Uncategorized

Dear Brother, You know that look that your eldest son gives you, the one where he’s really not happy with you, the same one that mom and our sister so fondly compare to the looks you gave them when you were his age, and the same one that I feared for so many years growing up. Well, big brother, I have some news: that look did not start with you. It started with our dear, dear grandpa. You know how I know? Because I have gone back to our roots… Is it possible to feel so comfortable in one place, like you’d lived here your whole life, went to school here, played with your toddler friends in the sandbox here, told secrets to your best friends here, had your first kiss here, your first job, your first love, your first everything, and yet, you were only actually introduced to it […]

Yesterday, while typing this entry, I was sitting on the Thalys train enraptured by the French countryside passing me by at high speeds. When I first got on the train, I pulled out my novel to read the final chapter, however, that turned into a rather difficult task, given all the greenery and windmills and ancient churches grasping for my attention, and it really didn’t take all that long before it was completely stolen. But here’s the thing, I was the furthest from the window, and for about 90 per cent of the not quite two-hour trip, the  fellow next to me had his head back, eyes closed, chest lightly heaving up and down, same with the woman across from him, and even Mario for a stretch there was conked out. And even though I had a pretty decent view from where I was sitting, it was somewhat tarnished by

I am a lover of languages. I’ve long dreamed of being able to fluently speak Spanish and French and oh my Italian. Heck, I even took Spanish in college when it had nothing to do with what I was going to do with my life. But that all being said, languages intimidate the hell out of me. Despite loving the exoticness and passions of these languages, and despite studying them for months and even years before entering their countries, I freeze the second I have to speak them. See, while I love these languages, the whole conjugating verbs and deciphering between feminine and masculine, and when to use the je, tu, vous et nous gets my ADD head a spinning. Even now, on my second go around dons Paris, I’m intimidated to say anything more than “Ou es toilettes?” or even just “Toilette?” with a question mark in my tone.

All morning I’ve had one song blasting through my head: I can’t live if living is without you – meaning: my blow dryer, my mousse, my comb, my brush, my morning moisturizer, toner and serum, my blush, maybe a little eye shadow and my pajamas too. But alack and alas, I’ve been forced to. For the first time in the three years of my travels to Europe, my bags were lost. Mario has gone through this ordeal three times in his four travels! Last year when we arrived in Florence (after a long, unorganized delay in Frankfurt) and discovered his bags didn’t make the trip, both of us were thankful it wasn’t my bags. See, I’m kind of a bit of a stresser (definitely would NOT make a good contestant for the Amazing Race) and even though I was pretty sure my bags wouldn’t make it this time given how quick

First of all, I want to thank you all for joining me on this journey. It was seriously one of the most amazing – and painful – experiences of my life. As I crossed that finish line on Sunday, my clothes soaked and stained with a charcoal-coloured sweat, I was in a bit of a daze. I was walking through the finisher’s area, and there were people handing me a space blanket, a rose, a Pacific Northwest seedling, my medal and finisher’s shirt, and it took every piece of energy I had left in me to muster up a simple thank you. My stomach felt like it was on the verge of hurling, but I knew I had to eat something. I walked along the food table, and saw bananas and bagels and juice boxes and chocolate and candy, none of which looked appetizing at all. I craved a grilled ham