Keith and I recently decided to cut back on our cable package, because the combined package we had for phone, internet, and cable seemed kind of exorbitant given that most of the free movies are ones we own and the rest is kind of crappy. And we only watch 3 shows, all of which are now on Hulu. So, we joined Netflix instead.

We've compromised on a system that means that we each have a movie choice out at the same time. My first choice was Revolutionary Road, a 2008 film based upon the book of the same name by author Richard Yates. I'd seen the previews, it looked good, and since it was set in the 50's (I've never read the book) and the dialog seemed to indicate that it was probably a tale about the perils of conformity.

And indeed, a cautionary tale, it was.

My first thought is/was: thank goodness for birth control that works and legalized abortion. That's the thing that always amazes me about pro-lifers---they are 99% of the time against sex education that incorporates information about birth control ranging from 80-99.9% effectiveness against unwanted pregnancy AND they seem to have developed selective amnesia regarding the realities of what actually happened when women were forced into back alleyways, to pull out the knitting needles, or to try and fashion a coat hanger to do the job themselves. Abortions will happen as they happened since the start of human existence. My point has always been that the human woman is most CERTAINLY A LIFE and hers is just as worth saving, if not more so, than a non-viable fetus. The loss of sister, wife, mother, daughter, student, and friend is palpable in a way that the unborn is most certainly not, wanted or unwanted. That's one of the reasons I always find pro-lifers suspicious at best---they talk oodles about "the baby" leaving most women, women who are often in a major lurch and sometimes dealing with other trama, feeling like dog food. And then, once the baby is born, they are the same people who vote down Head Start, expanded maternity leave, and family assistance programs.

Anyway, the blog is not about the abortion debate--I personally think that nothing I say is going to sway anyone. This blog is about the perils of conformity.

Watching the movie was certainly interesting timing in that as I've come back from my trip and shared my goal to move abroad, and set a definite date (after Sept. 2013), the reactions from family and some co-workers have been not often too unsimiliar to what Frank & April experienced in the movies. I get lots of loaded questions and certainly the impression of defensive souls believing that I am judging the life plans of what most people have done and do, and finding the usual life plan lacking.

As indeed I am. I am finding it wanting...for me, and me alone.

But the film struck at some deep-seated worries, not giving me any doubt that I have about my own plans, but perhaps my husband's plans. Moving abroad was certainly not a topic broached in front of the pastor that was to marry us during Summer 2005. I did not come with a warning label that says: "The one's a bohemian wanderer." On the other hand, it was pretty implicit that I had given up the whole possible State Department career for love and a move to Beantown instead, and anyone who talks to me for more than...say, 10 minutes, would quickly discover my enthusasism for foreign culture. Certainly it isn't news to Keith.

Money is the excuse we gave ourselves in 2007. But as the film states explicitly at one point, not following your dreams is rarely about money (or the lack thereof). Not pursuing your dreams is more a statement of one's own fear of failure. And I guess that's where I come to the guts of it. I don't fear failure at all. I fear reaching the twilight years of my life and finding out I never tried. That's what really keeps me up at night.

And then there are the voices, physically from people or existing only in my mind, of "be grateful for what you have and have seen," or "what about how your kids will feel?" I barely can contain my annoyance when actual humans direct the latter question to me because I see it for what it is--an attempt to guilt me into conformity. After all, its not like I had any say about growing up in Bumblebutt, PA--when certainly from an early age onward I would have loved to grow up anywhere but in a small rural community. Why don't people worry about NOT having enough variation or challenges to form growing minds? Where do norms come from and why is staying in one spot or one country considered optimal? I've tried to wrap my brain around it and can't come up with anything. I certainly don't think a life that moves kids every year or two is good...certainly there needs to be some consistency.

As for the former question, its really kind of insulting in a way. It nearly explicitly tells me not to expect any more from myself. And it assumes that people have what they have because its what they want, when it is likely that others may have chosen differently for themselves too.

The thing is, dreams are something you have to work for. Constantly strive for. Go with the flow, and you will go where the flow takes you--no more. And that's pretty much where everyone else's going. Because its much, much easier.

Labels: conformity, dreams, future, goals, illusion, myth, success

Today boys and girls, I'm going to talk about something else besides bad blogging and re-entry shock. Its no mystery judging by the sparse content of the blog during 2009 that this year, thus far, has been rather busy. So, my idea is to catch up by talking about my Boston Terrier, Mayflower, who turned 2 years old on July 8.

As soon as Keith and I had a signed P&S agreement for our first home, first things came first. Not movers. Not furnishings, not curtains. A dog. I've wanted a dog for the longest time. Although I love my kitties, the fact is...kitties aren't dogs. Not even close.

For months and months I had been longingly looking at the animals on Petfinder.com. Keith and I had basically narrowed our breed choices down to three. We were looking for a dog that did well in apartments, didn't have too many health problems, less shedding, good with kids, and was energetic, but didn't need constant exercise.

Thus, we narrowed it down to three breeds:

1) Greyhound
2) French Bulldog
3) Boston Terrier

Keith really likes Greyhounds, and we both liked the idea of adopting one of these especially since greyhounds are being taken out of racing in this state (good). Its not uncommon to go to your local Petco and see a greyhound or two shyly lurking about. Not uncommonly they have scars, missing tails, even missing legs! Racing isn't kind to them and they are dumped as soon as they aren't fit for racing anymore.

Greyhounds actually are great apartment dogs. Yes, they need a 20 minute walk each day, but that's really about it. Mostly they're couch potatoes. They can run, but they don't need constant exercise. They are very sweet and docile. They have short hair and don't shed much. The most important thing is making sure they have a comfy bed to lay on since hard floors can be hard on them since they don't have much fat at all.

Ultimately, we ruled out the greyhound for 2 major reasons. First, we have cats, and we knew that for at least the first few weeks they would be running from the greyhound. Which could be an issue, since after all, greyhounds were bred for hunting game. Ghost looks suspiciously like a white fuzzy rabbit--like the fuzzy white rabbit used to get the greyhounds to run around a betting track. Images of a dog tearing my cats apart made me a little leery. Lastly, our new home is on Route 9. Greyhounds are bigger dogs and what if I got a car chaser and couldn't rein them in since they're bigger? I've lost one dog (a chocolate Lab named Daisy when I was 16) due to getting hit by a car, and needless to say, I don't ever want to repeat the experience.

That brought us down to the Frenchie and the Boston. Both are compact. Both are short haired with minimal shedding and grooming. Both are good with kids, and great apartment dogs. I've actually lived with Frenchies for a short time as an exchange student too.

Ultimately, it came down to looking at breed info, the Frenchie has more genetic tendencies towards more health issues. That's mostly because the Boston Terrier isn't altogether too far from "muttdom." The Boston breed is only about 150 years old.

Beyond that, it was pretty easy to find a suitable Boston. As luck would have it, a non-profit organization based out of Rhode Island, Friends of Homeless Animals, helps all kinds of dogs, but especially Bostons. They only work out of volunteer homes, rather than a shelter and rely on a network of caring people to rescue dogs from high-kill shelters (particularly in the Southern U.S.) and bring them up to the Northeast to find forever homes.

And such was the story of our Mayflower. After signing up for a dog and putting a $200 deposit down, we had to wait until closer to our moving date to get our dog. A few weeks before our move we looked at the possibilities on Petfinder. A dog named "Lulu" had been saved to my bookmarks for awhile and I liked her photos. The thing was that she was deaf and the ad said that they preferred an adopter with experience with deaf dogs. I personally had no experience with deaf dogs, nor did Keith.

Keith got on the phone with Roie Greigo who is the founder of the organization and they discussed the list of doggies I had my eye on. When we asked about Lulu, Roie had nothing but wonderful things to say about her disposition and TONS of personality, and didn't seem so worried that we had no experience with deaf dogs. So, we got the name and contact info for Lulu's foster mom, Kirstin, who just happened to be in....Davis Square. We were prepared to have to drive anywhere in the NE to meet this dog, but as luck would have it Lulu was very close by. So we set out to meet her.

Now, Kirstin had warned us that Lulu might be shy meeting strangers in her home, as she had been a little more cautious with other visitors. We asked what treats she might like and brought a few tennis balls too. As soon as the door opened, we had a 20-some lb. Boston Terrier rocket launch herself at us licking us with major tail wagging, and then she began to paw and jump at the Petco bag we had in our hands as if to say, "Did you bring me something? Really!? What did you bring me, huh? Can I have it! Can I HAVE it!" There was nothing apprehensive or shy about her. One couldn't casually tell that she was deaf unless her back was turned and you called to her--but her attention was on us so consistently she always seemed to know what we were saying. We played with her for the better part of an hour totally falling in love with her, and Lulu was decidedly pouty when we went to leave. But we didn't leave before telling Kirstin that she had the dog we had always wanted and that we were ready to move to the home inspection step.

However, that home inspection step meant that we had to be moved into a home first. After what was literally the most stressful condo closing known to mankind (a blog topic for another time) we were relatively set up, albeit with cardboard boxes everywhere, and had the worst of our doggy-dangerous stuff secured it was time to fetch our new dog. FOHA agreed to have the inspection just after Lulu moved in due to scheduling issues, but wanted the adoptee to start getting settled.

We took the harness and tags we had bought for her and a dog bed we'd purchased as well. We brought some treats and a few of her toys as a distraction as well as a winter covering since it was mid-February and quite cold for a brachycephalic breed to be out without some covering (yes, some of those dog coats you see are actually functional and required, not decorative).

We pulled up to the street we had visited a few short weeks before and Keith and I proceeded to argue which triple-decker was the correct one (it was dark and all the houses looked the same). As we were arguing, the distinctive silhouette of a Boston Terrier's head popped up on the second floor window of the triple-decker I was gesturing to. Despite being deaf, Lulu knew we had come for her. It was a good omen.

Henceforth, I will refer to her by her forever name, Mayflower. As everyone knows, our cats are named Ghost and Goblin because we got them around Halloween. One time, many years ago Keith and I were driving (yet again) to Pennsylvania to see family and jokingly discussed that maybe all our family pets should be adopted around holidays and given appropriate names. Some were easy, St. Patrick's Day=Shamrock, Pat, Patty, Ireland, Easter=Bunny, Chicky, Peep, 4th of July=Independence, Indy, Firecracker, Sparkler...but we were stumped when we came to discussing Thanksgiving. I joked that the only name that would work would be "Turkey." Then Keith thoughtfully suggested Mayflower, which I thought was quite cute, although a bit long for a dog. (Cats never come when called, so its not like naming them something long really matters...)

So despite the fact that Mayflower ("May" for short) became ours just after Valentine's Day 2009, we named her Mayflower because we thought that the name was cute, plus she's a Boston Terrier living in Boston. She is brindle and white similiar to a Pilgrim's coloring. The name's springtime affiliation suited her exuberance and sunny disposition perfectly--plus, being deaf, her name didn't have to be one or two syllables for calling her.

I must say that some days May inspires me. Despite her shitty human-inflicted start in life, she loves people. Loves everyone. Trusts people. Is grateful to us. People might say that's pretty "dog-like" but dogs that have been through a rough time sometimes don't recover personality-wise. That little personable joker's smile is sometimes all I need to lift the spirts after a particularly long day. And that, my friends, makes her worth every penny spent to obtain her, keep her healthy, and happy for the rest of her life in her forever home.

Labels: animal rescue, Boston Terrier, dog, Mayflower, pets

In the US, the unofficial start of the summer is Memorial Day, at May's end, and ends Labor Day weekend, in the start of September. That means since it is halfway through July, summer is halfway over, in some respects.

I think most Bostonians would say that the summer this year has sucked, at least weatherwise. Keith and I couldn't have chosen a better month to leave town. It rained for something like 22 days straight in June 2009 and was the rainest June since 1903. So, I don't feel so bad that it rained the entire time in England and France. At least I wasn't in Boston.

The trip was fun. It was certainly long (24 days) by American standards...too long to go into a detailed, day by day play of events. If you want that, I can always do a slide show in my living room and offer you some bundt cake (just kidding).

I'm also not going to waste too much time updating life from January to now. Suffice it to say, it went something like, packed up life (again), moved (again) into newly-bought apartment, got to know neighborhood, got a beautiful Boston Terrier puppy, got a new routine, painted a lot, got my real estate license, and then, packed up for a long vacation.

We needed it. I had never been so burnt out in my entire life.

The trip had its highlights. We got to see Dan and Mandy as they adjust to life in the Netherlands. They seem like they are getting into a routine, and that's good. Routines are always good when moving abroad. Sometimes that's the only thing that keeps you going. You can hear more about that on Mandy's blog here: http://singlestitch.wordpress.com/2009/06/23/a-visit-to-cologne-with-friends/

Then it was off to Amsterdam (which we loved), Copenhagen (less loved, probably our least favorite location the entire trip), and then Sweden. Yes, Sweden.

Dan and Mandy took me up on an offer to follow us and experience a real Swedish Midsommar. And did they! Mandy experienced a little too much of the schnapps, but that's understandable for a rookie. I think they had fun for the most part. They blogged about that as well: http://singlestitch.wordpress.com/2009/06/26/midsummer-celebrations-in-sweden/

I had an opportunity, after Dan and Mandy went back to Maastricht, and some other family visitors (Kerstin's sister, mother) went on their way that I was able to have a heart-to-heart chat with my host parents and sort of illuminate what was going on in my mind so many years ago. I really am glad I kept that journal...because it has provided some really valuable clarity for myself.

Leaving Sweden always tugs on the heartstrings a bit, but this time, it was particularly painful. I admit the first time I left, after the initial exchange it was really hard--as in, it took me the better part of a year to recover. The second time I visited (June 2000) I had a sort of inner-peace with myself and my first experience that I was okay going home, and it sort of ended my reverse culture shock at that point. I was finally able to move on with my life in the States. The third time I was psyched to go home. I didn't know when I'd be back, but I really wanted to get home to my boyfriend (now husband).

Coming back in 2007 was hard, but I think in the passing weeks I got back into a routine. I do recall being in a funk for maybe a month or so. That's when I had the bright idea to move back for awhile. I really still liked Boston though and knew moving to Sweden to be a logistical nightmare in terms of finding an apartment, getting a job, etc. So, between then and early 2009, we saved and bought our first home, hoping we buy at a good rate and thinking we can either go abroad when we sell, or just buy a bigger Boston place.

But now, I don't care if we can't sell in late 2013. Hell, I'll rent our place. I just want to go. Period. Maybe I feel it more acutely since the Potters left because I would love to be in their shoes myself. Certainly there are less friends to act as a distraction here. People are busy with their own lives---they have kids or volunteer commitments. We're busy too, but, something intangible has shifted and I find myself rather homesick for Sweden all the time. For now, I'm just going to have to suck it up and hope it passes. And hope that the next 4 years go by verrry quickly.

Labels: burn out, Maastricht, re-entry shock, summer, Sweden, vacation, weather

I admit, I've gotten away from blogging. Why? Well, I discovered Twitter a few months ago, and got quickly addicted to it, but since our 24 day vacation in Europe, I admit I've fallen off that wagon too. The paradox was that it was probably a great time to micro-blog, but far too rich for my blood, even with an international roaming package.

Too much of blogging (in general) is what I did today, and with who, yadda, yadda, yadda. I want to get away from that. Yes, good topics result out of the everyday and the mundane, but the fact is, its better generally to just write about, I don't know, ideas....

Hence, I find myself inspired after reading another "friend's" unwitting blog post. Whether the quotations get removed from around friend at some point, remains to be seen according to her actions from here on out.

An idea I'd like to discuss today are the pitfalls of blogging. Or blogging used unwisely. I'm all for having a forum to voice your feelings, but I think we should generally draw a line when it comes to insulting your so-called friends on the internet. And generally, its just dumb to do so when there's even the slightest chance they'll get to read about it.

Like today. Today, I missed Sweden. Let's be honest--everyday I miss Sweden. Some days I just march through life, but other days, like today--I have a little more brain space on hand to think a little. I really hope Keith and I can get it together financially and job wise to move to Sweden in a few years. I think it would be a great adventure for us and our family--but that's a topic for another day.

I was really missing Sweden and reading through old e-mails. While I love the country, its actually the people I miss the most. I have good friends there, particularly my first host parents, who mean a great deal to me personally. While my Swedish parents they have not been an ever-present group of friends, they are friends none the less, and friends who have seen me through some challenging times.

The fact that I really come back for the people in Sweden made reading this excerpt from a "friend's" blog all the more painful:

Igår kväll mötte vi 2 jobbiga amerikaner och åt middag med dom på Mälarpaviljongen på Kungsholmen. Dom snackade så klart i ett om oväsentliga grejer. Efter några timmar fick Jeppen och jag nästan exem i öronen och det var äntligen tur att bryta upp. Vi gick vidare och tog några glas på Pontonen.

Don't speak Swedish? Alyssa's here to translate (literally)!!! (Since Swedish words can also mean synonyms, I have added these where appropriate--you can see the meaning is the really the same and there's no mistaken understanding on my part.)

Yesterday evening we met 2 tedious (or trying) Americans and ate dinner with them at the Mälarpaviljongen on Kungsholmen. They chatted (talked, gossiped) so much and about unessential things. After a few hours Jesper and I got nearly practically (or almost) an ear exam and then it was finally time to break up. We went further and had a few drinks at Pontonen.

I am certainly not going to tell you that we didn't do most of the talking. Admittedly, Keith and I are, like the common American stereotype--talkers. But, I must confess we were at a loss on how to fill the time. Yes, that is another cultural difference between us and the Swedes---Americans don't do the whole companionable silence thing with others, at least not unless you're married to them. That I knew. I also nudged Keith a few times to lower the volume of his voice a little but there's only so much you can do after a few beers and him. I'm all for companionable silence, I miss it when I'm back Stateside, on the other hand, it seems a little odd to not see friends for 2 years and then sit and just sip beers together. So I figured the time was to catch up.

The fact is, I talk to most of my Swedish friends maybe once or twice a year. This friend was no exception. There was a lot to cover...namely, Keith had a new job, we bought our first apartment, we got a dog, my father had an amputation, my mom got remarried, we plan on starting our family this fall. I recognize this isn't as exciting as bungee-jumping off a cliff or starting your own spy agency, or whatever, but its our life and what we had to discuss at the table. And we did, a few times, ask them to talk about themselves because we were genuinely interested and wanted them to fill the space a little. This they did somewhat, but only after we said "Hey, enough about us, how about you?"

Another point of contention (although it wasn't stated) might have been my speaking English almost entirely that evening. My Swedish, is actually quite good. I don't call it fluent, but mostly I think that's because I'm used to having more words to work with in English. Words like "two-faced" which apparently don't exist in Swedish ("insincere" or "false" is as close as they have, and those words lack a certain oomph in English). Either that, or I need a better Swedish dictionary.

While I love traveling with my husband, and its fun to see things with him, I do miss the fact that I feel I must speak English more so he isn't just sitting there while I ignore him. That was only part excuse in this case though. The restaurant, while lovely, was crowded and loud, with music in the background as well. Fun, but, I find it very difficult to concentrate in this environment especially when I'm trying to also be somewhat entertaining and make sure Keith isn't left out. It seems whenever I get together with people there the usual venue selected is a club, or loud restaurant. Admittedly too, we're the only people I know that are married, and we've sort of moved past the clubbing state of existence...so its not the top place we'd pick either. But where friends are, we'll go, and we have a good time.

So, needless to say I'm disappointed. Disappointed to be a bore and/or having a boring life in my friend's eyes. Disappointed my friend chose to talk smack about me online rather than speak to me directly. I want to be understanding, but this friend has lived in the US, for a year, and she should very well know its not personal, understanding that Keith hasn't had the living experience in Sweden I had, and by using a little imagination she might have figured out why there was so much blather. And she might recall that we tried to draw her out too. Keith is particularly crushed because he really thought my friend was a cool chick. Now he's seeing a different side and isn't so sure about meeting up with her again.

Typically when I go on these trips my host family has a nice farewell dinner our last night in Sweden, which we did Friday night instead of Saturday...but it wasn't the same! I know that seems childish. Had I known that the content of our lives was just going to be like ear-fucking for these people, I would have stayed in Eskilstuna or Mälarbaden and been just fine with that. I could have gotten some kebab which I missed doing, yet again, gone on a walk in the woods. Oh, well, there is the next trip, I suppose. And beyond that, it looks like I will have one less friend to chase down to visit on my next vacation unless a sincere apology is headed our way.

The moral of the story folks? Watch what you blog about, even from the other side of the world, in another language. Its a very, very small world.

Meanwhile, I've taken the time to write a thoughtful apology in Swedish and post it to the comments section of the offending entry. Hopefully it will put her on a little notice, but also minimally defend myself against the accusation of tediousness. After all, I agree good conversation is a two-way street, not a never-ending monologue, but there's also only so much teeth pulling one can do...

Labels: apology, blogging, friends, Stockholm, Sweden, Swedish, vacation

Based upon my last entry, someone might say that I’m reading my journal from 1998-99 because I’m nostalgic for past travels and adventures. But they’d only be partially right.

In actuality, when I finished my journal (well, not actually finished…I missed putting the last few weeks in, not to mention my round-Europe trip). I promised myself that in 10 years time I’d go back and read the journals—once I had a little time and distance between all the events and emotions of that year to see what I thought. It is amazing how fast time has passed and how much I have changed along with those who were a part of my life at age 17-18.

I am now married, 28, living in a major city, have a bachelors and a master’s degree. Buying my first home and thinking about starting a family. My parents have divorced for over 4 years. My brothers are both out of schooling (Jimmy nearly). Mom has moved to another town too. My best friend is married and living in her home. Of the exchange students I keep up with, one is married with a daughter. Another is still single. Of old high school friends of whom I write, one is married with a son, another is engaged. Others have been long lost to time and distance.

Some are absent from the pages, most notably my husband. In reading my old journal, I found it difficult to think back to a time where I didn’t even know he existed. In fact, none of the people who are the greatest part of my life in Boston existed to me yet.

The attitudes, words, and situations described within the pages of the journal have left me astonished. I’ve been devouring the pages vociferously over a two-day period and I’ve read the entirety of two composition notebooks. I see so many other but also similar angles to myself, things I write that are dead-wrong and incredibly immature or naive, but also things that are rather shocking (well, to me) and insightful. Moments and words exchanged, once long forgotten, have re-surfaced. Sometimes I catch myself laughing, other times I’m crying with tears that never seem to end because I really feel for the girl who is really struggling to survive. I see where I did right by myself, what I cheated myself out of, and I also see where I was truly let down by others. I’m impressed by the burden I carried at times. I don’t know that I could have handled it at age 28 any better or at all.

On the other hand, I read cards from relatives and friends and read my conversations with some friends I made that year, and I see how much people truly cared about me---although I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time. I am eternally grateful to my best friend and my grandparents who wrote cards and letters that really made me realize how truly loved I was. I also see in the photos and compliments paid to me on the pages that I was, even in my own current opinion, once truly pretty on the outside---in fact, often stunning. I’m angry with myself for not appreciating it then and being so hard on myself for my appearance. Some of that, however, isn’t my fault either. And additionally, I’m angry that I haven’t taken care of myself the way I ought to the last 10 years.

I still have the third and final composition note book to read and am thinking about what I want to do from there. I see patterns in myself that I’d like to think further on, parenting mistakes made that I’d rather avoid as I see the confusion and hurt they caused me as I tried to live up to impossible standards with very little information. I see how growing up in a small town with limited viewpoints really hindered me up until that point…this validates the choice I’ve made to live in Boston.

So where I go from here, I’m not sure. Perhaps writing it into something more coherent, but I worry about self-censorship. I see the uncomfortable, the bad, the ugly; the uplifting…it would be hard to organize the ramblings of an 18-year-old adolescent. On the other hand, it’s probably worth a shot.

Minimally, even though keeping the journal was a lot of work—it was totally worth it. I’m so glad I did it. After I finish reading, Keith will have his turn. I don’t intend to show the books to anyone else.

Labels: friends, growth, history, journals, retrospection, Sweden

Again, I have not been dutiful in keeping up with my blog. Its really something I should keep up with, not so much for those who may read it, but rather as a way that I can process events and thoughts as they occur. However, in the last few months life again has been so busy, I haven't been able to grant myself the luxury of simply sitting down and writing.

As a new year begins, my most worthwhile intention is probably the one I have to sit down and simply give myself the opportunity to really recollect events and further probe my emotions, reactions, and ideas. This all, of course, in addition to the perennial favorite resolution--to lose weight or simply be physically healthier. In looking back, I did a fairly good job, although not as good as I hoped to take the time to experience the city that I have made my home--my resolution for 2008. Losing weight, again, was a bust--hence its re-occurence in 2009.

Speaking of homes, it is satisfying to report that at long last, after a year of persistent looking, Keith and I found our first home. Having seen it just prior to Thanksgiving weekend, we submitted an offer around Keith's birthday (Dec. 1) and then had the offer accepted Dec. 7. After inspections and further back and forth negotiating, a Purchase & Sale Agreement was signed Dec. 23. Now we are waiting for Wells Fargo to officially and finally approve our mortgage and we will close on February 13, 2009. This is but 25 days away from today. We are still in a little bit of denial--we have not packed one box, nor secured movers (ideally this would happen after the mortgage is all official) but we will spend the next few weekends and evenings packing up our lives for the 5th time in 5 1/2 years and move. The good thing is that barring an amazing opportunity of gargantuan proportions, we plan to stay put for awhile.

And yet, with the milestone comes new concerns and thoughts. I'm delighted that we will no longer be nomads moving from apartment to apartment, yet, I am fully aware of the significance of what this purchase means. It is not just buying property, but rather also a shifting of our priorities and in some ways also a loss of freedom. In this real estate market particularly, no buyer could not help but be aware that once purchased, a home is not necessarily something easy to sell and divest of. A homeowner cannot just pick up and go and see where life takes them.

By doing this, Keith and I are becoming full-fledged adults. Not that we weren't adults before, but being renters allowed us more disposable income, savings, more free time, etc. I'm pre-mourning that a little, even while I celebrate the fact that I can do whatever I want to my interiors, own a dog, and hopefully also set ourselves on the path of building wealth. Even as we dine out or purchase entertainment, I'm aware that a tightening of the belt will make these excursions less frequent, if not non-existent starting out.

We also realize that we're taking the first step to build our family. After nearly 9 years knowing each other, 8 1/2 of that being a couple, and nearly 3 1/2 years of marriage it has dawned on us that we are quickly approaching yet another milestone as we approach our thirties.

I'm sure you can guess what I'm referring to.

As excited as I am to think of this, I confess some disquiet. NO friends about us seem to making the same moves towards family-building. In fact, several couples we are friends with have publicly declared their intent not to do so at all. Actually, we are the only people we know that plan on having kids...a shocking revelation because in the hometowns and families we grew up in, families were central and celebrated.

Lastly, a couple we see on a weekly to almost bi-weekly basis and have known since our freshman year at Franklin & Marshall could be said to be taking steps in the opposite direction. After finishing graduate school, they are headed to the Netherlands for further study and work for at least a 2 year period. Obviously they can do this--they aren't homeowners, and there are no children to consider uprooting. If we truly wanted the same thing and the same opportunities came along, I suppose we could too somehow. However, because it would involve so much further worry, preparation, and eventually will effect the well-being of persons other than just the two of us--I wonder if we'd be brave enough to take on the disruption and potential risks.

Now knowing me and my love of Europe (particularly Sweden, but I'd try anywhere really) I envy them and have jokingly said as much (although I'm sure they realize the truth lying behind my jests). But if I was going, I suspect that I might be just as dispirited at the idea of being a nomad yet again, except this time having the challenge of relocating my life not just to another apartment in the same city, but rather re-establishing myself in another culture far away. I would have been (knowing me) very disappointed to be delaying the start of family life for this adventure. Or would I? The fact is, I'll never know for sure if I will always think the grass is always greener elsewhere. Mostly, I push the hypothetical indecision I feel to the side. After all, Keith or I haven't been offered post-doctorates in Europe so there's no need to decide. A clarity in goals though would definitely make it easier to decide and encourage us to make the steps to look and pursue opportunities of adventure though. Instead, we've actually just added another weight to bind us to Boston. (Which is a fine place I'm happy to have landed in, don't get me wrong.)

The Alyssa of 10 years ago, the Alyssa who then was a high school student in Sweden in January of 1999, loving her time and eagerly anticipating college, would have scoffed at the apprehension I am now expressing here. It was easy enough then for me to basically fit the contents of my life into two suitcases. Now, its hard to get it all in a full moving truck. The accoutrement of a cozy married life almost now feel like shackles because I've gotten used to finer trappings than instant soups and plastic cutlery. Certainly adventures also require a modicum (or even a great deal) of sacrifice.

So I'm left asking myself--have I changed or have I simply wussed out? It is a question I ask that have no foolproof way of answering.

As I think forward to the days, perhaps another even 10 years, when I will stop waking up each day and worrying about my husband and I want, and instead having to put children as our top consideration, I ask myself, "How much my life will resemble the one I've carefully crafted in the years since moving here?" Further, I ask myself if my friends still be my friends, or will they have moved on since we will have become boring adults completely wrapped up in child-rearing with spit-up dribbled down our shirts.

For the pair I speak of who are moving abroad, they seem wholly unconcerned. They seem to think that they will do their thing...perhaps coming back to Boston, perhaps drifting elsewhere, or perhaps staying in Holland...but that regardless of what the future holds, we'll simply pick up where we left off when we see each other again.

I don't have in my heart to really break it to them how unlikely that is. Furthermore, the responsiblities we take on next month and in the coming years will make expensive travel a decided luxury if they choose not to return. We will change profoundly--I can feel it. And we will have no choice.

And likely, so will they as they learn a new culture.

Perhaps I'll be wrong, but I recall all too well from my experience how much I dramatically changed upon my return from living abroad. Friends and family barely recognized me personality-wise. The bubbly girl who left has never reappeared. People who were my best and closest friends beforehand completely disappared from my life, and much of it was MY doing, however not explicit or particularly deliberate.

Even if our friends return to Boston, a life-changing event will have happened for us...things will be quite different if there's an infant for us to consider and not a whole lot in common to discuss anymore. I have visions of them asking us about what video games we've played lately and we'll gaze at them with bleary, sleep-deprived eyes and tell them that we haven't seen our Wii since my third trimester...that sort of thing.

So, one of them, not knowing what items and preparations need to be completed prior to January 28th (the potential fly-out date) spent a great deal of time with us this weekend and at the end of events this evening, gave quick hugs and basically said "see ya later." Keith and I are sitting down quietly, wrapping up our weekend and taking a little time to relax (I am writing this blog) and we look at each other and just know its not that simple. I, from experience, and Keith from years of me telling funny anecdotes and pouring out my emotions on occasion that since July 1998, I changed absolutely and he never met that Alyssa.

Labels: children, family, home buying, Netherlands, new year, personality shifts, priority shifts, Sweden

Wow....

A couple people (lately) mentioned to me that they had been reading my blog to catch up on my life. Considering I haven't written since APRIL I'm not sure there was much to catch up on in this blog, but I'm hoping that I'll be taking the time to at least write some thoughts down.

I tend to think best in terms of dates, so I'll try to start where I left off.

Our housing search continued in the late spring and summer as the housing market continued to crumble. Other homes came to our attention, and our area of searching further expanded to Milton, MA. Milton is an inner-ring suburb that is very diverse with excellent schools, all recently rebuilt in the last decade. An even bigger bonus is that its on the Red Line rail extension running between Ashmont Square and Mattapan Square. Which means a car free commute is a distinct possibility for us. However, we can get good schools, something that Boston public is sorely lacking at the moment. Keith and I are big believers in public education and we don't want to send or pay more parochial or private schooling.

Two homes presented themselves--one in Lower Mills, Dorchester just over the Neponset River from Milton, and one just over the Neponset from Dorchester, but after two looks we ruled them out for various reasons. Then, we went away in early July with my mom to Florida (only for a couple days sadly) and begin to seriously start thinking about apartment hunting. The market was still declining and buying something you don't like in a declining market makes ZERO sense. Florida was a fun distraction though for a few days.

There were some career developments in July. First, Keith found out that his hiring contract becoming permanent was going to be delayed (which ticked us off in ways you cannot imagine). Second, I had 6 interviews (yes, 6) for a possible promotion at HBS that went on endlessly.

Meanwhile, back on the housing front, we found a rundown (but not too rundown) house in Milton that we bid on in late July. Although we were financing (by pure coincidence) with the bank that OWNED the home and willing to close in 30 days, another buyer was chosen. Our mortgage brokers did their best to contact the REO department, but couldn't get in touch with anyone. The selling agent didn't want to take into account financing---after all, his commission is based upon sale price only.

Needless to say, we never heard back....and so we did have to find an apartment--one month away from the end of our lease.

So we found an apartment and are now living here: http://www.schoolhouseatlowermills.com/. We wanted to at least live in Lower Mills so we could be closer to the area we're looking and really try the commute out. So far, things have been going well and we like our apartment--although the bedrooms are a bit "cozy" we think.

We moved the last week in August after a yard sale where we sold off a ton of stuff. And found out upon moving that we should have sold a ton more stuff. We managed to unload a bit of it and hope to unload more gradually using Craig's List, etc.

Moving was a pain as a ton of our stuff got broken, even with hiring movers. One major casualty was a Åsa Brandt glass tray that was given from my Swedish host family as a wedding gift....Keith accidentally broke it. Unfortunately, it was a huge deal to me and its irreplaceable. So I'm trying to move on...*sniffle*

God, I hate moving. I'm not looking forward to moving again anytime soon.

However, now, I am convinced that God himself is watching us and its best we didn't buy. As you all know, the stock market started going berserk-o in September and I think the bottom is yet to come. We're keeping our eyes peeled, but, we're definitely in no rush--even if we continue to save and rent for a couple more years. My money is that the bottom (although this is subject to change depending on the incoming President) will occur between April and August 2009. We'll see if I'm right.

Back on the career front...In early August, I found out that I didn't get the promotion--not for any really good reason, but a whole lot of wishy washy ones (based upon the lack of straight talk I got). My faculty were dismayed---at least the ones who commented on it. Needless to say, I've moved on mentally, quit mentally, and am going to probably progress career-wise outside HBS. Ultimately, I'll be okay if I'm at HBS one more year--so I'm vested in my pension, but beyond that....bye, bye.

There is really a dearth of options now, and so I'm concentrating on other things.

Namely my feet. The end of August I went to a podiatrist because I always have painful walking and basically my option is surgery. I have toes that curl up (hammertoes or mallettoes, depending on the joint are the common name) and the joints have become rigid and permanently dislocated. Because my toes arch upwards, they get friction (blisters, etc.) on the tops of my feet. Then on the bottom, more blisters because a misalignment of the toes puts additional pressures on the tops of the ball of your feet. So, treatment is removal of the last joints in each toe, skewering the affected toes with pins, letting like that for 3 weeks, and then pulling the pins out. I lose mobility, but hey--I didn't have it before and its not really needed. The loss of mobility is a good thing because it means my toes will stay as they ought to--nice and straight.

I had the surgery on October 10th--and it really wasn't bad. The care at the hospital (Beth Israel Deaconess) was excellent, the doctor's been great, I took a week off with my foot up and on ice. I had anti-inflammatory drugs and Percoset when needed. Keith got me a video game and I played that, caught up on reading, caught up on movies.

All in all, the surgery was a good thing. Other than our foray into Florida in July and a week long trip to PA in August to see family (my great grandmother turned 90, my dad was preparing for major surgery at the end of the month, and my dad's parents celebrated their 55th wedding anniversary), I hadn't had time to really.....unwind and de-plug. Being forced into sitting or laying down and not able to clean up, do chores, see people, etc...was good for me.

By the end of my week though, I was a little zooey--full of cabin fever. So my other foot (my leftie) will be done on Dec. 19th, so I can minimize the amount of paid time off I have to use (what if I get the flu in February?) and basically do what I do at the end of December anyway---sit around. My family will be around that week to keep me company while I keep my leg up and on ice.

Back to career stuff--on Keith's end, his contract FINALLY ended September 2nd and he has been a full fledged employee ever since. So he's all set.

September 3 we celebrated our 3rd wedding anniversary amidst moving boxes by watching our wedding DVD. Awwww....

Ghost and Goblin turned 4 (already!) on August 19th and celebrated 4 years with us on October 19th!

The rest of September after this can basically be summed up as follows: start of school year and unpacking.

October 3 I turned 28 years old. I felt and still feel....OLD. Especially compared to all the 18-22 year olds running around here. I truly and really feel for the first time I've arrived as an adult. We celebrated by going with our friends, the Potters, to Six Flags New England on Oct. 4th. We had a lot of fun...and I highly recommend the FLASH pass.

Lastly, in my family some major things have happened. My father had his right leg amputated in late August and is still struggling to recover and learn to walk again with a prosthetic. I haven't seen him since early August (he didn't want us coming down for the surgery) but call him every so often to see how he's doing. Keith's dad also found out in May that his cancer had returned---and in September, he concluded his radiation. He had prostate cancer about 10-12 years ago (Keith was a teenager) and thank god all the lymph nodes were removed down there then. His doctor diagnosed the cancer because he had elevated PSA's (normal for a man with a prostate, but not for a man without). Even scarier, he had elevated PSAs for 2 YEARS before anyone noticed. Needless to say, that was not easy for Keith. My mom sold my childhood home in June and it has since been taken over by an elderly couple with appalling taste. I'm happy to remember it as it was. Mom and her fiance (yes, now fiance) moved into their new home in June as well...just before our July trip.

So yes, so much has happened, and so much of these events I recount are told without little anecdotes that have occurred all along the way. I think the secret to good writing is certainly trying to bite off less so that entries are descriptive and more interesting, rather than a regurgitating of the past events of the last 6 months.

Lastly, we are no longer car-less. Moving to Lower Mills made us 2 miles away from the nearest Zipcar. We live next to a Shaw's, but...returning the car at night after a late evening in Dorchester isn't exactly wise. So, lucky for us Keith's parents decided they needed a 4-door car rather than the 2-door they had, and we have it! Its older (1996 Oldsmobile Cutless Supreme) but only 65K+ miles on it. And its free! So we don't have to sign up for car payments while we continue to try and save moolah. And we don't have to deal with Zipcar's ever more pitiful customer service (that's an anecdote I'll spare you from hearing).

Labels: amputation, anniversary, birthday, cancer, car, fall, Florida, hammertoe, house hunting, Lower Mills, moving, summer, surgery, Zipcar