3hLOYFl87JVbrp6gknZT-nd1zykynp3OfcyShJHhOcRwyT0jRbxeidgLEm_i1C/s1600/81.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3fUZjPTQOuquUyOOUK1_s0PjT_FrRu2MlgK2hmrvSlwhy_Evonc7lBpxc3a6Pbndzt9uVtkJqHLoSAE3hLOYFl87JVbrp6gknZT-nd1zykynp3OfcyShJHhOcRwyT0jRbxeidgLEm_i1C/s400/81.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I'm not sure when I first had the idea of traveling to Scandinavia (and more specifically, Sweden), but for a long time now, going there has been my #1 international travel goal. My great-great-great-grandparents immigrated from Sweden, and my last name is Swedish, and Stephen and I both really like Scandinavian design, so: plenty of reasons to go.<br />
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I've talked about it for years now: hypothetically at first, and then more and more concretely/hopefully. But I've never planned out more than a weekend road trip on my own (heck, I was 21 the first time I flew on an airplane!) so the idea of taking on a three-week trip overseas was a little daunting.<br />
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Finally, last summer, Stephen suggested that we start saving money for this dream trip. We bought some guidebooks. I was overwhelmed with grad school. Stephen let me focus on my thesis and took on almost all of the planning duties, reading countless reviews, booking hotels, drawing up itineraries, and learning how to order food and ask for directions in Swedish.<br />
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And then, in June, we went! We spent 22 days traveling around Sweden, Finland, Denmark and Iceland. Here are some pictures from the first week, during which we rented a car and drove around southeastern Sweden, mostly camping. (Yes, we carried a tent and sleeping bags with us!)<br />
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The countryside was so beautiful. It felt like a place you'd see in a dream, all sunshine and wildflowers.<br />
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We went hiking a couple of times. The forest there really looked like something you'd see in Maine. It was chilly like Maine, too.<br />
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We toured a glassblowing factory in <a href="http://www.orrefors.com/main.asp">Orrefors</a> and ate peppermint candy in <a href="http://www.grm.se/turistinfo/ENGELSKA/grennaeng/polkagriseng.htm">Gränna</a>.<br />
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We visited open air museums all over the place. One had historic buildings from many different regions, so you could trace the changing shape of houses over hundreds of years and miles.<br />
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We visited IKEA on the day that Crown Princess Victoria <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/sweden/7840552/Sweden-celebrates-the-wedding-of-Crown-Princess-Victoria.html">got married</a>, and they were giving out wedding cake in the warehouse. It seemed like the whole country had wedding fever.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3nSvwLnAZLs9nMxFYYF0tx4thEmF9kSgeppGLcMVVqshO3s_c4CmcK0GrZEWoR6TnPi2J1Jp2nOZWtqLsPCXcoFqPg5now_uX0kyVxHoU8V7fzF7qQbg3TMVklOdwuXJRkdXOa5KWG-j/s1600/71.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi3nSvwLnAZLs9nMxFYYF0tx4thEmF9kSgeppGLcMVVqshO3s_c4CmcK0GrZEWoR6TnPi2J1Jp2nOZWtqLsPCXcoFqPg5now_uX0kyVxHoU8V7fzF7qQbg3TMVklOdwuXJRkdXOa5KWG-j/s400/71.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Neither of us got a cinnamon bun at IKEA, but Stephen had the local equivalent (called <i>kanelbulle</i>) several times when we stopped for <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fika_%28coffee_break%29">fika</a></i>. They were less sticky than the American kind, and always dusted with pearl sugar.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOGkMnH15coNUFPFB3ez8JaYrX2bOpjjcUXBT2H7ewU9FxtWVXbISLmDeq3BPoBmENu1OfyIo-ex_FTLWt7FpeTv5X4CP0yNLJd2NdvNAe_KbsicpYSrtvq7tbdnMzMBPdcsgVHuc-ZLY/s1600/12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVOGkMnH15coNUFPFB3ez8JaYrX2bOpjjcUXBT2H7ewU9FxtWVXbISLmDeq3BPoBmENu1OfyIo-ex_FTLWt7FpeTv5X4CP0yNLJd2NdvNAe_KbsicpYSrtvq7tbdnMzMBPdcsgVHuc-ZLY/s400/12.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Only one of the places we stayed had a kitchen, so we ate a <i>lot</i> of cafe meals. Luckily for me, they were pretty vegetarian-friendly. I ate open-faced sandwiches and drank Earl Grey tea and had a slice of carrot cake almost every afternoon. Not a bad way to travel.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqyiCEie26N2EvNLwnYZ4NwEoUdxtbAZmPU8umEnqp67hh3cUZlhEqMCL3JPlDni-Yd4T0n_2mRsjdIUB_6HgBHQzDt3XQleJN_B37_G0fMBw6qBbklBwYZEaBTYKta5ZzhEyMaXpHPw-S/s1600/97.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqyiCEie26N2EvNLwnYZ4NwEoUdxtbAZmPU8umEnqp67hh3cUZlhEqMCL3JPlDni-Yd4T0n_2mRsjdIUB_6HgBHQzDt3XQleJN_B37_G0fMBw6qBbklBwYZEaBTYKta5ZzhEyMaXpHPw-S/s400/97.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>But I was very excited for my first home-cooked meal back in Boston!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-88543958874909648972010-05-26T18:20:00.004-04:002010-05-26T22:35:00.343-04:00A Walk in the Cemetery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigRvETATi4l5aNeodVmDigZXi94SR121TlyxsYSkHbcR457NCdrS8cZp306wWIc7DRxxQJpZtG3-AKgoh2J-Kivz6_-4AC6DzOFFG0-0tiPhbkO0hlgua8vuVZsVO8PRedP51xiPaAn1h/s1600/headstone1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigRvETATi4l5aNeodVmDigZXi94SR121TlyxsYSkHbcR457NCdrS8cZp306wWIc7DRxxQJpZtG3-AKgoh2J-Kivz6_-4AC6DzOFFG0-0tiPhbkO0hlgua8vuVZsVO8PRedP51xiPaAn1h/s400/headstone1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Who <i>wouldn't</i> want to celebrate their anniversary in a graveyard? Stephen and I took a walk around <a href="http://www.mountauburn.org/?gclid=CP7dqKO566ECFRfF3AodVVXqKQ">Mt. Auburn cemetery</a> for ours this year. This was one of the items on my list of things to do after handing in my thesis. I had heard that it's picturesque and that many famous people are buried there (I've since learned that Buckminster Fuller is among them--I wish I'd sought out his <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Bucky.grave.sk.jpg">headstone</a>), but had never visited before. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAnlL97BLtPuYficyU60LUhR7qAter-pirKDD0301jVSheKpzJzBSwWN09rT38ci-6PhdzEOptDiDJFi65K40iBfH59waiYhcLnpHnjPL_JiB-mZSPkVnx4VaaS7kW8jLplD8OmIdoOlx/s1600/headstones2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxAnlL97BLtPuYficyU60LUhR7qAter-pirKDD0301jVSheKpzJzBSwWN09rT38ci-6PhdzEOptDiDJFi65K40iBfH59waiYhcLnpHnjPL_JiB-mZSPkVnx4VaaS7kW8jLplD8OmIdoOlx/s400/headstones2.JPG" width="400" /></a> It's amazing to me that this peaceful oasis exists in the midst of a (relatively) bustling city. The cemetery was so quiet and lush that it was startling to hear traffic whizzing by when we walked near the fence on Mt. Auburn Street. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8uM-xd5BoD9Y5ZbxXXxoiPIoKXaxipAZg_5JXKe7E_OrEwyPfvK4B_DiQ39qb60m_MmAqTb2kDdo8Q4NlP_9V8da5VPeY2-fCe6B7eE_sqapgdnuvzyPBbff6O6NSbzs4dt47Dr8FkoIB/s1600/boston_skyline1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8uM-xd5BoD9Y5ZbxXXxoiPIoKXaxipAZg_5JXKe7E_OrEwyPfvK4B_DiQ39qb60m_MmAqTb2kDdo8Q4NlP_9V8da5VPeY2-fCe6B7eE_sqapgdnuvzyPBbff6O6NSbzs4dt47Dr8FkoIB/s400/boston_skyline1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>We walked up Washington Tower and admired the view of Boston's skyline from the top, with the Charles River below. Boston is not a tall city; the John Hancock Tower, that blue one on the left, is the tallest building in all of New England, but just the 46th tallest in the US, and 162nd in the world. Yet it towers over the rest of the city, except for the Prudential Center, the grayish one on the right, which is about 40 feet shorter. I like the relative shortness of the city, though. It feels manageable to me, as someone with small-town roots. I wouldn't want to be surrounded by skyscrapers.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHecZA70fnQ70VhZZoGj87nhU9Pq3rKcxL86Rlacg0IJcuqVrpYye-oC-7MAviOo8S-EWZ2Ud6nddSR7SKwp6fXu3H1FhRQTsFMzUVfRoX6Z22K1HADa1NLDeHXMUP_oGLw1RrmhwtYul/s1600/chapel_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHecZA70fnQ70VhZZoGj87nhU9Pq3rKcxL86Rlacg0IJcuqVrpYye-oC-7MAviOo8S-EWZ2Ud6nddSR7SKwp6fXu3H1FhRQTsFMzUVfRoX6Z22K1HADa1NLDeHXMUP_oGLw1RrmhwtYul/s400/chapel_1.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
From the top of the tower, we spied what looked like a cathedral nearby, so we climbed down and went searching for it. It turned out to be a chapel near the entrance gate--somehow I'd missed it on the way in. The architecture was very grand for such a small building, like it was built at half of its intended size.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNnlMMD6G2dGi6nEHq0jEfisygGVVJetVbleBEUWUxZj0T2cd8PuScXRCBuHpRitZwHwXe8-FvMy0AiMF5t8uJ8Je3K_gdAU1701oBmvolXHpLFa3H7klBUe2730z382Glh2_OPrqXg4W/s1600/stained_glass.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBNnlMMD6G2dGi6nEHq0jEfisygGVVJetVbleBEUWUxZj0T2cd8PuScXRCBuHpRitZwHwXe8-FvMy0AiMF5t8uJ8Je3K_gdAU1701oBmvolXHpLFa3H7klBUe2730z382Glh2_OPrqXg4W/s400/stained_glass.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Since we were nearby, we stopped at Sofra for lunch. I had the bread hummus <a href="http://waldenstreet.blogspot.com/2010/03/istanbul-not-constantinople.html">again</a>, and managed to get a picture this time.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Mgu5ND0sZLQdnYgMb77dWRCqyTX7FV0efwKQoyivnCRc5IZQnv-P_y4OlvheR9WIGbux4ca6efk7QUOhe32H8evBNXtiEJSyPyBzUErfXHsWirnccOe6nD7gTL6Xl_eyUfO5OMGDuyZL/s1600/bread_hummus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Mgu5ND0sZLQdnYgMb77dWRCqyTX7FV0efwKQoyivnCRc5IZQnv-P_y4OlvheR9WIGbux4ca6efk7QUOhe32H8evBNXtiEJSyPyBzUErfXHsWirnccOe6nD7gTL6Xl_eyUfO5OMGDuyZL/s400/bread_hummus.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>For dessert, I had a morning bun with orange blossom glaze, which was not at all what I was expecting it to be. I thought it would be muffin-like, but instead it was a syrupy clump of small pieces of sweet pastry, somewhat akin to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monkey_bread">monkey bread</a>. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYil-BnstqcMqb-0IsIFoVqWE9Ae2F2RoL-O1C7EWM6VX2-MWysHigtJeJHugYXnqvP0sujf_6PAdaDxkj8nX59IBJu4zfrHBEip6POOnKsvU5uYSiFDT2a8A3iJi_Ek36B-VBHxnzAZ2/s1600/morning_bun1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYil-BnstqcMqb-0IsIFoVqWE9Ae2F2RoL-O1C7EWM6VX2-MWysHigtJeJHugYXnqvP0sujf_6PAdaDxkj8nX59IBJu4zfrHBEip6POOnKsvU5uYSiFDT2a8A3iJi_Ek36B-VBHxnzAZ2/s400/morning_bun1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>And delicious.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-76534626381002081282010-05-15T23:59:00.002-04:002010-05-16T00:29:29.966-04:00Where Have I Been?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHyGn-JYIO24BGwxQo3UQe0LhJDVP1E0IpIk-HfylXgVhwQBoPNfw8xKFeWylhr89su_rg3cCUFwkxksbRN-HOsXlzED3k4AXsqF5MycGz_I2M4QG4dtMt8FcJV7nnnvqLraJhL0E5f7j/s1600/IggyDesk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHyGn-JYIO24BGwxQo3UQe0LhJDVP1E0IpIk-HfylXgVhwQBoPNfw8xKFeWylhr89su_rg3cCUFwkxksbRN-HOsXlzED3k4AXsqF5MycGz_I2M4QG4dtMt8FcJV7nnnvqLraJhL0E5f7j/s400/IggyDesk.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I had good intentions of posting about Turkey as soon as we returned to the States, but then the reality of trying to finish up grad school hit and I basically sat here, at my desk, drinking strong black tea and staring at my computer screen, for the seven-week dash to the finish line. This culminated in a four-day flurry of activity at the beginning of May, when I ran two of our biggest events of the year at work, presented the results of my Masters project, and handed in a 45-page group paper for another class. Then I had a week to transform the 21-page draft of my thesis into an 88-page final product, which I turned in on Monday. I've spent so much time sitting at this desk over the past weeks, often in the wee hours of the morning, typing and shuffling papers and making checklists. That's Iggy on the right--he loves to be in the middle of whatever is going on around the apartment, even if that means squeezing himself into a slightly-too-small corner of the desk and knocking all of my papers on the floor. I actually like the company, except when he starts attacking the mouse. When I get bored, I put paper clips on the edge of the desk for him to bat around. <br />
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So I handed in my thesis on Monday, turned in the final report to my "client" on Thursday, and now I'm done with school. When Stephen and I went out <a href="http://www.pizzeriaposto.com/">Pizzeria Posto</a> to celebrate my last day of class, he kept saying, "You have your life back!" (We were also celebrating a milestone for him--after three years working as a student teacher, intern teacher, assistant teacher, and a program assistant, he found out two weeks ago that he finally got his dream job, a full-time position teaching a combined 1st/2nd grade class in a progressive public school, which he'll start in September.) I have a huge list of things that I want to do now that my evenings and weekends are unspoken for--all of which I'd like to tell you about, but Iggy just jumped on the desk and fell asleep with his head on my arm, so I'm typing one-handed, and it's taking forever. So I'll have to get back to you. I am determined to get those Turkey pictures posted.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-89759212741585528382010-03-11T00:41:00.004-05:002010-03-11T00:46:56.484-05:00Istanbul, Not Constantinople<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVo7z80SfFkZmzMjDb2iMqeUgPH_wAgDDOmsrltd0FeCP8UntZ5H0QJlbz8G6xc04D4cLh4z-6BBRyuiEm4orqehsoiLcF49Ucq3sv2XMrFo0ZlyD0YDQsI9OuyiYOfVI9W2YrrnVApl2n/s1600-h/crocus1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVo7z80SfFkZmzMjDb2iMqeUgPH_wAgDDOmsrltd0FeCP8UntZ5H0QJlbz8G6xc04D4cLh4z-6BBRyuiEm4orqehsoiLcF49Ucq3sv2XMrFo0ZlyD0YDQsI9OuyiYOfVI9W2YrrnVApl2n/s400/crocus1a.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>It was 50 degrees out on Saturday, so Stephen and I took a walk through Huron Village to <a href="http://www.sofrabakery.com/">Sofra</a> for an afternoon snack. We split a pot of cocoa rose tea, Stephen got lamb shawarma, and I ordered the Syrian-style bread hummus, which was not at all what I was expecting--sort of a deconstructed hummus, maybe. It consisted of chunks of fresh bread, olive oil, marinated chick peas, green onions, yogurt, and paprika, I think, served warm in a tiny casserole dish. Even though it was completely new to me, it smelled incredibly homey and familiar in some way, and I pretty much licked the dish clean.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJE0CjOf-IRVfdhC3xIcKkS1PDO9dtnIIPfEhiOpredekJqjY1YuwtSERrAhG2nFrAxYwoiHVvoL36f25BsdsHgm06WJn8nbIBJbBioglxmdag30cevKX4gKUgdCbeAnNT6AX_6c8A3kx6/s1600-h/crocus2a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJE0CjOf-IRVfdhC3xIcKkS1PDO9dtnIIPfEhiOpredekJqjY1YuwtSERrAhG2nFrAxYwoiHVvoL36f25BsdsHgm06WJn8nbIBJbBioglxmdag30cevKX4gKUgdCbeAnNT6AX_6c8A3kx6/s400/crocus2a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>We've had Middle Eastern food at Sofra a few times before, but this time we called it "research" because we're about to leave on a trip to Turkey with Stephen's family. The planning has been very sudden--I still can't believe we're going. I've only been out of the US three times in my life, and two of those trips were to Canada, so this is hard for me to wrap my head around. I've had the They Might Be Giants cover of "Istanbul, Not Constantinople" stuck in my head all week.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0NcvG2CgWLEsp-RtAx6hqQwREYRZc3Ovzdvx9Mj3smGPePRTkcNqKqxeT1QJHJlHb24JBJrMtkCDFqI-guEHZN9az3X6zyqJW8DTDaBeQ5H9WuBDwuAhy2WyAqhkUnAKEOfb54vay04M/s1600-h/crocus3a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0NcvG2CgWLEsp-RtAx6hqQwREYRZc3Ovzdvx9Mj3smGPePRTkcNqKqxeT1QJHJlHb24JBJrMtkCDFqI-guEHZN9az3X6zyqJW8DTDaBeQ5H9WuBDwuAhy2WyAqhkUnAKEOfb54vay04M/s400/crocus3a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>On our way home from the bakery on Saturday, we cut through the Radcliffe Quadrangle at Harvard and found these crocuses--first flowers of spring. Later we saw snowdrops in someone's front garden, too. Between the warm temperatures and Daylight Savings Time beginning, winter will soon be a distant memory. I know it happens every year, but it still feels like a miracle every time.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-58156114241395297842010-03-06T23:24:00.001-05:002010-03-06T23:24:35.984-05:00Foremothers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqrZE_5FLKDQ1cmzbDloJyYDbu6pHOErvstGZ2hjW3cK7SI1XIN8cgdKj_AELTgw53peJyTIZ4pVuw0GXWwyrFE7m-QLRIzvvnxVz0WAf4dmBjhXIRglpQCantBnlkryHm0fz9S_bX1IL/s1600-h/yearbook1a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqrZE_5FLKDQ1cmzbDloJyYDbu6pHOErvstGZ2hjW3cK7SI1XIN8cgdKj_AELTgw53peJyTIZ4pVuw0GXWwyrFE7m-QLRIzvvnxVz0WAf4dmBjhXIRglpQCantBnlkryHm0fz9S_bX1IL/s400/yearbook1a.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Happy (almost) International Women's Day! Last year, I coordinated a big IWD event for a committee I was serving on, but we're not doing anything for it this year, so instead I plan to celebrate on Monday with some homemade <a href="http://gogoabigail.com/blog/2010/02/12/carrot-cake-whoopie-pies/">carrot cake whoopie pies</a> at our weekly staff meeting (which, come to think of it, will be attended by seven women and one feminist man, so that seems appropriate).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqB3yjt1F2bWcFjOvPnairKjswU2vwDWJlFkxHyJOBx8uatpsAUPW9EygmmvdlR7VXZFfEJ3KHt__4HoKbl9KdmPY82S3BHHYxxZDHzGCeORGRi9UY_6E3hTi2RYW3pJfymk5Ec0KJkYI3/s1600-h/yearbook2a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqB3yjt1F2bWcFjOvPnairKjswU2vwDWJlFkxHyJOBx8uatpsAUPW9EygmmvdlR7VXZFfEJ3KHt__4HoKbl9KdmPY82S3BHHYxxZDHzGCeORGRi9UY_6E3hTi2RYW3pJfymk5Ec0KJkYI3/s400/yearbook2a.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
These (unfortunately blurry) images are from a photo that we got at a second-hand store when we went to <a href="http://www.boston.com/yourtown/news/somerville/2009/12/davis_squares_annual_midnight.html">Midnight Madness</a> with my brother back in December. It's the Medford, Massachusetts High School senior class of 1923. I love the personalities captured in each of their faces. <br />
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Aren't they stylish? They look much cooler to me than contemporary high school seniors. Will anyone say that about my senior portrait when eighty-seven years have passed?Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-82106363768993917102010-02-27T16:47:00.002-05:002010-02-27T16:51:29.822-05:00The End is Not Yet in Sight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVp267_PLYZ04sGGiWZ7k-fGr31CfWSkvcQhnXe6x_T0cFGFRmIJTQA7GyQXeS5jfubEQ7OJ9xZHFs50lT5QYt26l-G2G2yM_lb5tWf7dTP6Og_DOYaYs5lUzzURczn_5DUx6LZPh4AJL/s1600-h/books1c.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVp267_PLYZ04sGGiWZ7k-fGr31CfWSkvcQhnXe6x_T0cFGFRmIJTQA7GyQXeS5jfubEQ7OJ9xZHFs50lT5QYt26l-G2G2yM_lb5tWf7dTP6Og_DOYaYs5lUzzURczn_5DUx6LZPh4AJL/s400/books1c.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
My yoga class was packed last night. We kept shifting our mats around to make room for latecomers. There must have been 40+ people squeezed into that little studio. The teacher was confused and asked if there was some kind of event going on that she wasn’t aware of. Someone called out, “No, we’re just stressed!” Ha. That’s certainly why <i>I</i> was there. The semester is in full swing now, and the amount of work standing between me and Commencement Day on May 23 is enormous. Meanwhile, we're launching several new projects at work, and watching the Olympics every night has not helped me to relax. I hold my breath each time we turn on the TV, hoping I’m not about to see some career-ending fall on the halfpipe or crash on the ice.There’s so much potential for devastating injury (not to mention heartbreak/crushed dreams) in these events. I don’t remember the Summer Olympics being so hard to watch. Are the winter games more dangerous, or am I just on edge? These kinds of things don’t seem to happen in swimming. (Actually, the high dive makes me a little nervous.)<br />
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I don’t like to use the word “stress” because I feel that its constant repetition (stress stress STRESS!) both adds to the collective burden of anxiety and somehow implies that it’s normal to feel this way, that <i>everyone</i> is <i>always </i>overworked and undernourished. There's a series of ads on the T right now for some kind of one-minute dinner product, and the copy says things like, "This rice is in an even bigger hurry than you are!" There are even streaks drawn behind the box of rice to show that it's rushing around. Bleh. But there's no denying that I do feel some stress right now. Going to yoga this week helped. And I (accidentally) slept for ten and a half hours on Wednesday night, which felt great. <br />
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A bright spot in all of this has been the weather this past week. Yes, we lost power on Thursday night, and the streets were flooded for days. But we've hardly had any snow (just a flurry here and there, nothing that stuck), and the sun came out on Friday morning, giving me hope that spring may indeed come again. I can’t wait. Last spring, I wrote down the flowers I saw each month so that I would know what to look for this year. In March, there were snow drops, then crocuses and pansies, followed in April by irises, forsythia, hyacinths, tulips, daffodils, and magnolias. Hard to believe that’s right around the corner, isn’t it?Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-57341533689174822152010-02-07T23:31:00.003-05:002010-02-07T23:33:08.508-05:00Green Car<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNy5P5B-tytcwhhwjHdQg9RtVbmJDC8dl11SYPcCU5RqOmKNxD0JzeIJ6srXjbZthbLXnlhi8sjr8plran3xeZgEOl7BAkzylSd-1RpfMOI7xzXxu9DQmoOKCh8COCpwy54IlsdtSdlyHp/s1600-h/plate2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNy5P5B-tytcwhhwjHdQg9RtVbmJDC8dl11SYPcCU5RqOmKNxD0JzeIJ6srXjbZthbLXnlhi8sjr8plran3xeZgEOl7BAkzylSd-1RpfMOI7xzXxu9DQmoOKCh8COCpwy54IlsdtSdlyHp/s400/plate2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>These license plates are what remains of our car. It was in an accident in January and we just heard from the insurance company that it's a total loss. Luckily, everyone involved is totally fine.<br />
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At some point in my life (not very long ago), this would have seemed like a <i>huge </i>calamity: the police report, the insurance claim, the wondering if it <i>could </i>be fixed and how much it would cost to do so, etc. I would have dwelt on it and fretted and regretted and all that. It was still surprising and sad and scary, but it happened so soon after the earthquake in Haiti that losing a car just didn't seem like such a big deal in comparison. It was a good and safe and reliable car that carried me and my family to many places in its 12 years, and I appreciated that. It had over 227,000 miles on it, and I was looking forward to the day when it met the quarter-million mile mark. But everyone is still here, my future is still here, very little has changed except that there's no green car parked outside our apartment building any more--and that seems like a pretty lucky outcome, considering. <br />
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Thank you, little green car.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-47470927653970128982010-01-31T15:09:00.003-05:002010-01-31T15:16:14.593-05:00The Life Aquatic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpYogVC_jsdV390OptbN-YVormkm5BBxc_0CAlxOOvKHKZndzLFnQwYo75hJROJXRpt5LpV_KGpHGgP6GCiqd4hIrojd_4yo8TT2fgUlHuUPelO_DBRXtC16VGoWecCrBiUQtBnApovk2_/s1600-h/swim4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpYogVC_jsdV390OptbN-YVormkm5BBxc_0CAlxOOvKHKZndzLFnQwYo75hJROJXRpt5LpV_KGpHGgP6GCiqd4hIrojd_4yo8TT2fgUlHuUPelO_DBRXtC16VGoWecCrBiUQtBnApovk2_/s400/swim4.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I've never been a strong swimmer. My dad taught me the basics when I was little, but I didn't take formal lessons. I knew just enough to get through the swim test in college. When I worked as a camp counselor one summer after graduating, I sat day after day by the pool and noticed this group of older women (some of them 80+) swimming laps as though it were nothing. I had this idea that if I could just get my form down, swimming was a skill that I could use for my whole life. But it's hard to figure out how to get better on your own; it's not like weight-lifting, where you can check your form in the mirror.<br />
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When I started physical therapy for <a href="http://waldenstreet.blogspot.com/2009/08/whats-up-doc.html">knee pain</a> last fall, the orthopedist told me to take a break from high-impact exercise for a while, so I decided to focus on swimming instead. I signed up for a six-week course at a pool in Harvard Square. The first few classes were very elementary, but I wanted to review the essentials before getting into more complex stuff. Also, I'd never done the crawl before, so the breathing pattern and arm movements were new territory for me.<br />
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When that course ended in November, I signed up for the Level II class, and then progressed to Level III this month. At this point, we spend most of the sessions swimming laps, alternating between the crawl and the backstroke. We're also working on treading water (which I still find exhausting) and learning flip turns to make the transition between laps smoother. <br />
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I think this will be the last class I take for now. I've learned everything I came to learn, and now I just need practice to build up endurance--especially mental endurance. I think the biggest impediment to progress right now is convincing myself that I'm <i>not</i> going to drown between breaths, that I have enough air to make it through three more strokes. It's weird how the animal brain can kick in when you're under water. Doing deep breathing exercises in yoga class has helped me learn to calm my brain a little when swimming, but it's still a struggle. I do love it, though. Especially at this time of year, when it's bitterly cold out, it's nice to go to a heated pool and splash around under the skylights for a while.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-91462976306376525862010-01-12T16:02:00.002-05:002010-01-12T16:04:04.700-05:00Zither!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9MXQgUe4BUjle13XxRCmjo_97PNZ3egryIqvIZWCMumC8TRk5dzWqKIQbZL67CWVTT_Yfhf-5v8KfWXRliUHiahq6g6ZEqGhMWDm3-OwaCMZCZ8EV2-RW3AEUPq3gPNatRG5mqoHpyjGb/s1600-h/harp4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9MXQgUe4BUjle13XxRCmjo_97PNZ3egryIqvIZWCMumC8TRk5dzWqKIQbZL67CWVTT_Yfhf-5v8KfWXRliUHiahq6g6ZEqGhMWDm3-OwaCMZCZ8EV2-RW3AEUPq3gPNatRG5mqoHpyjGb/s640/harp4.JPG" /></a><br />
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Stephen and I made a deal back in August to get each other just one present for Christmas this year. We don't really have much room to put new things in our 450 square foot apartment, and I thought that by limiting our shopping to just one gift each, we'd reduce our Christmas-shopping burden and be more thoughtful in our choices. I got Stephen a Fit board to go with the Wii he got for his birthday in November. And what did he get me?<br />
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An autoharp! When we were visiting friends in Maryland last spring, we stopped in at a music store and tried out all kinds of obscure instruments: ukuleles, hammered dulcimers, accordians, etc. The autoharp was my favorite. I liked the way sounded and how easy it was to play. Stephen must have made a mental note of my preference, because a suspiciously trapezoidal package showed up under the tree right before Christmas. He told me later that he had to go to six different music stores to find one that carried autoharps. Fun fact (if anything on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autoharp">Wikipedia</a> can be called "fact"): The autoharp is not a harp at all, but a chorded zither. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_CXSjgs6wlt1mn6eO_6rd6cU2VThpJBrJkNNuLopTKqOjaE2336Gj-OJD4rDN2cO9l9G_uZ8fIM77Z9t51eF-o9-A_FjfPLGpcCs9L8vW57-2frbglc0c1ffzap7_fLQSe2CEclEsmzhh/s1600-h/harp6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_CXSjgs6wlt1mn6eO_6rd6cU2VThpJBrJkNNuLopTKqOjaE2336Gj-OJD4rDN2cO9l9G_uZ8fIM77Z9t51eF-o9-A_FjfPLGpcCs9L8vW57-2frbglc0c1ffzap7_fLQSe2CEclEsmzhh/s640/harp6.JPG" /></a><br />
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I love it. It really <i>is</i> easy and fun to play--much easier than any other stringed instrument I've tried. There are no complicated fingerings to memorize or painful strings to press, thanks to the chord bars. So far, I only know two songs, but I hope to grow my repertoire. Get your request lists ready!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-51479459790853198862010-01-01T18:34:00.005-05:002010-01-01T18:39:39.852-05:00Christmas Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UFC-i7Qoqfg_kbh_VCo5bu-r56oZsvo6YzuccvT3eOHFeBhmJz1CCN1hk0OIRYtmLg-rlhks-c7yrk1dMCiXZL-ci8FmvdWHBMqTkxLPLJnQOulZVGOtrGsfZjo84mfn1LOR346E3NP_/s1600-h/tree2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UFC-i7Qoqfg_kbh_VCo5bu-r56oZsvo6YzuccvT3eOHFeBhmJz1CCN1hk0OIRYtmLg-rlhks-c7yrk1dMCiXZL-ci8FmvdWHBMqTkxLPLJnQOulZVGOtrGsfZjo84mfn1LOR346E3NP_/s640/tree2.JPG" /></a><br />
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We only had one Christmas tree this year, this little silver one. I like the smell of a real tree, but it doesn't make a lot of sense to buy one in mid-December right before you leave town for two weeks, so we nixed the live greenery this time. I tried to tone down the tinsel with folksy felt and wooden ornaments and a paper flag garland that we got on our <a href="http://waldenstreet.blogspot.com/2009/06/portland.html">trip</a> to Portland last June. I put up my collection of bird ornaments, too, but Iggy kept trying to eat them, so I had to take them down.<br />
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We invited some friends over before Christmas to help make a gingerbread village for the living room. We had wine and funky pizza from <a href="http://zingpizza.blogspot.com/">Zing!</a>, and things got pretty creative. We ended up with a solar-powered house, an outhouse, and several structures that defied categorization. Someone even made an aquarium stocked with Swedish fish.<br />
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</div>When they were finished, we set them along the windowsill. Now when the radiators come on, the smell of warm frosting fills the apartment.<br />
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</div>I spent the holidays proper at my parents' house in New York state. My family and I spent most of the week eating homemade lasagna, putting together puzzles and playing the highly-addictive <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carcassonne_%28board_game%29">Carcassonne</a>. Stephen took the train from Boston to Albany for my birthday on Monday and we went out to dinner with my brothers and their girlfriends. It was lovely. <br />
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And then...I got sick. So how did I spend the last night of the year? I took a shot of Nyquil and went to bed early. <br />
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Here's to 2010!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-34441938075052103632009-12-20T17:09:00.001-05:002009-12-20T17:10:36.236-05:00Rare Bird<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfpwX2noDCNBMWlBoFt0qNzNiXLLNgjEYq26Wccgce8DczLu8XbwOonquTOM5xlKlybCjeuVezkbX2IGCEO3yIf6Z6IjPrw5y1jvhOGVViwTPzD8APoYx7SQW6_rfQaUv-trmmR0Pm-6w/s1600-h/Amtrak.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfpwX2noDCNBMWlBoFt0qNzNiXLLNgjEYq26Wccgce8DczLu8XbwOonquTOM5xlKlybCjeuVezkbX2IGCEO3yIf6Z6IjPrw5y1jvhOGVViwTPzD8APoYx7SQW6_rfQaUv-trmmR0Pm-6w/s640/Amtrak.JPG" /></a><br />
</div>We took the train north to Salem a couple of weekends ago for <a href="http://waldenstreet.blogspot.com/2008/03/projects.html">another visit</a> to the Peabody Essex museum. The morning was grey and chilly; the afternoon, rainy; and by the time we left the museum at 5:00pm, it was snowing. Inside the soaring PEM <a href="http://www.pem.org/mission/director">atrium</a>, though, it was bright and warm. We saw <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0114805/"><i>Unzipped</i></a>, a documentary about the making of Isaac Mizrahi's fall 1994 collection, and a panel discussion featuring Iris Apfel that coincided with the <a href="http://www.pem.org/exhibitions/21-rare_bird_of_fashion_the_irreverent_iris_apfel"><i>Rare Bird of Fashion</i></a> exhibit. Iris and Robin Givhan, fashion editor for the <i>Washington Post</i>, had a lot of interesting things to say about the politics of women's clothes (especially for politicians like Nancy Pelosi and Hillary Clinton). <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNwvpuR43dbIg-HJzx97ZXZnCW8iirvIKkcE7OO5xkZRUbB7HQ_IpZfJwXCFLxDFltwnGmWtOkTkxqBLWXHm7lYc0ruVRrSI3sC0xzS3SnIIAJAllnPW3zfyJDGOnRm5Ztd6vOp70A4L6/s1600-h/hair1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNwvpuR43dbIg-HJzx97ZXZnCW8iirvIKkcE7OO5xkZRUbB7HQ_IpZfJwXCFLxDFltwnGmWtOkTkxqBLWXHm7lYc0ruVRrSI3sC0xzS3SnIIAJAllnPW3zfyJDGOnRm5Ztd6vOp70A4L6/s640/hair1.JPG" /></a><br />
</div>The gift shop was full of crazy accessories inspired by the exhibit: necklaces as big as salad plates, huge bracelets, lots of feathers. I got this fascinator and wore it until we had to go back out into the nasty weather.<br />
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After the museum closed, we had an hour and a half to kill before the train home. We walked over to a little cafe, lured by signs promising Aztec hot chocolate and a chocolate fountain. I was initially skeptical about the idea of a shared pool of chocolate, but the proprietor assured us that it was sanitary. (Also, it was free and we were starving, so that tipped the balance in favor of the fountain.) We ate a bunch of chocolate-covered things, drank hot chocolate, and then ran over to the train station, where we huddled on the open-air platform waiting for the train back to Boston. It was a fun winter outing--though, someday, I would like to visit Salem when it's <i>not</i> freezing cold.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-67072237208033920002009-11-23T00:15:00.005-05:002009-11-23T00:26:02.914-05:00Fikapause<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKe4Cnxtjv_t3eJTaOkYlVnf_mneL1VNZERkxUDLLq-e38ZVdk7zVkrQOHlZZE7MBa2URJXKM_JD0rEnrw9oqp-zFSx5ADClAcUoMeqtUW_88CNRqvEYLdScwih_uzSt12jSLUmXhEHAYz/s1600/fikamug.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKe4Cnxtjv_t3eJTaOkYlVnf_mneL1VNZERkxUDLLq-e38ZVdk7zVkrQOHlZZE7MBa2URJXKM_JD0rEnrw9oqp-zFSx5ADClAcUoMeqtUW_88CNRqvEYLdScwih_uzSt12jSLUmXhEHAYz/s640/fikamug.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><br />
It's no secret that Stephen and I are big-time fans of all things Scandinavian. We've been saving up for a while to take a trip to Sweden, the land of (some of) my ancestors. And we're rabid consumers of anything Danish, Finnish, Swedish or Norwegian that can be found stateside: IKEA, Marimekko, H&M, and the little Scandinavian import store we <a href="http://waldenstreet.blogspot.com/2009/06/portland.html">visited</a> in Portland. Stephen even carved me a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dalecarlian_horse">Dala horse</a> last Christmas.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1Hn619EoCW37ig39A4xmHZzTv5DTl-UXZJ4PQEYcERzgabIZ4Y5LxQAghLiPiDor2W0-CgtZY8D8UJiSz4BfEiQ6l699gutFgNSUSrHtvHx1XGRpkZRlSHDzy2eZAFhtmOvOvlYsJ9mY/s1600/fikastephen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1Hn619EoCW37ig39A4xmHZzTv5DTl-UXZJ4PQEYcERzgabIZ4Y5LxQAghLiPiDor2W0-CgtZY8D8UJiSz4BfEiQ6l699gutFgNSUSrHtvHx1XGRpkZRlSHDzy2eZAFhtmOvOvlYsJ9mY/s640/fikastephen.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><br />
It's a particularly work-heavy time of the semester right now; I'm spending a lot of weekend hours in the computer lab at school. By mid-afternoon, I'm pretty burnt out, so we've recently adopted <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fika"><i>fika</i></a>, the traditional Swedish ritual of sitting down for coffee and pastries with colleagues and friends. Around 4:30, Stephen and I head to the picturesque <a href="http://danishpastryhouse.com/cafe.html">Danish Pastry House</a> in Medford for mocha and cookies.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6psm6nuIys2xuys6XpeDNbqC2adjTc5sLF8iyeUi7UD6XESeNHrJqhMPqx5eZJYia0Jt0oBk7NuZYw3WiXQFT-b8LzJUmECY538Y1xdtCU6mvZGCUb9yVExyj06SSUplF1nL2mdtLqyJx/s1600/fikacookie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6psm6nuIys2xuys6XpeDNbqC2adjTc5sLF8iyeUi7UD6XESeNHrJqhMPqx5eZJYia0Jt0oBk7NuZYw3WiXQFT-b8LzJUmECY538Y1xdtCU6mvZGCUb9yVExyj06SSUplF1nL2mdtLqyJx/s640/fikacookie.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><br />
Chocolate-dipped macaroons may not be the most nutritious afternoon snack, but it's nice to sit in a warm and cozy cafe when the sun is setting at a depressingly early hour. If anyone knows how to brighten these short winter days, it must be the northern Europeans, right?Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-9463326173976706002009-11-11T18:14:00.000-05:002009-11-11T18:14:26.342-05:00Hallowe'en<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZiQ_NeN5d7s17m-eOS1Jd6bdohHDSvA-wK_hOxjVludFtpyO47J6PBYkw3qFrz8NBJAhTaBaUiFnUyhWcRDR_x7DDt5qUgr8OyjZMtgFhd-tCYJSNZyAaPixfz9NnA3naYxCX7XQ7K0d/s1600-h/3lit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZiQ_NeN5d7s17m-eOS1Jd6bdohHDSvA-wK_hOxjVludFtpyO47J6PBYkw3qFrz8NBJAhTaBaUiFnUyhWcRDR_x7DDt5qUgr8OyjZMtgFhd-tCYJSNZyAaPixfz9NnA3naYxCX7XQ7K0d/s640/3lit.JPG" /></a><br />
</div>What would it take for me to really like Halloween? Kids, I think. I need to have some kids (my own or someone else's) to take trick-or-treating, or a house (or someone else's) where I can give out candy to kids. It just seems like a great holiday for children. It was so fun to dress up when I was little and walk around town with a million other kids, collecting candy from people. Our town had a big Halloween parade on the evening of the 31st, and everyone (families, college students, dogs, whatever) would get dressed up and march down Main Street in the dark to the firehouse, then disburse into the surrounding streets. It was always cold that night, and our parents made us wear winter coats over our costumes even though cats/angels/princesses <i>obviously</i> don't wear puffy jackets. The best part (besides the candy and the dressing-up) was that my mom let my sister and I wear makeup to go with our costumes. (This is a big reason that I was a fortune-teller for so many years: they have to wear <i>lots </i>of makeup.) The smell of certain lipsticks still makes me think of Halloween.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUMq82saiyLYL9e5m2ij7puKpkCc9O94_r2jjisDUIIvODLhpmt9ra9WhaaBELqWjgP3S4BBsN8zV4PhBSXyDqT0TNJQJPIEE9-w_Xq99Omly_YxyjRKbmUG0vGwYxiTa-XzslnvpASwC/s1600-h/ghostly.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUMq82saiyLYL9e5m2ij7puKpkCc9O94_r2jjisDUIIvODLhpmt9ra9WhaaBELqWjgP3S4BBsN8zV4PhBSXyDqT0TNJQJPIEE9-w_Xq99Omly_YxyjRKbmUG0vGwYxiTa-XzslnvpASwC/s640/ghostly.JPG" /></a><br />
</div>I've never enjoyed the holiday as an adult, though. I like the idea of a Day of the Dead, but the grown-up, American version of the holiday seems to center around (1) violence (blood and gore, dismemberment, brain-gobbling zombies) and (2) skimpy outfits for women (sexy nurse, sexy pirate, etc). Ugh. Where is the creativity? The way I feel about Halloween is the way many people feel about Valentine's Day: it's too commercialized. I mean, entire <i><a href="http://www.spirithalloween.com/">stores</a> </i>go up for Halloween. Even V-day isn't <i>that</i> bad.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlDLftHBgkrMj3YAgRC_n86CXCejsV4ZnUN4ku2Gcm1IbL2bFw0gRMKyFR7er7JXyhEx1qPsLrVyxdpmlhitLq5FVHs8pjDoHXL0RZ33ID2H9g8UAfKVqYvTkHjzGrJ1XjpYhHV3nhAmI/s1600-h/turnip3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFlDLftHBgkrMj3YAgRC_n86CXCejsV4ZnUN4ku2Gcm1IbL2bFw0gRMKyFR7er7JXyhEx1qPsLrVyxdpmlhitLq5FVHs8pjDoHXL0RZ33ID2H9g8UAfKVqYvTkHjzGrJ1XjpYhHV3nhAmI/s640/turnip3.JPG" /></a><br />
</div>So how did I, the Halloween Grinch (or Halloweenie, as a friend dubbed me), celebrate this year? I went back to the holiday's historical roots. If <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack-o%27-lantern#Folklore">Wikipedia</a> is to be believed, the Jack-o'-Lantern of legend was a wandering soul who carried a carved turnip lit by an ember. So we carved dracula turnips and hung them in the window. Between that and our real live <a href="http://waldenstreet.blogspot.com/2009/07/iggy-stardust.html">black cat</a>, I think we did the holiday justice.<br />
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Maybe next year I'll find a candy-dispensing house to borrow.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-14047870204739564282009-10-31T13:06:00.006-04:002009-10-31T13:18:13.570-04:00Eat Donuts, Sleep, Read<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSR94yC9BZsNSpPR_xKy7rxWNeS-nNVDoNXW0Zxy8hcaMYP5KBAe-6jXqFuVQxsgWI5XOSH2yAOG1Kh3ptcjhS4K2gxiKjIQcqAns6MS2HW1ojNVjRuJOkHG9fYeh1lFwpfnpw99gY-pRk/s1600-h/apples_tree1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSR94yC9BZsNSpPR_xKy7rxWNeS-nNVDoNXW0Zxy8hcaMYP5KBAe-6jXqFuVQxsgWI5XOSH2yAOG1Kh3ptcjhS4K2gxiKjIQcqAns6MS2HW1ojNVjRuJOkHG9fYeh1lFwpfnpw99gY-pRk/s640/apples_tree1.JPG" /></a></span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">For our <a href="http://waldenstreet.blogspot.com/2008/10/yurt.html" target="_blank">Columbus Day trip </a></span><span style="font-size: small;">this year, we drove to New York to visit my parents and siblings. You know those IndieBound </span><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.indiebound.org/indie-gear" target="_blank">bookmarks</a> that say “Eat Sleep Read”? That pretty much sums up the weekend. I was still knocked out from a cold I got in September, and I spent 25 hours sleeping it off between Saturday morning and Monday afternoon. When I wasn’t sleeping, I visited the <a href="http://www.thevillagetearoom.com/" target="_blank">Village Tea Room</a> with my sister, an Italian restaurant in Gardiner with my parents, got a bunch of take-out with Stephen, and had Sunday brunch at my parents’ favorite bagel place. I finished up my September book and read through all of my mom’s back issues of <i>Real Simple </i>and <i>O</i>.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjz2aSoxgX1YBxoGDmJ67SgQ5GMzYN8nh0aFdKjnAsBVaOfzbTHIweIeJH6KavEZE47N721YBSMKRCuTFaB1fzbFmBADvl2Iyfdz4HZRxS-4m7HM_Q-2ObNa-TnmF3VQq3wZIShOvfK3J/s1600-h/apples_flowers3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjz2aSoxgX1YBxoGDmJ67SgQ5GMzYN8nh0aFdKjnAsBVaOfzbTHIweIeJH6KavEZE47N721YBSMKRCuTFaB1fzbFmBADvl2Iyfdz4HZRxS-4m7HM_Q-2ObNa-TnmF3VQq3wZIShOvfK3J/s640/apples_flowers3.JPG" /></a>On Monday, Stephen and I went apple-picking (and zinnia-picking, and cider donut-eating) with my mom. It was an overcast day, but the foliage was sparkling and the view was magnificent. <br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-OWqNFt1eEWzz19OZ0PQuJQ9-98UNHCJLlgRhrcLtSbK3CEQos6wogVgFIWHtuPrBYswolAO8QUOtDKQx0VVe3Ipt5ElPHKJdwvFiWU3rH5NFGJ30fiesjZmfwyn9PkoQ5cJpn-R_zSq9/s1600-h/apples_mountain2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-OWqNFt1eEWzz19OZ0PQuJQ9-98UNHCJLlgRhrcLtSbK3CEQos6wogVgFIWHtuPrBYswolAO8QUOtDKQx0VVe3Ipt5ElPHKJdwvFiWU3rH5NFGJ30fiesjZmfwyn9PkoQ5cJpn-R_zSq9/s640/apples_mountain2.JPG" /></a>We got Macouns, Cortlands, a couple of Empires, and one of the last few Macintoshes on the trees. No Deliciouses, Red <i>or</i> Golden, because I dislike their texture and find them flavorless. And their name seems like a marketing stunt, like naming Greenland “Greenland”. <i>I’ll</i> be the judge of deliciousness.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3kayvJjQAXsfBxnqXKRAcWptQhLzgvh6fxkZroskm7JsLBduR4-dEn9yajXUOWZqST5A3YYpPyej7LLmtdVda3OlQ-2XPqUAhxpBeDa3mEQuMna9pyoplKRGOQrIxSmvJB0MYYUTIG-P/s1600-h/apples_yellowlane.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3kayvJjQAXsfBxnqXKRAcWptQhLzgvh6fxkZroskm7JsLBduR4-dEn9yajXUOWZqST5A3YYpPyej7LLmtdVda3OlQ-2XPqUAhxpBeDa3mEQuMna9pyoplKRGOQrIxSmvJB0MYYUTIG-P/s640/apples_yellowlane.JPG" /></a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> Stephen thought the Goldens were pretty good, though. Here he is eating one.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWNrJUSuyEbzlvT-KOkWnXqB-lDiqsyqLF9oXyONqLTQU2FX4p5QURsd6qLNNN7uTsbzOQ67Qmq0dacZl6192DJCb5KEah9OPMtwQ0v3zlDpulyOWC6e7lMfhnagCxWe7yr_G-VLe8tU6/s1600-h/apples_stephen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWNrJUSuyEbzlvT-KOkWnXqB-lDiqsyqLF9oXyONqLTQU2FX4p5QURsd6qLNNN7uTsbzOQ67Qmq0dacZl6192DJCb5KEah9OPMtwQ0v3zlDpulyOWC6e7lMfhnagCxWe7yr_G-VLe8tU6/s640/apples_stephen.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><div><span style="font-size: small;">Afterward, we went to the farm stand and bought half a dozen cider donuts for the long drive back to Cambridge. They were warm, fresh out of the donut-maker, so Stephen ate four of them in the first twenty minutes. I can’t blame him.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbbQLmyf9xemW396-ty_a_qCI_pMllpC_6oeoetVyXtHxXqnAKDojaBx9K6NpFDS_uIAvPHlJyXCxVkebL59kG4PEOFlxO7MZR0TEGbchd4RdmjTawvOkkDel9GA6cRB8lzg2NnjY5kQeA/s1600-h/apples_cider.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbbQLmyf9xemW396-ty_a_qCI_pMllpC_6oeoetVyXtHxXqnAKDojaBx9K6NpFDS_uIAvPHlJyXCxVkebL59kG4PEOFlxO7MZR0TEGbchd4RdmjTawvOkkDel9GA6cRB8lzg2NnjY5kQeA/s640/apples_cider.JPG" /></a><br />
</span> <br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;">When we did this around the same time last fall, I wore shorts and a t-shirt. Hard to believe that now. It was way too cold for that this time. It feels like we transitioned very quickly from late summer to late fall this year, weather-wise. I like it when October has warm days and chilly nights. But this past month—in eastern Mass, anyway—it was just plain chilly. We’ve already had snow twice! <b><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-56932558960598073742009-10-29T23:31:00.001-04:002009-10-31T12:50:21.797-04:00Maize<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgySW1GWnneL7YDXkHqUpzH9uA8zViwGDgXtok3CiA2HxJuc9zR0znb05h6yKzeYHS0Sgbs54W2gd_Gbvr-N0WTZ2Z1K-wC1UIhipPInrjPatFzAgFwCC_LLta_Qwpvs4Ye4PMsezPNAo/s1600-h/cornfield1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgySW1GWnneL7YDXkHqUpzH9uA8zViwGDgXtok3CiA2HxJuc9zR0znb05h6yKzeYHS0Sgbs54W2gd_Gbvr-N0WTZ2Z1K-wC1UIhipPInrjPatFzAgFwCC_LLta_Qwpvs4Ye4PMsezPNAo/s640/cornfield1.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">I’ve been in corn mazes <a href="http://waldenstreet.blogspot.com/2007/10/apples-zinnias-steamboat-tea.html">before</a>. A farm near my parents’ house grows one every year, and I’m always surprised by how disorienting it is. The paths are so narrow that you have to walk single-file, and the plants obscure and muffle everything outside the maze. It’s the perfect setting for a horror movie.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I also got lost (for a couple of minutes) in a real cornfield once, while playing tag with friends. It was late fall, and the plants were withered and brown, the stalks crackling around our feet. As we scattered in all directions, I got turned around and couldn’t figure out how to get out again. Eventually, I stood on my toes and looked toward the horizon. I saw the ridge that borders our town to the west and remembered that I’d come from the opposite direction. I turned and ran to safety. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdOYO3uMVGVy9DjG1mWy2HTWmqnRDcQnJ9nIz1XkiWLDXW7gakLTYveaQdIFld5Y5a_54SBFExcKXs2Wnd36Lkgvw0F94Pj9SdiFgwyb9PJ6eEcQBExVJigkopQjt882bGwerZdglTNDJ/s1600-h/cornfield2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdOYO3uMVGVy9DjG1mWy2HTWmqnRDcQnJ9nIz1XkiWLDXW7gakLTYveaQdIFld5Y5a_54SBFExcKXs2Wnd36Lkgvw0F94Pj9SdiFgwyb9PJ6eEcQBExVJigkopQjt882bGwerZdglTNDJ/s640/cornfield2.JPG" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">So I’m no stranger to cornfields. But the maze we visited earlier this fall in Sterling, Mass, was by far the most elaborate, confusing, and complex I’ve ever seen. This eight-acre monstrosity took us over an hour to navigate. Apparently some people stay in <i>all day</i>, finding all the different paths to the exit. It isn’t creepy—the paths are wide and the maze is staffed by helpful people who’ll point you in the right direction if you get frustrated. There’s even a snack bar halfway through. We went with a large group that split up at the entrance; I stuck with Stephen because he is an excellent navigator, and was able to get us out in a flash once I was ready to leave (read: tired and whiny). He must have a compass, an atlas, and a topographic map hardwired into his brain—he almost never gets lost. If we drive somewhere just once (even if I’m driving and I go the wrong way or we turn around a bunch of times or it’s dark or whatever) he remembers the route for<i>ever</i>.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I really don’t understand it. I mean, I’ve gotten lost at <i>IKEA</i>. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8NWXsXFGJoxpfUGmkAc0OzLj3QPx7KwimfBgVQqh70BglSt8uflZf2s6ikGcMuS8i9hZ8C13jlgCWorTRDDEBeqx9uHG-gVSeCqzAfrwhjsKhSlhwGtPAeYSfA1gDDjOYQp0MW1_xgow/s1600-h/cornfield_heather.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8NWXsXFGJoxpfUGmkAc0OzLj3QPx7KwimfBgVQqh70BglSt8uflZf2s6ikGcMuS8i9hZ8C13jlgCWorTRDDEBeqx9uHG-gVSeCqzAfrwhjsKhSlhwGtPAeYSfA1gDDjOYQp0MW1_xgow/s640/cornfield_heather.JPG" /></a><br />
Which is why I don't go into cornfields alone anymore.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430556255695279242.post-37617935550437200482009-09-29T22:23:00.002-04:002009-09-29T22:26:54.916-04:00Brimfield<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Z48wAfhj18vGuNsfnfauKpz2Uu-9yGM1Miu7i8lBdOMCo4syUeO1f8aaJb_fLXg0ieaIrpg6mWW2EZWOvqPZ24XMkbteH-TraV1A-TZn5613Xq6EBL5CzL9ssRjdClWcQcVWwZOzOYQa/s1600-h/BWShoes2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Z48wAfhj18vGuNsfnfauKpz2Uu-9yGM1Miu7i8lBdOMCo4syUeO1f8aaJb_fLXg0ieaIrpg6mWW2EZWOvqPZ24XMkbteH-TraV1A-TZn5613Xq6EBL5CzL9ssRjdClWcQcVWwZOzOYQa/s400/BWShoes2.JPG" /></a><br />
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I'm not sure when I first heard about the madness that is the <a href="http://www.brimfield.com/">Brimfield antique show</a>, but it's been mentioned to me several times since I moved to Massachusetts. The show is held three times a year, in May, July, and September. Finally, this month, I got a chance to go with Stephen and his parents.<br />
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Wow. <i>So </i>much stuff! Great old pine cupboards, pie safes, woodworking tools, luggage, boats, lanterns, jewelry, snowshoes, quilts, toys, butter churns, candle molds, fur coats--everything your grandparents and my grandparents and some of the stuff that <i>their </i>grandparents had. Literal acres of stuff. I'm glad I didn't have much money to spend, because that helped me filter out a lot of what we passed. My only regret was not being able to afford a few yards of the vintage French ticking fabric we saw midway through the afternoon. Like I need more fabric. <br />
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I did get these great old shoes in one of the clothing tents for $5. The proprietor had been carrying them around to show after show and couldn't find anyone they fit, so she threw them on the sale table. Yahoo! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Raofc8n4PozPxnWaLj3AiTHzI8HslOpPjNRjnA6W_YONXH16tWgrQFvtg0d_zQoh-9g1mySFqLuJiLZXZn5sgaO4GUpba0XR-n982gv-TZ3vjs5OFXV1T5rlw3eCrb-ClQrbLywaJQkP/s1600-h/BWShoes3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Raofc8n4PozPxnWaLj3AiTHzI8HslOpPjNRjnA6W_YONXH16tWgrQFvtg0d_zQoh-9g1mySFqLuJiLZXZn5sgaO4GUpba0XR-n982gv-TZ3vjs5OFXV1T5rlw3eCrb-ClQrbLywaJQkP/s400/BWShoes3.JPG" /></a><br />
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Such bargains are dangerous, though. I have trouble passing up any clothing that fits and is on sale, and I've got overburdened dresser drawers and several bulging boxes of shoes to show for it. I'm trying to pare things down a little. I took a bag full of underused stuff to a clothing swap last week and managed to walk away with just two new shirts. I've got a few nice things left that I don't wear much, so I made an appointment to consign them at a local second-hand store next month. The store offer consignors a discount if they spend their earnings there, which sounds like a recipe for disaster (of the not-making-any-money-and-buying-<i>more</i>-stuff variety), but my intention going into this venture is to put more thought and care into buying fewer, nicer things. We'll see how that goes. <br />
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I do like these shoes, though.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com