tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-113346472024-03-07T22:58:05.379-05:00InterravisionCome. Sit. Talk to me of worldly things. Of lipgloss and tulips and what is going on beyond our computer screens. Here there are pictures and words both thoughtful and mundane. We explore, trade, seek, question and reminisce.
This is Interravision.Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.comBlogger455125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-64054535407265040662011-02-14T17:04:00.000-05:002011-02-14T17:04:54.917-05:00Will I be able to check my Facebook page in heaven?I have become just a tad bit obsessed with the thought of <b>what happens to our social media pages after we die. </b><br />
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</div><div>I know, morbid, right? This thought isn't completely out of the blue. I first started thinking about it when I heard about a situation where the parents of a man who had died unexpectedly sued the wife for taking down his facebook page, which they considered community property after his death. She didn't like having the reminder there, but his parents found some kind of solace by having access to his photos and status updates online.</div><br />
Facebook has actually struggled on how to best handle this as well. Previously their policy was to automatically remove the profile of the deceased one month after he or she has died, preventing the profile from being used for communal mourning. However, Facebook amended that policy in 2009, in the wake of the VA Tech shooting, "We first realized we needed a protocol for deceased users after the Virginia Tech shooting, when students were looking for ways to remember and honor their classmates," says Facebook spokeswoman Elizabeth Linder. The new policy places deceased members' profiles in a "memorialization state." Facebook’s Privacy Policy regarding memorialization says, "If we are notified that a user is deceased, we may memorialize the user’s account. In such cases we restrict profile access to confirmed friends, and allow friends and family to write on the user’s Wall in remembrance. We may close an account if we receive a formal request from the user’s next of kin or other proper legal request to do so. Once that is completed, the user will cease showing up in Facebook's suggestions, and information like status updates won't show up in Facebook's news feed, the stream of real-time user updates that is the site's centerpiece."<br />
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</div><div>On a personal level, the Facebook pages of the few people I know who have died since the explosion of social media remain intact and a place where people frequently submit personal messages of peace and hope, especially around the holidays and their birthday. I guess it's not much different than lighting a candle and saying a prayer, except this form of communicating with the dead is viewable to all who have access to the person's Wall (which if they did not properly set their privacy settings before dying could be anyone and everyone).</div><div><br />
</div><div>So, that's what happens with Facebook...what about your<b> e-mail accounts</b>? Would you want a loved one to have access to your email files? Gmail, Yahoo and Hotmail all will send a family member a CD of your email folders as long as you provide them with the required information (death certificate, power of attorney and such). Similarly, Twitter will provide an archive of a deceased person's tweets to credible requests. I don't know about you, but I am taking mental inventory now of what's in my email folders. Anything I should delete before anything unfortunate happens?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Technology tends to progress faster than we can plan for the ramifications and consequences of having such open access to people and information. Now, we are seeing companies like <a href="http://legacylocker.com/">Legacy Locker</a> who will store your "digital legacy" in a secure place to be passed on per your wishes in the event of your death (for a fee, naturally). Having contingency plans added to your will for the digital content you leave behind surely isn't so uncommon these days too.</div><div><br />
</div><div>When I went to my Grandmother's house after she passed away last year, I was so moved by the many Valentine's Day Cards, anniversary cards, Christmas cards and birthday cards between my grandmother and grandfather exchanged between the 40s-70s. The cards were so beautiful, and the messages, even when brief, so touching. I never knew my grandfather and felt like these cards were a little window to his character. Would my grandchildren get the same joy over seeing the first tentative e-mails sent between me and their grandfather? Or the sweet love letters in electronic form that have taken the place of traditional letter writing? </div>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-33111422516962107432011-02-09T21:26:00.000-05:002011-02-09T21:26:33.089-05:00Hot Topic.Bullying is a hot topic these days. It's all over the news and in the papers. Stories all over the place about children who hurt themselves or others in response to bullying.<br />
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I know a little something about this, since as a young girl I was bullied for being chubby by a couple of brothers who lived a few doors down. We rode the same bus together, swam on the same swim team and every year of elementary school I was in the same class as at least one of them. It really was torture, stepping on the bus everyday knowing what I faced ahead. I wasn't equipped to handle it. I referenced one of the episodes of teasing here on the blog back in 2006 telling the <a href="http://interravision.blogspot.com/2006/02/happy-singles-awareness-day.html">story of failed valentines' days</a>.<br />
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And then I saw my bully on Oprah.<br />
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Over 10 years ago, J.S., the older brother, decided to take a bunch of tanning pills to make himself look black. He went down south to live out the experiment of living his life as a black man. He lasted merely a week, apparently crippled by the discrimination he faced as a man of color. I find this somewhat ironic.<br />
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I had heard about the segment years ago, but never saw it before last night. Oprah showed the clip again on a recent episode recapping previous stories she had done on the issue of race. It really was shocking to me. And I did something I never thought I would do. <b>I found him on Facebook and wrote him a note. </b><br />
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I don't want to post the entire note here, but I asked if he remembered me and I recounted to him the pain he caused me in the constant bullying over the years and the effect it had on my life--both negative and positive. I didn't get dramatic or go into lots of detail, I presented it concisely and with a somewhat removed tone. No blubbering. No accusations. This is how I wrapped it up:<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">I was really surprised about what I learned of your racial experiment on Oprah. I don't know why I felt the need to sit down and write to you after so many years, maybe it is crazy since it's not like I sit around thinking about this any more. Don't get me wrong, I am not reaching out to you to berate you or accuse you of anything. I am not looking for redemption, an apology or even a response. I bet you don't even remember any of this-- I was probably too sensitive, and maybe you were just "boys being boys". But for some reason I just wanted you to know about it.</span></i><br />
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I really didn't know what to expect in return, if anything. Would he lash out at me for over-reacting? Would he ignore it? I decided before I sent it that the response didn't matter. I said what I wanted to say. I didn't write him with any expectations. But, to my surprise, within an hour of sending it he wrote me back. This is what he said:<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Hello Terra,</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">I remember you and your brother and sister well. The house you lived in is still the Walker House to my mind. I do remember teasing you and am glad that you wrote me cause I feel very guilty about it. I was often callous and cruel with my words. Probably still am sometimes. I'm a writer now and sometimes think to myself that is where I learned about the positive and negative power words can have. But feel very bad about the people who paid the price so I could learn that. I apologize for hurting you and wish you all the best.</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Sincerely,</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">J.</span></i><br />
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What do you think? I am still processing this since it all happened last night. The response is nice to see, I am genuinely glad he replied and actually apologized. But what happened, happened and those scars may never fully heal.<br />
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I think I got more out finding the courage to write him than getting a response. I feel good about that.Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-72577507140696469582011-01-27T17:32:00.000-05:002011-01-27T17:32:56.917-05:00Snowy DayEven though the roads were bad and trains were a mess, I trudged to work in the City today. I would rather have stayed cozy and warm under the covers! At least the walk up to the train station was super pretty from all the snow that fell overnight. How I miss snow days...watching TV with anticipation hoping "Montgomery County" is called off for school and then going out to sled the hills of Hillandale. <div><br />
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</div>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-1370098917641279152011-01-19T20:43:00.000-05:002011-01-19T20:43:19.912-05:00Winter, you win.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbjd1Y6Tif7j15ArTOLe_9Nj8ZwJ1-CV4xpHe2g4RojlIbG0NM53lb5cSsXXonqtrK3uvcwJS5M_uo6L5altLKVo35TtAMm6fRtaJjd1qTx8HKnfsO9kvIgfRTy1XyHe8E7m8RA/s1600/depression-due-lack-sunshine-200X200.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/AVvXsEgKbjd1Y6Tif7j15ArTOLe_9Nj8ZwJ1-CV4xpHe2g4RojlIbG0NM53lb5cSsXXonqtrK3uvcwJS5M_uo6L5altLKVo35TtAMm6fRtaJjd1qTx8HKnfsO9kvIgfRTy1XyHe8E7m8RA/s1600/depression-due-lack-sunshine-200X200.jpg" /></a></div><b>I am not a fan of winter. </b><br />
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Yes, I love a good snow storm, I just hate to commute in it. I have more scarves and hats than any one woman should own, but I abhor donning them day after day. A couple of years ago Damir and I went to Mexico for my January birthday, and I find myself really longing right now for warm shores.<br />
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But more than getting sick of the cold, it's a struggle for me to get through the winter. Long prone to depression, the winter months and lack of light really do me in. It helps now that I can recognize and attempt to combat these dark days, but it is not easy. At the end of each autumn, I see myself falling down the tunnel towards darkness but feel incapable to reverse the course. The feeling is like being in a bad dream and you <i>know </i>you are dreaming but can't seem to wake yourself up to get out of it.<br />
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For me, depression isn't about being sad, it's more about withdrawing into myself, obsessing over the negative elements of my life, eating (hello carbs!), combating anxiety attacks and being very short tempered. I also tend to get sick a lot in the winter, which may or may not be related.<br />
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I think winters will always be hard for me, but some better than others. This one so far has been pretty okay, which I credit to the massive increase in Vitamin D I am taking. Last winter my doctor tried to strong-arm me into going on anti-depressants, but the recollection of so many bad side effects is still too fresh for me to acquiesce. Thankfully this winter seems to be a little better. And thankfully I have a husband who is very adept at handling my ups and downs.<br />
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The last few weeks, I have been surprisingly social, thanks to the visits of a few out of town friends. Connecting with those close to me certainly helps A LOT. I will be heading up to Boston for a long weekend in a few weeks which will also be great. Those bambini are the perfect role models for experiencing pure unadulterated joy over the simple pleasures of life. What if we never stopped feeling exhilarated by a game of peek-a-boo?Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-13763262919925239052011-01-04T16:52:00.000-05:002011-01-04T16:52:24.488-05:001/11/11A week from today, January 11th, 2011 will be 1/11/11. In case you didn't know there's a lot out there on the internets about the <a href="http://interravision.blogspot.com/2005/12/1717.html">significance of 11/11</a>. <br />
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But 1/11/11 holds a different meaning for me: the unforgettable birthday of my grandfather, Merton Walker.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDlqiqGNbibxc2ov6l3T-lyhT7oVSyLsnbmqhzhA6zK5_1fNi_Buld-ter3BPMw8-HoGSAdotphEFaHNhg6JAZv7gNgYb9NRF0wnqVMTWcPp6sOyQVkYtN9iT0XaodkimgJLo0iA/s1600/2920699556_eb030c452d_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDlqiqGNbibxc2ov6l3T-lyhT7oVSyLsnbmqhzhA6zK5_1fNi_Buld-ter3BPMw8-HoGSAdotphEFaHNhg6JAZv7gNgYb9NRF0wnqVMTWcPp6sOyQVkYtN9iT0XaodkimgJLo0iA/s320/2920699556_eb030c452d_o.jpg" width="184" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad with Pa back in the '70s or early '80s</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Next Tuesday would have been his 100th birthday so Damir and I will be honoring his memory in a way Pa would heartily approve: we're going to make his favorite meal-- lobster dinner with all the fixings.<br />
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Thank god he was crazy for lobster and not beets.Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-19416489134909907622011-01-03T13:16:00.000-05:002011-01-03T13:16:02.878-05:00Condiment ConfrontationA few months ago Damir and I got into a massive fight about garlic mayonnaise. It's funny how something so innocuous can be the catalyst for such an explosion of emotions.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpU_mpyw8OIRIsIhTLfBa-_DeMa4aRiuKLHgVhpKPSr2Imgs9wJ0XsLA4WXkUYeKDR2AXKzrm419IzGxsaLQMo3ptlYdcoF7V5XDNozdYF2rcDPo85mq3NEvZhqN8b1SHs3__p-w/s1600/tumblr_l09pz0gh0O1qayvcwo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpU_mpyw8OIRIsIhTLfBa-_DeMa4aRiuKLHgVhpKPSr2Imgs9wJ0XsLA4WXkUYeKDR2AXKzrm419IzGxsaLQMo3ptlYdcoF7V5XDNozdYF2rcDPo85mq3NEvZhqN8b1SHs3__p-w/s320/tumblr_l09pz0gh0O1qayvcwo1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Months before this fight we were out to dinner somewhere and Damir asked for some garlic mayonnaise for his french fries; a European predilection he can't leave behind, not that I blame him. Garlic mayo and french fries are a magical combination and for anyone who solely relies on ketchup as their dipping sauce of choice, I strongly urge you to try this out. Anyway, he asked for it and the waiter went into the kitchen and the chef made it special just for Damir. He was delighted.<br />
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Now he asks for it wherever he goes when getting fries with his meal. And this drives me crazy. The problem, <i>my </i>problem, is that often they won't have it and the chef isn't so nice as s/he was at the other place. And then Damir is sad. At least, that is my perception. I always cringe when he asks for it.<br />
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Returning to the night in question, Damir asked for the garlic mayo and the waiter didn't have it. Damir had been cranky all night and looked dejected when the waiter wouldn't even ask the chef. For some reason, this caused me to either roll my eyes or make a noise that was the equivalent of rolling my eyes. As much as Damir's requests for special waiter favors drives me crazy, my reaction to his request drove him twice as nuts.<br />
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And then things spiraled quickly downhill. A very rocky unhappy slope. The argument didn't last long, but it was definitely one of the few low points of our 5 year relationship.<br />
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I mentioned this altercation to my mom the other night while having a general discussion about the difficulties of marriage. She asked me, "Why do you care?" Good question. I never thought about it. Why? Why should I care if he gets his first choice of sauces? It doesn't effect my personal enjoyment of the meal. The best I could come up with is that I hate that he asks for special favors and also hate to see him disappointed. I feel as though it's MY fault they don't have the garlic mayo, especially if I picked the restaurant. <i>I feel responsible for his disappointment.</i><br />
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<b>Which is totally stupid and irrational.</b><br />
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So after this conversation with my mom the other night, Damir and I talked about it. What's funny about it is that he admitted to feeling equally uncomfortable when I do things like as for a room or seat upgrade when we travel, which I do whenever possible. Or when I send a dish back that isn't to my liking. But he decides just to sit back and let me do my thing and not worry about it. I need to follow that lead. How is asking for a special sauce any different than asking for a special seat?<br />
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Mom was saying to me that one of the biggest challenges of marriage is understanding that the things that drive you crazy in your partner are a reflection in some way of your own issues. That you need to look at your gut reaction and examine it to see what is the <i>true </i>root cause of the negative response.<br />
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I don't know entirely what the answer is here, but I am certain it's not about condiments.Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-83433249897413922922011-01-02T21:58:00.000-05:002011-01-02T21:58:38.505-05:00Kitchen ConfidentialNow that the blog is back up and running I find myself struggling what to write. Not that I can't think of anything to write about-- quite the opposite. I want to tell you about my quick Christmas trip to Boston, the lamest of lame New Year's Eve and marriage lessons from an unexpected source. I also want to write about the daily experience as well, and maybe that's as good a place to start as anywhere else.<div><br />
</div><div>Right now I am writing on my lap top sitting on my bed in my room that's about 12'x12'. My in-laws are in their perennial spots on the couch in the living room watching Spanish TV. No, they don't speak Spanish. They don't speak English either so I suppose a Spanish channel makes as much sense as an English one, but still that makes me laugh. The other night my father in law was watching TV in Chinese. I have no idea what he was getting from it; I don't expect a trip to Beijing is in the cards for them anytime soon.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Damir is at his cousins' who live around the corner watching some football.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I am super hungry, being 8:45pm and well past dinner time, but I haven't yet found the strength to venture to the Dreaded Kitchen. The kitchen is disputed territory in our home. I have conceded the living room and the dining room, but the kitchen still remains hotly contested. Yes, I have considered putting a hot-pot, mini-microwave and fridge in our small bedroom to make the kitchen obsolete entirely, but let's face it: one cannot live on ramen and cheetos alone. Or so my doctor says. So I continue to fight the good fight. Well, of course I am exaggerating. There is no fighting, it's more of a tug of war. But war, yes, yes it is.</div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89FMd3bcYdHNQu7h4XG-vnD4It-0X9M9_NGtxUixCL9WF9jLG-OY_Xoc5Uobqx68wB3S4rh7h6OxNaS76tl8BHNifwcs3cCBHXpdnHM3qRqbPY92A7otuR6FAM8rIzZ-5N-QraA/s1600/IMG_9092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89FMd3bcYdHNQu7h4XG-vnD4It-0X9M9_NGtxUixCL9WF9jLG-OY_Xoc5Uobqx68wB3S4rh7h6OxNaS76tl8BHNifwcs3cCBHXpdnHM3qRqbPY92A7otuR6FAM8rIzZ-5N-QraA/s320/IMG_9092.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit A: Small.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>The main problem is that our kitchen is super small, clearly designed by a man who never cooked a meal in his life, and really only one person can cook at a time. I have been patiently waiting for my in-laws to finish dinner so I can go in and cook in peace without getting in anyone's way or anyone else getting into my way. Even when Damir and I cook a meal together we are bumping and shoving each other (with love) to get what we need. </div><div><br />
</div><div>My mother in law is a great cook, no doubt about it. And she cooks a lot. No cookbooks, no ready-to-eat. She makes good stuff all from scratch. Every week there is fresh bread she has baked. Right now (I moved and now writing in the kitchen for inspiration) I am staring into a bowl of doughnut concoctions that she made a few hours ago. Diet? Huh? Everything she makes is traditional Yugoslavian... stuffed cabbage leaves, meat pies, meat stews, meat casseroles. Lots of meat. But hearty, flavorful food. That takes forever to cook. Hence, when she is home she is constantly cooking. This is a problem for me, though I like what she makes, I want to make my own stuff too. I actually like to cook.</div><div><br />
</div><div>When I moved in I brought all of my kitchen utensils and tools with me. And most of it remains down in the basement except for a few critical pieces, since they had most of it here already. But for some reason my stuff that did make it into the home frequently gets broken or goes missing. I am not sure why... if it is purely accidental or a form of covert warfare. But it drives me crazy that it seems like the things I bring into the house are not wanted. That's my perception, but I have no evidence to say that it's 100% true.</div><div><br />
</div><div>That brings us to the story of the two microwave ovens.</div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5aNR02ggcluvC6UiXA4mxHnpCIhPQ1hMgBLYNNB_QLCsMDSTl1pI7fRvA6pqjevoNEBkTBauW4KMCqS7XJs-NadEzW3_oMPv0IlpWH8IyHqvneAfFhn44lNh7PHTzcGJCrxHfw/s1600/IMG_9094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie5aNR02ggcluvC6UiXA4mxHnpCIhPQ1hMgBLYNNB_QLCsMDSTl1pI7fRvA6pqjevoNEBkTBauW4KMCqS7XJs-NadEzW3_oMPv0IlpWH8IyHqvneAfFhn44lNh7PHTzcGJCrxHfw/s320/IMG_9094.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Microwave A and B</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>When I moved in the family had a older small microwave oven (the one on the right above). It didn't work so well, but well enough. Cooking options were limited with just one heat setting and a timer on a dial. Yes, I use the microwave liberally. It's useful when I get home from work so late to pop in a burrito or lean cuisine for dinner. So this past summer Damir and I made a trip to BJs for some staples and see these great microwaves on sale with lots of bells and whistles. So on a whim we bought it and brought it home. We dismantled the old microwave and put it to the side until we could take it out to the trash. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The new microwave arrived with much fanfare. We showed his parents-- look what we got for the Dreaded Kitchen! Showed them the basics and moved on. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Fast-forward a few hours. In my bedroom I am getting ready to go somewhere and my ears perk up to hear a funny sound. What was that? Was that... was it? The old microwave's done chime? No, it couldn't be. We got a NEW microwave. How could I possibly hear the old one's chime of done-ness? Surely I was hearing things. </div><div><br />
</div><div>But no. I peaked into the kitchen and see the old one stacked up next to the new one, as it still lies today in the photo above. My mother-in-law quietly reinstated the old beast of a microwave when I wasn't looking. In protest of the new? Out of confusion of how the multitude of buttons work on the new one? In an effort to shun anything I bring into <i>our </i>home? I don't know the reason. And I never asked. I just let it be. Though every time I look at it I think it is mocking me.</div><div><br />
</div><div>One of the big lessons I have learned since moving here is that there are some fights that just aren't worth fighting for. Everything doesn't have to be done <i>my</i> way.</div>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-34011583460160859902011-01-01T12:44:00.000-05:002011-01-01T12:44:41.381-05:00Well, Hello there.So the blog is now password protected. Doing that sort of makes me sad since you never know what new friends you might come across in this here blogosphere. I liked that people could just stumble upon it and read stories and then go on their merry way. I liked writing for a public audience.<br />
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But as I mentioned, there are topics I don't write about because I am, by nature, a worrier. As I have one foot in to the job market, I wouldn't want to put some things out there for a potential (or my existing) employer to see. And I would like to share with you more about what my life is like living in New York with my in-laws, but not to an open audience.<br />
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So I am holding interravision a little closer to my chest. At least for a little while. The people I have granted access to are just a few close friends and my family. People whose blogs I read, who I think have been following mine over time.<br />
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I hope you'll keep reading. Happy New Year.Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-9076365566899157052010-12-31T14:09:00.000-05:002010-12-31T14:09:02.606-05:00The first change.You will notice right away, if you are visiting interravision.com and not getting it through a feed, that I have finally made some design changes to the site. Yay! I didn't realize that blogger had added new capabilities for design and layout. <br />
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I also cleaned out my blogroll, added in a few blogs and site I pay attention to and have deleted ones that no longer update or hold my attention. <br />
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Sadly this New Year's Eve I am very under the weather, but my work in tourism helping people get the most out of NYC keeps me at my desk though I'd rather be home under the covers. <br />
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Wishing all of you a happy and prosperous 2011. I am going to get the year off right by winning the Mega Millions lottery tonight! Aren't you jealous?Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-22959695363044953182010-12-29T15:42:00.001-05:002010-12-29T15:43:53.298-05:00A Change is Gonna Come...I miss writing.<br />
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During my Christmas trip up to Boston my Mom and sister lamented that I no longer post entries to the blog. There are many reasons for this...reasons I have discussed before. Like the arrival of Facebook and Twitter taking up the time I used to dedicate to Interravision. When they mentioned the blog I felt a pang in my stomach, a sense of loss...I miss the process of telling stories.<br />
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But I am realizing that one of the biggest reasons I stopped writing is that as I get older I get more and more concerned about privacy issues. Or perhaps as I have connected my life to someone who is by nature a very private person, out of respect for him I don't dish as much as I used to. The things I want to write about, and probably what you want to read about, I don't feel comfortable putting out there for just anyone to read. A potential future employer, a previously fired employee or my in-laws, for example.<br />
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So here is a compromise. I am going to password protect the blog and write whatever the heck I want. If there are any regular readers left out there, please don't be turned off by this. Understand that by doing this I will be able to provide more engaging content. At least, that is the plan. Starting January 1, I am securing the blog.<br />
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Just wait till I tell you about the tale of the 2 microwaves.<br />
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Happy New Year!Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-6869948229049783212010-07-02T13:26:00.000-04:002010-07-02T13:26:56.642-04:00Restless AgainI don't understand people who don't like to move. I <i>LOVE</i> to move. I like the entire process of it. Starting with checking out potential new homes, it's a process not unlike dating. You meet a potential match and as you stand at the doorway meeting for the first time you know right away if it's got legs...or if it's better to just move on down the road. But when you see that special one, you just know.<div><br />
</div><div><div>Sure, packing and cleaning out can be dreary, but there's such a cathartic nature to it. Looking at each of your possessions and deciding if it's good enough to accompany you on the next phase of life, or better suited for the trash. It's your own personal reality TV show where you get to vote off your stuff. </div><div><br />
</div><div>And then the move itself. I remember crying uncontrollably as I left Boston the first time...then again in Amsterdam...and then of course in Boston again. Each time standing alone in the empty apartment that held so many memories and saying goodbye is always like leaving a friend behind. I have always loved where I lived. That's the hard part...but then arriving to the new place is a dawn of a new day. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Turning a place from an impersonal shell to an extension of yourself is nothing short of magic. Finding new places to display your treasures; a marriage between your own character and that of the space you have claimed. Sleeping in your bed for the first time surrounded by 4 new walls, hoping the street below will be quiet enough to sleep...as I type, I am taking a deep breath, eager for the next time I get to experience that feeling.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Almost since I can remember, I have been moving every 4 to 5 years or so, starting I guess back when I would follow my parents as they moved around in their post-divorce years. It's just become easy for me. I have been in my current living situation for 1,400 days now. As much as I blame my wish for new space on the obvious issues surrounding our current living situation, it really does go deeper than that. I am itching to pack up and go, even if just across the street or down the hallway. I feel it in the pit of my stomach just like I feel the desire to smoke a cigarette. Is there some support group for this addiction?</div><div><div><br />
</div><div>My colleague went to go sign the lease papers for a new apartment she and her boyfriend just stumbled upon yesterday. She was so giddy and happy as she left, and I feel so jealous of her giddiness. </div></div></div>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-54911768219555697622010-06-21T19:14:00.000-04:002010-06-21T19:14:39.566-04:00ProcreativityI think I had been married all of 5 minutes before I got the question: <b><i>SO, when will you start trying for a child? </i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
Ummm...hello? Let me eat my wedding cake first, please. The short answer to this question is:<b> I have no earthly idea.</b> Damir and I don't exactly have the space to put a crib, I barely have room to unpack a suitcase...where would the baby sleep? Under the bed? In the fridge? In the bathtub? On a hammock suspended from the ceiling?<br />
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What is both very endearing but mostly maddening about Damir is that he doesn't worry about these things. He just wants to be a dad. He figures the problems will just kind of work themselves out, that all you need to have a baby is one simple thing: <b>love </b>(cue the "<i>awwwww")</i>. Meanwhile, grumpy grump over here is mentally tallying up the cost of diapers, toys, baby-proofing the apartment, food, car seats, strollers, slings, highchairs, boppies, burp cloths, bibs, onesies, lovies, numbies, teddies, pumps, ointments, bottles, bandaids, baby shampoo, thousands of little pairs of socks, rattles, sleep machines, rocking chairs, sleep sacks, and about another million things babies seem to require. And that doesn't even begin to cover what daycare will likely cost in New York City. AND what I would need to invest in industrial strenghth spanx. Listen, I don't even know if I get <i>maternity leave. </i>How can I know when I will have a baby?<br />
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So, there you go. That's the answer you'll get if you ask me.Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-90638356364989197142010-06-20T11:44:00.000-04:002010-06-20T11:44:11.548-04:00Fathers.On this father's day, I am primarily thinking about two things:<br />
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1) How lucky I got in the father's department.<br />
2) How a man can brutally kill his two children along with his wife and mother in law.<br />
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I am in Boston this weekend, having quickly come up after hearing the news that a friend was violently killed by her husband. In his rage, he also killed my friend's mother and their two small children, aged 2 and 4. If you want to know the horrific details, just open up the Boston Globe. It's all over the news. I don't think I can bring myself to write the details of what he did.<br />
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Mixed in with my grief is a visceral anger born in the pit of my stomach and coursing through every vein in my body. In the notes of confession he left at the scene, shortly before some lame attempt to flee, he called himself a selfish coward for what he did. Selfish coward? Those would not be my words to describe the act of murdering your own children.<br />
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So many articles and comments are floating about now, and I think I have read most of them by this point. Many have commented that my friend likely ignored warning signs of his hidden rage... and I can honestly say that is not the case. This horror was a lightening bolt in a blue sky. No one would have ever anticipated this mild-mannered man to commit such an atrocity. Articles have also reported there was some kind of marital discord. I can say that the problems they faced were typical of a lot of married couples. And in any event...no level of discord warrants this nature of response. There is simply no justification.<br />
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It's hard to keep myself from walking through my imaginary scene of what happened. To fill in the many blanks with some kind of narrative. I keep searching for an answer that will never arrive to a very simple question: <br />
<br />
Why?Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-69056154484931381372010-06-16T15:44:00.000-04:002010-06-16T15:44:16.173-04:00The Week BeforeThe week before the wedding, my father, stepmother, mother, sister and her twin babies all rented a house together close to the wedding venue in Delray Beach, FL. Even my brother joined us from Seattle towards the end of the week. It was a real departure for my family, the first time my parents have "vacationed" together since they divorced around 1980. As you can imagine, having them both under one roof in the days leading up to the wedding was a real blessing for me. I use the word "vacation" loosely only because I don't think any of us would consider those days a relaxing care-free experience. But not for any of the reasons we might have imagined in advance.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKupIl9HDGE3-kuaMfFpYmgsc0MnAZvYRSwHtp7ikjPVd5rnTOaVNmp7JP6ZACGOE9tA6F11Q6qflKhOWlZXxNEiNz0VaiwmueiUYKjWpsiWK_Hx55cSOsnzhCJxgRU1Z4Z9J_hw/s1600/DSC02540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKupIl9HDGE3-kuaMfFpYmgsc0MnAZvYRSwHtp7ikjPVd5rnTOaVNmp7JP6ZACGOE9tA6F11Q6qflKhOWlZXxNEiNz0VaiwmueiUYKjWpsiWK_Hx55cSOsnzhCJxgRU1Z4Z9J_hw/s320/DSC02540.JPG" /></a></div><br />
I knew the week leading up to the wedding would be busy and stressful. I had a lot of last minute planning that had to be accomplished once getting down there. I expected long lists of things to do, days filled with errand running and lots of fretting over last minute decisions and changes. But no. I had a whole 'nother ball of wax delivered to my plate.<br />
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Shortly after Erin and I arrived in Florida, she decided to visit a walk in clinic since a cold she was getting over seemed to be getting worse, not better. The doctor diagnosed her with bronchitis, sinusitis and <b>pink eye. Pink Eye! </b>Immediately upon hearing that my imaginary hypochondria kicked in. I was absolutely SURE that just a pair of days before the wedding I would catch pink eye and then be quarantined from my wedding guests and a photoshop nightmare for my photographer. I spent the next several days avoiding Erin like the proverbial plague.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9676O_LKS5dC3la4G8zRHTSLmLHrLgNWUF_VthpK4utb1Rhnq9EskVXgeP5lPbBRLHhH_Vpkj2E5I6arGywOKcPjSBmhfSeQ8EdoDFoDIbbDDmPWctycDCkGQAm8LhWHuBCRWA/s1600/IMG_5645.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9676O_LKS5dC3la4G8zRHTSLmLHrLgNWUF_VthpK4utb1Rhnq9EskVXgeP5lPbBRLHhH_Vpkj2E5I6arGywOKcPjSBmhfSeQ8EdoDFoDIbbDDmPWctycDCkGQAm8LhWHuBCRWA/s320/IMG_5645.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Sure she looks OK, but pink eye is lurking under there! </i></span></div><br />
The day after Erin was diagnosed, the tooth area where I had just had a root canal started bothering me. It wasn't horrible, but it didn't feel right. And since I had a week in the Dominican Republic coming up, I didn't want to risk leaving it to chance. So, I found an endodontist thanks to Google and Dad and Jan took me to see him. Funny old man, apparently he had trained the guy who did the root canal I just had done about a week before leaving for FL. He is also considered the endodontist to the stars, and even<b> Larry David </b>was trying to get him on the phone while I was getting looked over.<br />
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I will admit it, when he said that the tooth I had already done was fine....but the tooth next to it needed a root canal, I started to cry. When he said the price tag would be $1200, I started to sob. But what choice did I have? I consulted with Damir and my parents and we all agreed. Just get it done.<br />
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Later that afternoon, standing virtually naked in the back of a dark tanning booth letting some stranger paint me some shade of tan, as drool slipped down my chin from all the anesthetic injected during the earlier root canal, I had to laugh. <b>What the hell is going on with me?</b><br />
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The house we rented, though spacious, was very interesting. If an 80's cocaine overdose could be translated into architecture, this would be it. I didn't get pictures of the best parts, but here you'll get the gist below.<br />
<br />
Though it wasn't the most relaxing of weeks for me or the rest of my family, I truly hope we can do it again...and soon (minus the medical drama). It was so great not having to shuttle between houses or worry that I was spending too much time with one parent over another. I have a vision of shared holidays, summer vacations, birthday parties and celebrations in my head. I hope they see the same.<br />
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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIpat9Lt2xdjkGp0VijIPN3tyFuL8u4PJHO8GBIu31-eIjnaW4jhTwIQyHMTbbq2sl_mBAjwSyRgmR3klju47O6bsmVTdqfafsS3vhynBRpOv-A7u8OG1lC9wYJkXT6wox3imDbw/s320/DSC02547.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsIZ7UFMb-SCrnGkWyXKyx5EgNQ3xTmanby2i_aNIB6Ut83AOdDd7fKAqq9pv_5YW3EaTJ5iK6t547b9kuAm4DUfyXKLVaPwN93YbmYiBoyqBKlamWIscxBHuzvDlfcLssdJ83w/s1600/a3257b01a3657a0d2a7460c7eca1cfdb838f8985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsIZ7UFMb-SCrnGkWyXKyx5EgNQ3xTmanby2i_aNIB6Ut83AOdDd7fKAqq9pv_5YW3EaTJ5iK6t547b9kuAm4DUfyXKLVaPwN93YbmYiBoyqBKlamWIscxBHuzvDlfcLssdJ83w/s320/a3257b01a3657a0d2a7460c7eca1cfdb838f8985.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTo0kd1ql2_K-ZKe-KQrVCi8OmbwF9rC_sdSzSLf4ICjajWL4lIsmd-RSHYgF5HHrDKtqzyc_l6-f7MDQ68KnuyMosSUk3FMVGPV0RaHh0KkUm4VdoBfC3s3iLLsnlScHZNeuzQ/s1600/fa72c1bcfa62c0b0c39a6550ef7b01cddcdb2e2a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvTo0kd1ql2_K-ZKe-KQrVCi8OmbwF9rC_sdSzSLf4ICjajWL4lIsmd-RSHYgF5HHrDKtqzyc_l6-f7MDQ68KnuyMosSUk3FMVGPV0RaHh0KkUm4VdoBfC3s3iLLsnlScHZNeuzQ/s320/fa72c1bcfa62c0b0c39a6550ef7b01cddcdb2e2a.jpg" /></a></div>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-75900282867473624502010-06-15T18:01:00.000-04:002010-06-15T18:01:18.723-04:00Settling In.<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">On the one hand, being home and newly married has been great. But in reality, not at all different. The biggest change since coming home is that Damir started summer semester which has him in class until about 10pm four nights a week. I miss my husband!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_P0esbMBJAgdSlt40UP1XleBbtx8baXS8Vz57X0UlpYArkZCZ9sm0AJobpkS9nF6DyYIp1QjQpqmyQHOroFj5DZsjP7PzYK1FFR21rM4ola-WwaFp7x4rgmo-opRAYIkbvYQxA/s1600/30158_1453747631689_1473260471_31182878_7161301_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz_P0esbMBJAgdSlt40UP1XleBbtx8baXS8Vz57X0UlpYArkZCZ9sm0AJobpkS9nF6DyYIp1QjQpqmyQHOroFj5DZsjP7PzYK1FFR21rM4ola-WwaFp7x4rgmo-opRAYIkbvYQxA/s320/30158_1453747631689_1473260471_31182878_7161301_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A lot of people are asking me if things will change with his folks now that we are married; if they'll go back to Montenegro or get their own place to live. And all evidence, one-month in, points to no changes in the pipeline. At least not as a result of getting married. It would be great to come home to our little private nest and hold hands in wedded bliss, but that's just not the deck of cards we were dealt. Certainly I knew that a long time ago and made peace with it before I walked down the aisle.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The other thing happening since I got home is a big feeling of restlessness-- that's not good. <b>I need a new project </b>now that the wedding planning is done.<b> </b>I have learned that when I don't have an engaging project to occupy my thoughts, I turn inwards and pick at things that don't need to be examined with such scrutiny. I know a few of you friends are like that too, so you can relate. The good news is I have a <b>really great project in mind</b>, but need to take the first steps to get it rolling. It's something that is definitely out of my comfort zone, but totally new and exciting. <b>No, not a baby, ha!</b> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It's too early to discuss ideas at this stage...I am afraid you'll think poorly of me if it never gets off the ground. As things become more concrete, I will keep you updated.</div>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-63748001318370598882010-06-07T18:26:00.005-04:002010-06-07T19:25:37.610-04:00The FlowersOne decision I really debated over in the wedding planning was whether or not to forgo the florist and just <b>do my own flowers</b>. I mean, we didn't need that much...just 2 bouquets for me and my sister and seven small table arrangements.<br /><br />I really surprised me during the planning process when several people advised me against it. On a bride blog that I wrote for anonymously, I got several commenters telling me I was flat out crazy. Florists in disguise perhaps?<br /><br />What I can tell you is that in the end, <b>it was awesome.</b><br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480176333642577090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL07G7GCkBmv4mSsXkjAFCIahNZuwvqMPg9cjtcYk91LRaWeWXUsG8siHSbSDfWSVWo7bzgbXmi_gCYnz0ujvgi-AduumhDOrrUHcH88fhKuNxQk6Yxg2a4sdfvExdPJT8P1V9Bw/s400/mosaic789d9a2977384190b91d73c8bb01b54013e61639.JPG" /><br />Here’s how it went:<br /><br />I ordered 3 varieties of flowers on <a href="http://www.fiftyflowers.com/">fiftyflowers.com</a> about 3 weeks before the wedding to be delivered to our venue 2 days before the ceremony. Fiftyflowers.com were great– they were on top of the order from the moment I put in my payment.<br /><br /><b>I ordered:</b><br /><br />-- 72 Stems of Peony Pink Metropole Garden Rose (also called a cabbage rose* almost identical to a light pink peony-- but much cheapr)<br />-- 72 Stems of Piaget Garden Rose (a darker shade of pink than the Metropole)<br />-- 100 Stems of White Ranunculus (1-5 blooms per stem)<br /><br /><b>Enough to make:</b><br /><br />7 table settings consisting of 3-small vases of flowers, 2 bouquets, and because it turns out we had way more than I needed for tables and bouquets, we had two large arrangements for the altar and reception areas.<br /><br />Our ceremony didn’t start until that evening, so it was no trouble at all to gather my ladies (my sisters, mother and step-mother) to help with the arranging. I had stored the flowers in my hotel room in buckets (actually, the room’s clean trash cans were converted for this purpose) after cutting the stems when they first arrived. On arrival the blooms looked a little sad, but once cut and placed in water, they opened perfectly and were huge, gorgeous blossoms that smelled heavenly.<br /><br />The best part of having done the flowers ourselves is that each time I looked down at my bouquet, I thought of the loving hands of my sister, mother, stepsister and stepmother who all came together to do this with me.<br /><br /><b>I felt real love in that bouquet.</b>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-60292343380677428632010-05-31T20:59:00.005-04:002010-05-31T21:31:57.531-04:00Wedding Recap, Part 1It was worth every penny, ever tear shed, every ounce of stress felt in the 15 months of planning for 2 days of celebration. In short: the wedding exceeded all of my hopes.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477608271165667490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2hYbmCruBi6TD9G3B4HtfXDFlpUEhXiTurydohqp14xntmo7jtYese6y7B3hcF5RnQnH0ND7Z1LDAiqVWYu6y4-LOHKtMf15l42dMIdsPmRYfRBl2EpOPrhRYtX-rU52jgAH-w/s320/29641_1442854120789_1516183704_1116153_4653864_n.jpg" /><br /><br /> There were so many things that I was worried about months, weeks and days before the wedding, but when the day finally came, I was calm and cool and ready to commit myself to this amazing man who I am now proud to call my husband.<br /><br />Revisiting <a href="http://interravision.blogspot.com/2009/11/whats-up-with-my-wedding.html">the long list of worries</a> I blogged about months before, I am happy to report: everyone danced (with gusto!); my vendors were warm and capable; nothing fell apart; I didn't fall down in my dress; the food was incredible; I felt like a million bucks (even if a sweaty pool by the end of the night); the ceremony was moving and true to who we are-- and my brother did a fantastic job officiating; it didn't suck. In fact, quite the opposite! Though I definitely missed my friends who were not there beside me, I was so appreciative of all the notes, texts and calls on the day of. Keeping it just small with the family was the right thing for me.<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 225px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477611145258839362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAzGEyLKIJSs5pR4SVJJ2_ziACqIm5PkdIln5PrTiLbm4xWD_xq82mtbs1v6Jfo984KRcojazszuu2-v9TFuOb9R2YOGNqd_1MJp6wgiTOB5C1AZz-UQ_Ipx3Hd6PLK4Yi2PangA/s400/Wedding_050810_1820.jpg" />I owe so much to my parents who made everything possible, my sister who was the perfect Best Lady, my brother who officiated like a pro and my step-sister who did a great reading. I truly am blessed.<br /><br />More details to come!Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-876238221589979722010-04-22T21:20:00.002-04:002010-04-22T21:40:53.273-04:00Counting BlessingsA friend the other day told me about a friend of hers who was supposed to be married on the same day as I am getting married, May 8th. A routine visit to her doctor turned up a lump in her breast and her whole world turned around in an instant. Wedding plans gave way to chemo plans. How can I possibly complain?<div><br /></div><div>Recently I learned that the last boyfriend I had before meeting Damir is fighting aggressive cancer that started in his mouth and now lives in his lymph nodes and lungs. Earlier this week he underwent a lung biopsy and today he had a port inserted into his arm to facilitate his next round of chemo. How can I possibly complain?</div><div><br /></div><div>Lately I am feeling a bit like a punching bag, and finding it hard to find the air to breathe. Stress is my constant companion and I don't like that my frown lines appear to be growing faster than my smile lines. I have to sit down, close my eyes and count my many many blessings. I am much looking forward to a week on the beach, fruity drink in hand.</div>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-60981291047389929182010-04-09T12:09:00.003-04:002010-04-09T13:16:32.708-04:00So Much to Look Forward To<b>It's official: </b>I am getting married in less than a month. I am at that stage of wedding planning where planning and thinking about the wedding takes up the majority of my non-sleeping and non-working time. There still feels like much to do, but we're getting down to the nitty-gritty details. For the most part, all the big stuff is done. Mostly.<div><br /></div><div>There's so much to look forward to in the coming 40 days:</div><div><br /></div><div>- My sister and a cousin of Damir's are throwing me a <b>bridal shower</b> this weekend in Manhattan. Erin is staying the whole weekend and we'll have some girl time together at a swanky hotel (for free, thanks to work connections). I am looking forward to seeing the small group of ladies who will be coming. The shower will be in my favorite Scottish Pub....haggis for all! </div><div><br /></div><div>- The week before the wedding my family has rented a beach house near Delray Beach. This will be <b>the first time I sleep under the same roof as both my parents since about 1979</b>. I am deliriously happy about this. It means so much to me to have them all close by and not have to worry about shuttling between one parent and the other. There will be lots to celebrate, my mom's and Erin's twin have birthdays in the days before the wedding!</div><div><br /></div><div>- Obviously I am looking forward to the wedding itself. Though I sorely regret the absence of friends we won't have by our side, I am glad we are doing something so small. It feels less scary and intimidating that way to me. I know it's going to be <b>beautiful and imperfect</b>, lovely and exciting. I've written the ceremony and adore what we'll say to one another as our vows. And I love that my sister will be standing up with me, and my brother will be officiating. </div><div><br /></div><div>- I look forward to the <b>adventure of marriage</b>! Yes, it's true! And specifically to the man I have chosen. Being Damir's wife certainly comes with challenges, cultural and domestic, but I feel confident I know what I am getting myself in to. I am marrying a man who I adore, who makes me laugh, who listens (even when I know he doesn't want to), who dreams big and often, who has a wonderful imagination and adores me to the core. Who could ask for more?</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.aguaresort.com/Agua/index.html"><b>- THE HONEYMOON. </b></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And finally, I look forward to <b>changing the conversation</b>. Wedding planning talk is a bore, so I commend you if you made it this far down the post. I will be happy to come home and start my next project, whatever that may be! </div>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-32362962446555747842010-03-21T22:02:00.006-04:002010-03-21T22:55:33.554-04:00Beverly Hills 60643<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IUGmq4Bh7YaaRiAGCVgTEbAqSgXLW3N9vxNJ6tl6AGDMQxsPW2xHqVN4nahhnLZebKXjvpwDQEMQH0LeA_tLMryHCMAKDx1Dv-BYKlUDVG5TeEdZSsTbFJyscRdoSnZQeauWOA/s1600-h/Gram.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 221px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451280797576046866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IUGmq4Bh7YaaRiAGCVgTEbAqSgXLW3N9vxNJ6tl6AGDMQxsPW2xHqVN4nahhnLZebKXjvpwDQEMQH0LeA_tLMryHCMAKDx1Dv-BYKlUDVG5TeEdZSsTbFJyscRdoSnZQeauWOA/s320/Gram.jpg" /></a><br />I've just returned from Chicago, where I was attending my Gram's funeral this weekend. As I mentioned in my last post, her time was near and she died at home on Friday, March 12<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">th</span>. This was my final trip to her house of over 50 years in the Beverly Hills section of the South Side of Chicago. As I type, my mom and aunt are preparing the long and difficult job of putting together an estate sale and getting the house ready to put on the market. <div><br /></div><div>It was a strange and emotional trip, with lots of tears and laughter. It was so great to see my cousins, aunts and uncles; some of whom I hadn't seen in many many years. It was also wonderful to hear stories about my Gram from my aunts and spend a little time in her well loved home. Being there with my extended family brought fresh anger over the loss of the <a href="http://interravision.blogspot.com/2008/03/in-michigan.html">Michigan home</a>. With Gram no longer our common denominator, how do we stay a family?</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of Michigan, I found it <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">poignant</span> that Gram's funeral was on St. Joseph's day. St. Joe, Michigan is the place where I spent most of my time with Gram during the summers of my childhood. Joseph, her father, immigrated from Sicily to Chicago via Ellis Island. Joseph Jr, his son, took Michigan away from all of us.</div><div> </div><div>I think perhaps I learned more about Gram and my grandfather, who died before I was born, in these few days than I had in my entire life. Isn't that strange? In many ways, my grandmother was a very private person. Though willing to recount story after story about her family, she was more reticent to speak of herself. Going through stacks of photos, I would ask my aunts, "who is this person?" and inevitably a great story would accompany the answer. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 316px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451284624137083986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMfo4x0E-VYSAV4XVqRsru4LRUq2CDb3GL7-lGfdCufcoSDmh-asYnScwM6I9Jxi2z4eyWYhUOUrkYqFxhGDwab2wDFz8gj843iyKcOwjcVJTpcWos_LhC28QHOtZXZFOn7B4LBA/s320/MomandDadwedding.jpg" /><br /></div><div>What really touched me was finding dozens and dozens of Hallmark Cards and letters sent between my grandparents. I never understood my grandfather to be an overly affectionate man, but I always knew he was devoted to his family. But these cards told a different side of the story. My grandparents <i>truly</i> adored one another. In these cards, some over 70 years old, you could feel the love they were so lucky to share. </div><div> </div><div>As my own wedding is fast approaching, I can only hope and pray that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Damir</span> and I will be as blessed as they were. </div>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-49281684985897569042010-03-09T18:32:00.004-05:002010-03-09T21:19:21.362-05:00The Next Adventure Awaits Her<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFn2l_ItAw_tiAS-RgxBXbxddmOuseOCtPpE67Xzxb3nMCjXKK2aGmI0oL7J64_yLAm1v9n_FVevp5Mx75W94RlOhWvwNBruWhcWoYaiD7EHraEZab-P5aL8GdVlVezkBnnYRhg/s1600-h/IMG_1282.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446820981675322722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFn2l_ItAw_tiAS-RgxBXbxddmOuseOCtPpE67Xzxb3nMCjXKK2aGmI0oL7J64_yLAm1v9n_FVevp5Mx75W94RlOhWvwNBruWhcWoYaiD7EHraEZab-P5aL8GdVlVezkBnnYRhg/s320/IMG_1282.JPG" /></a><br /><div>Mom says it's just a matter of a day or two now. Maybe even just hours left before Gram passes on. Though her impending death breaks my heart, it is inevitable, as it will be for all of us. </div><div> </div><div>A few years back, Gram told us that sweet angels had started to visit with her a night. Thankfully, she said that she found their presence comforting. And now, from the bed hospice set up in her living room of more than 50 years, she occasionally talks with the family members who already waiting for her at the next stop. Yesterday she started greeting all the people visiting her living room, "Oh, hi! Hi!" People who no longer walk among us are preparing to usher her through.<br /></div><div>She fell out of bed a week or so ago which seems to have been the catalyst of a domino effect of deterioration. She was already quite frail, mostly blind and well into dementia. She could no longer retain memory or detail, except for occasional flashes of recollection which would<br />blow in and out like a rare summer breeze. She's 92.</div><div> </div><div>Though the physical damage of the fall was mostly repaired (broken hip, broken arm), it became clear a full recovery back to her <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">pre</span>-fall state of health wasn't going to happen. She couldn't understand the oxygen mask and the tubes in her arms, she pulled at them despite being told over and over they were vital to her recovery. She couldn't remember.<br /><br />But she still has the hearing of a cat. A sneeze across the room would <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">elicit</span> a "God bless you!"and a cell phone ring down the hall would prompt her to ask you to open the door, someone was ringing the bell.</div><p>Today my mother whispered into Gram's ear, not even sure if she was listening, "You're going to have so many wonderful adventures!" Mom was surprised to get any response, much less this... "I already am."</p><p>Thank you, Gram. I love you.</p>Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-20298463198073744052009-12-31T13:34:00.003-05:002009-12-31T14:13:47.531-05:00Open Letter to 2009<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8eUXE9mJ3CmdfbWqK1IPDF-yaz2PJdaB0pnyooDckIuXYL4xu8aVvgeahNwLPsXDDRb_ermbN6psZdT3YMHzPRYq_EIbICtSHLSuWUu-8hr4iuMKlIkTDaNaVulbL9H5Jc6HeWA/s1600-h/123109+081.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8eUXE9mJ3CmdfbWqK1IPDF-yaz2PJdaB0pnyooDckIuXYL4xu8aVvgeahNwLPsXDDRb_ermbN6psZdT3YMHzPRYq_EIbICtSHLSuWUu-8hr4iuMKlIkTDaNaVulbL9H5Jc6HeWA/s320/123109+081.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421480605790819938" border="0" /></a><br />Dear 2009,<br /><br />I am sorry to see you go, since it was a pretty decent year for me. Sure, the country continues to be a mess and I have more than one unemployed friend these days, but selfishly speaking you were good to me, if comparatively uneventful. Maybe even a little boring, but really I can live without any drama for a little while.<br /><br />We started the year off great with a beautiful trip to the Mayan Riviera. I loved the place we stayed so much I am considering a return visit for our 2010 honeymoon. But we'll see about that. It was warm, the food was good, and the beach was nothing short of spectacular. Man, I could use a little sun right about now.<br /><br />In March, Damir and I finally found the place to host our wedding. Woo-hoo! We successfully narrowed a list of over 300 places down to 1. The trip down to FL was short, but successful. In just a week I am heading back down for my 2nd visit, this time with my Mom for some on-site planning. Hopefully I will get a lot done! I learned this year that wedding planning more or less sucks in general. I will be glad to be done with all the details and look forward to an imperfect but wonderful destination wedding.<br /><br />Work was good. Busy. I got some new projects I am looking forward to taking on.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The highlight for 2009 comes down to a tie:</span> First, becoming an East Coast Auntie to Erin and Tom's twins has been so amazing! I was lucky to get up to Boston almost every month to see those two cuties. I wish I was just around the corner in my old apartment in Back Bay, but then again, they'd probably pester me to babysit all the time, so it's just as well (j/k). I can't wait to see them grow and grow, but love this baby stage a lot! The other highlight has been solidifying friendships with Michelle and Paulina. Having 2 local girlfriends has been a big boost to my LI quality of life. I am starting to feel like LI is more than just a temporary rest-stop and maybe an actual, gasp, home. Life on the home front still isn't all I want it to be, but I am adapting.<br /><br />2009, you've got a lot of competition in 2010 in terms of being memorable year, but I thank you for being so good to me. Cheers!<br /><br />XOXO<br />Interravision.Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-42299290909817260172009-11-04T12:01:00.003-05:002009-11-04T12:07:42.656-05:00Pretzels are the New Bagels? Yes, Please!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7uR1Ocanr6JJZNCjF5mNqGZ-GxDDvjJ3Q8op3VwJ38S6cAfXYlqxXgvN7URV-z49ooAJALIyRsGuO5Cn8lWYiJgf7dq1r-y6dFTnjUkGOyYxddvDfUUI5tSYiz0h7Ho0n443J-g/s1600-h/Sigmund_Pretzels_PretzelSandwiches3_v1_27_-_Version_2_(1).jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7uR1Ocanr6JJZNCjF5mNqGZ-GxDDvjJ3Q8op3VwJ38S6cAfXYlqxXgvN7URV-z49ooAJALIyRsGuO5Cn8lWYiJgf7dq1r-y6dFTnjUkGOyYxddvDfUUI5tSYiz0h7Ho0n443J-g/s400/Sigmund_Pretzels_PretzelSandwiches3_v1_27_-_Version_2_(1).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400294751233731074" border="0" /></a><br />Check out the above sandwich is Bresaola, Arugula, Mustard and Mayonnaise on a sesame pretzel. How yummy does that look? It comes from the brand new <a href="http://www.alwayshungryny.com/thought-for-food/entry/firstlook-sigmund-pretzel-shop/">Sigmund Pretzel Shop</a> on the Lower East Side. Ingenious! I never thought about making a pretzel into sandwich bread before. I will have to somehow try that at home-- I just have to figure out how to make pretzels first. No sweat, right?Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-34221525251619353842009-11-03T11:22:00.004-05:002009-11-03T16:14:14.129-05:00Another Shocking Admission.I am starting to actually like Long Island.<br /><br />WHHHATTT? I never thought it would happen, but it is slowly growing on me. Here's why:<br /><br />1) The commute to the city everyday still sucks, but it is a much happier commute now that I have my train friends, Paulina and Michelle. We love to annoy the rest of sedate train folk with our lively chatter in the mornings. And when the girls aren't with me, I am finding new ways to make that time well spent (thanks mostly to NPR podcasts).<br /><br />2) Speaking of Paulina and Michelle, it's great to have finally built up some solid friendships. The three of us never run out of things to talk about! Having someone to run errands with, meet for brunch or drinks, or just a quiet dinner is really life-changing for me here. REALLY. LIFE. CHANGING.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeI0tGt3lWfKLPmsJ7xb8Dc-X1ZSKFZEBlcEVF_1n9DhMNjpywIXpfg5tkV2xsO-00w2UdxNNs3gQRH5iW5HaBRd5jCuQIr7CKU0ofIQ7Mej0OL3ffAKFLZ1m3YUocoJp-ZDlXQ/s1600-h/10520_143981719536_716284536_2658103_488649_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeI0tGt3lWfKLPmsJ7xb8Dc-X1ZSKFZEBlcEVF_1n9DhMNjpywIXpfg5tkV2xsO-00w2UdxNNs3gQRH5iW5HaBRd5jCuQIr7CKU0ofIQ7Mej0OL3ffAKFLZ1m3YUocoJp-ZDlXQ/s320/10520_143981719536_716284536_2658103_488649_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399915027488528450" border="0" /></a><br />3) There is so much to explore on Long Island! The plethora of state and local parks, cute towns, surprisingly tasty wineries, great beaches... I feel like I could be here a while and still not get bored with the variety of day trips that await me. Looks at all the parks and recreation! I still have a long list of places I want to see.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrp23vEu606_CRTq1T2_uQMM1S4z5_SKjPTt8Ec8fRiehxbqZA13HfOZ10tZEWZ6aDWUXd4ROywSctcDUTSiP79iDKgqQpHeIrfdAMTephIuC5fNiDkFpff2ZJ6ZnBkJvcbtC8A/s1600-h/LIParks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrp23vEu606_CRTq1T2_uQMM1S4z5_SKjPTt8Ec8fRiehxbqZA13HfOZ10tZEWZ6aDWUXd4ROywSctcDUTSiP79iDKgqQpHeIrfdAMTephIuC5fNiDkFpff2ZJ6ZnBkJvcbtC8A/s400/LIParks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399918558001364082" border="0" /></a>4) Rockville Centre itself really isn't that bad. I can walk to the gym, the grocery store, restaurants of various cuisines, the post-office, nail & hair salons, the train station and numerous fun bars and pubs. I love that we have cars that get us further afield, but having the option to walk to local watering holes is excellent. PLUS, it really is a town where people can get to know you. I like that I am greeted by name at many of the places where I run errands. Its still an adjustments after living center-city in Boston and Amsterdam, but being away from the hustle and bustle has a few advantages.<br /><br />5)I wanted to have a 5th element here, since a list of 4 things really isn't that impressive. But seriously, it's all working out just fine over here, despite all the wedding/family stress of late. I don't know that I will ever feel like NY is my "home", since in a lot of ways I feel more like an outsider here than I did living abroad. Maybe that just takes a little more time. And since there's no plan to move anywhere else in the short term, I guess we'll find out if that's true or not!Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11334647.post-62584350176187759362009-11-02T14:29:00.003-05:002009-11-02T14:35:50.073-05:00On a happier note...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-xosZpAuNQe0VmDqqi6_4eKLsT_CpDwBvDj0fBL6FmXJbcX1qHFckZ2SJkeSreDJ-oh4r-ZwHGAV0XfkWbvMbnpHVBvs_YI4fvys7ltLiNAn7DBbsmBjsJVyi70xRM7b07JrTQ/s1600-h/11161_181902039536_716284536_3012872_7675470_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-xosZpAuNQe0VmDqqi6_4eKLsT_CpDwBvDj0fBL6FmXJbcX1qHFckZ2SJkeSreDJ-oh4r-ZwHGAV0XfkWbvMbnpHVBvs_YI4fvys7ltLiNAn7DBbsmBjsJVyi70xRM7b07JrTQ/s400/11161_181902039536_716284536_3012872_7675470_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399591449147957810" border="0" /></a><br />I lost 20 pounds! YAYYYYY!<br /><br />Sure, there's more to be done in that regard, but I am feeling better than I have in a long time about my appearance.<br /><br />PLUS, ladies with thick unruly hair, you MUST get this product called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Moroccanoil-moroil-3-4-Ounce-Bottle/dp/B001AO0WCG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=hpc&qid=1257190405&sr=8-1">Moroccan Hair Oil</a>. It has changed my life. Seriously. It's not cheap, but you can find it cheaper than what's listed on Amazon. A little goes a long way, so it will last a long time.Terrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00853337661342207301noreply@blogger.com0