getting personal

Oh hi there, if you're still with me.  

I've had a hard time posting lately - not only due to competing demands (there have been only two of us in my department handling the workload of four since May), but also due to a certain rather challenging life experience.  With such Big Stuff flying around in my head, posting about random minutiae was becoming increasingly akin to lying.  Funny that I can aim to maintain a blog, which I guess is - by definition - a public forum for sharing private things, and still be so guarded...

Since this is a somewhat restricted public forum, it's time to get personal.  I'm posting this irreverent Top Ten list and linking you to a few meatier articles so that:

• Loved ones who might be looking to find out what's really going on in my life can feel more looped-in;
• Loved ones who are privately struggling with some of the same issues and feelings know to contact me for support;
• Loved ones who have been flattened by a volcanic reaction in response to an innocent reference to babies/children/pregnancy can know: it's not you, it's me;
• Loved ones who bravely broach this subject going forward can don an asbestos suit of tips & tricks.

Some of you have received apologies related to volcanic me in recent months...and if I have blown up/frozen you out but still not apologised properly, please know that you're on my list. 

So: check out the Top Ten title, and if you feel uncomfortable going down this road, then feel free to stop reading here - and I'll try to stay light and fluffy in future posts. :-) If, however, anything here resonates with you, please do email or Skype me...am s l o w l y getting more comfortable with the idea of talking about it, and would love to be of help to anyone who needs it. 

Top Ten Infertility Urban Legends

1. Having sex leads to pregnancy. Having intercourse to get pregnant? How is that even possible?

2. The couple who got pregnant naturally after adopting. Everyone knows someone who knows someone this happened to. Although no one ever remembers the couple’s name.

3. Having sex during ovulation increases your chance of getting pregnant. You’ve had sex before, during and after ovulation - so where’s the baby?

4. Fertiles have baby showers to celebrate the upcoming birth of their child. The baby shower was actually created to torture infertiles.

5. The social networking site, Facebook, was developed as a new way to connect with your friends. In reality, Mark Zuckerberg created Facebook so that fertiles can post ultrasound photos, belly and newborn shots to further torture infertiles.

6. The Fertility Clinic helps to get people pregnant. If you see a pregnant woman at your fertility clinic, she is probably a paid actress to make it seem like couples are actually getting pregnant.

7. The Fertility Clinic showcases a wall of Thank You cards and baby photos. The babies in the photos are paid actor babies.

8. If you relax, you will get pregnant. In fact: you are more likely to get pregnant after stressing and obsessing over temperature/ovulation charts, blood test results and fertility drug regimens.

9. A decrease in your basal temperature indicates that your period will start soon. A decrease in your basal temperature indicates that you are about to have a complete mental breakdown.

10. You only need one egg and one sperm. You’ve had one hundred eggs and millions of sperm - which resulted in the conception of several bottles of wine, tubs of ice cream and overplaying any of these infertility videos.

Rome, sweet Rome

We have been back in Rome for just over two weeks, but the suitcases were finally unpacked and stowed only yesterday.  Our happy return was slightly marred by the discovery that the power had gone out while we were away, allowing the contents of our fridge and freezer to rot quietly in a month-long heatwave.  No problemo: two litres of bleach and one crazy homemade baking soda paste later, our fridge is back to near-odourlessness...and the freezer is well on its way.  I actually spent the first weekend back not in Rome but up north in Bergamo, getting denied for my permesso di soggiorno again.  No tears this time, as I actually didn't really expect to pick it up (ha!) and Filippo's family spoiled me like crazy with delicious dinners out and the season's first polenta con funghi porcini. (A quick Google search failed to turn up a decent recipe and/or photo, so I'll have to reproduce pcfp at home then post for all to see.  I don't even like mushrooms, but this is definitely in my Top Five Favourite Fall Dishes.)

But I can't jump ahead to an I *heart* fall post before properly turning the page on Turkey.  It really is an incredible country, and we discovered that it has absolutely everything: mind-blowing mountains, turquoise (!) seas, amazing architecture and beautiful people.  The couple pictured in my last post, for example, worked so hard at engaging Filippo and me in conversation - we had forgotten our Teach Yourself Turkish text on that particular walk (doh!) so had to rely on a mix of the few phrases we knew supplemented by the travel glossary at the back of our Lonely Planet.  We "talked" for at least 20 minutes, and when I asked to take a picture of them at the end, the grandma made me take about five, then picked her favourite.  She also asked us to take a self pic and mail it to her - she couldn't write her address so we waited and chatted until a young man walked past and scribbled it down for us.

Cuteness like this happened to us every day in Turkey.   The gentle owners of our B&B in Safranbolu mapped out a wonderful series of sights to visit for a one-day tour of the area and shared their family mulberry jam recipe when they saw that I couldn't get enough.  Now all I need to do is find some mulberries, and I'm set.

But I'm not respecting the narrative - have skipped Cappadocia, where we hiked to our hearts' content through winding canyons and sandy hills.  The manager of our hostel-turned-hotel took us on his favourite day hike, we made the bad decision not to bring our camera along (I love it like a pet but it's a little on the heavy side), but got an unforgettable and very personal window into the land and flora of that amazing region.  I wish I could also say fauna, but the fact is that we saw nothing aside from one stick insect and one fox.  No animals!?  Most bizarre.  Filippo's pièce de résistance was the hot air balloon ride he organised for our last morning.  I had been anxious about the idea due to my paralysing fear of heights...but got the good advice not to look down but across...and didn't throw up or have heart palpitations.  Actually really enjoyed it - though I'm glad it only lasted one hour. :-)

It was in Cappadocia that I checked with my loved ones in Britain and decided not to go off on my own for a few weeks as per the plan, but save up my vacation days for a mega visit to Blighty this fall.  I was determined to see as much as possible on weekends, though, so dragged Filippo to Safranbolu (dangling as a carrot the lovely Gülevi) and planned an ambitious trekking route around the mountains of Kabak, our final destination.

Maybe because of the dragging to and fro, or maybe just because we've reached a stage when good books and a quiet paradise to read them in is exactly what we're looking for in a vacation, but: we did a little asking around in Kabak, and when we found that we'd have to waste one full morning and pay 75 Euros to take a taxi to the trailhead, all trekking plans were abandoned.  Instead we tag-teamed through every book in our camp's little lending library, went on lots of beautiful day hikes and ate three gourmet meals a day.  The Olive Garden was actually recommended in our Lonely Planet as "place to eat", but they had upgraded their bungalows and pool area since the LP was published, so we decided to take a gamble and stay there.  Their yogurt, olives, bread, and majority of veg was grown/made on site, and the honey (from resident bees) was dark and fruity and life-changing.  I ate it with a fork right out of the little dish they brought to our table every morning.  Compared with super-touristy nearby Ölüdeniz and Fethiye, Kabak was tranquil and perfect. 

Just the rest we needed, as we're right back up to our eyeballs at the moment, with Filippo working until 11pm on evening shifts and me still sharing the workload of four people with only one other colleague.  The good news is that there will be a new head of my department in place by early January, and Filippo will only have to keep up the ultra-late shifts for another three weeks.  He's actually off to Torino for all of next week, so I will be free to cook all the crazy Asian recipes that I want and stare dreamily at our holiday pictures, wishing I were back there, lounging in the shade with a good book.

Have backpack, will travel.

Our final weekend in Ankara was spent exploring the old town and packing our suitcases in preparation for this afternoon's departure...and absolutely no blogging, clearly.  I will have to write a super mega Turkey post when back in Rome - in the meantime, check out the final bit of my end-July post to be reminded of where we're headed this week.  We decided somewhat last-minute to split up our six-day holiday - our little Kabak bungalows are situated right on the Lycean Way, so we couldn't resist spending a few days on the trail.

Three reports to submit by 5pm, then it's out to the airport with backpacks and hiking boots.

Cappadocia & Safranbolu

Photos from our weekend get-aways to Cappadocia and Safranbolu have now been uploaded to to my web-based photo collection on Flickr - a descriptive post will follow this weekend!

Ankara & Istanbul

Pomegranate vinegar. Take an already delicious fruit, turn it into thick and syrupy vinegar, then whisk it with olive oil to dress a salad of arugula, beets, purple basil, mint, dill and pickles. Serve up some chewy bread, a yogurt + chickpea + bulgur concoction, and maybe add another little dish filled with finely chopped tomatoes, herbs and lots of chili flakes. Once you have laid these out on your table, you have a good sense of how my daily lunch in Ankara begins.

We found a little restaurant set on an artificial pond about a ten-minute walk from our place the morning after we arrived. Thankfully, unlike Italians (there it is – I said it), Turks know a thing or two about breakfast – so we quickly read up on kahvaltı, selected some traditional elements from the menu, and enjoyed omelettes with strong white cheese, the above-described salad, and white foccacia-like bread with lots of butter and sour cherry jam. Though my books claim that rose petal jelly (gül reçeli) is a popular favourite, I have yet to find it outside a grocery store…maybe I’ll just bite the bullet and buy a small jar to take back to Rome with me, taste untasted.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. This country is obsessed with Atatürk, it's actually illegal to say mean things about him, so Filippo and I hightailed it to Atatürk's mausoleum as the first order of business once breakfast was taken care of. We got shafted on Turkish SIM cards and bought "genuine copies" of six DVDs along the way, to ensure that we were really experiencing Sunday morning as a local would.

Sunshiney and 40 degrees at the Atatürk mausoleum – guarding soldiers were all marching around in full regalia, and 60% of the women wore headscarves, long pants and long-sleeved shirts with jackets over top, so I couldn't really complain in my breezy tank top and mini-shorts. It was a combination museum-mausoleum, so we read lots of persuasive propaganda on the chain of victories that brought Atatürk his fame and this country its independence, then fell asleep while watching a 15min documentary so decided to call it a day.

Monday saw us both settled in offices near each other, a two-minute walk from the apartment where we're staying.  Our workday is typically 9 to 6, with a 1.5 hour lunch break in between. Though there are lots of good-looking restaurants in the neighbourhood where we're based, we usually return to the pond one and another that a driver recommended around the corner (Kebap 44) as we've gotten to know the menus and the staff are tolerant of our terrible Turkish.  One exception was the evening we went downtown to finalise bus tickets to Istanbul and Cappadocia: LeMan Kültür came highly recommended by our well-worn guidebook, but Filippo got frustrated that there were no pictures or English translations on the menu, so we will not be going back. ;-)

Actually, I shouldn't be so hard on poor Filippo - we fine-tuned our Istanbul trip the night before our departure at a delicious seafood restaurant where we both ate our weight in tasty appetisers.  The broccoli-and-three-seaweed salad was my favourite, and contained coin-sized slices of raw garlic that I'm sure are responsible for destroying the cold that I'd struggled with all week.

We arrived in Istanbul excited and ready to take on the city.  Turns out it is the country's hotspot for Ramazan celebrations, so we found it buzzing and festive: giant white tents set up to accommodate families breaking the fast together every evening, impressive firework displays afterward.   We ventured out to Taksim on Saturday morning, had lunch in an awesome vegetarian restaurant with a leafy courtyard garden, then headed to the Grand Bazaar area for a guided walking tour and some shopping.  Our hotel was conveniently located across the square from Aya Sofia, the Blue Mosque and Topkapı Palace, so we were up by 8am on Sunday to see those three sights, then hopped on a bus back to Ankara by 5pm.

Somehow it's already Tuesday and we'll be on another bus to Cappadocia this Friday afternoon.  I'm currently revising my vacation itinerary and may end up taking a little less time off than originally planned...it turns out that single female travelers may not have it particularly easy in Turkey, and I may have been too ambitious.  Well, if that means an extra week in Ankara, I'm going to see about enrolling in a pottery class and possibly a cooking class as well, so I can raid Filippo's mom's garden and make my own gül reçeli and pomegranate vinegar this fall.

NOTE: see that rectangular box on the left side of the page with photos shifting around in it?  It's a direct link to my web-based photo collection on Flickr.  I'll always include a few recent pictures in each post, but if you want to see all of them, click on the box.

move eat learn

With thanks to The Guardian for drawing my attention to these gems, here are three little videos that may keep you entertained while I put together a Turkey update within the next day-or-so.

MOVE

EAT



LEARN

Turkish delight

Thorung Phedi, 4400m.  This was the day before cresting the Annapurna Circuit, one last acclimatisation hike so that we'd be able to make it over the 5500m pass without throwing up.  Despite all the moving I've done in recent years, I haven't been able to set aside a satisfying chunk of time to really sink into a trip since this photo was taken in 2003.  You know when you're in a water slide, not racing through a corkscrew but sort of rocking back-and-forth on a straight stretch?  That precise point is how I feel when I'm off on my own in the middle of nowhere: happy and ultra-alive, excited about everything that got me there as well as whatever I might face next. Travel Zen is the closest I've come to the free-floating bliss that expert meditators regularly tap into - this could explain my addiction.

So you can understand my giddiness when informed that Filippo would be posted to exotic Türkiye for five weeks.  Our flight leaves tomorrow just before noon - leapfrogging Istanbul to finish in Ankara.  It's the administrative capital of the country, so to zestify a potentially dry stay, I strong-armed my surprisingly sedentary Italian into ten million flavourful side trips.  My flexible contract and trusty tank of a Dell allows me to work from anywhere, so I'll put in ten days for The Man then take about three weeks for myself.

 

Our first field trip will be to Istanbul, of course.  A few days ago, we confirmed our stay at "First of Special Class Hotels in Sultanahmet" (Hotel Nomade), and immediately tried to get into the swing of things by watching Oliver Stone's Midnight Express - which neither of us knew was a brutal story about an American hash smuggler stuck in a Turkish prison.  To sweeten things up, we concentrated on booking our next stop: Cappadocia, or "Valley of the Fairy Chimneys" on the map above.  We'll spend three days there together, then Filippo will return to Ankara and I'll head east to Erzurum and hopefully onto Van, Mt Ararat area (Doğubeyazıt for the İshak Paşa palace), up to Kars (for Ani) then over to Trabzon (for Sümela Monastery).  I aim to fly back to Ankara from Trabzon, then will drag Filippo up to Safranbolu with me for two days.  We'll both work on August 29, then enjoy the closing festivities of Ramadan at a hidden beach about halfway between Bodrum and Antalya (called Kabak) where the hippies run wild and free.

Our shuttle for the airport arrives in twelve hours, Filippo is taking a nap because he started work at 5 this morning.  My next post will be from some sort of compound in Ankara - no idea what to expect, all I know is that our "apartment" is the former mail room.  Will pack quietly and prepare for the water slide.

sparklies

I don't know where my love affair with shoes came from, but I can state with certainty that it began when I was very young.  My first stand-out pair were lilac Mary Janes - I was six years old, and the shoes were a reward for starting school.  They stood out among the greys and browns both in the store and in my classroom, and while I loved them fiercely, I didn't want them to attract attention.  Fast-forward 28 years: I continue to dress fairly eccentrically, and still cannot stand to be looked at.

Over the years, some memorable pairs include a pair of white mini heels with a bow at their open toe for First Communion, the sneakers that I lived in throughout my teens (velcro high-top Reeboks in the early years, switching to grape-coloured Converse mid-way) and the silver wedding sandals I found two years before Filippo asked me to marry him.  My favourites were always the jackpot specials: vintage Nikes from the thrift store near my Uni, multicoloured espadrilles propped under a rack of sundresses in a consignment store on Main Street.

I have been moderately successful at suppressing Shopping Mania while living in Italy - of course, my previously super-tight budget helped reign in spending.  But now that we're living off of two salaries for the first time in the history of our relationship (!) Filippo and I are loosening the purse strings and making up for lost time.  The sparklies above come from a small shop hidden in a tiny town on the edge of northern Italy's agricultural heartland.  We were passing through on the way to visit Filippo's family and former neighbours in Torre de' Picenardi (pop. 1,821) last Saturday, and dropped in so that he could find some work shoes that would match the linen suits he had purchesed earlier in the day.  We made the rounds of Torre, starting by paying our respects to Filippo's dad and neighbour Bruno, and ending with dinner at Agriturismo Corte Sant' Anna, where five of us enjoyed two-course meals and wine for a total bill of 60 Euro.

Family visits continued through Sunday, offering me the chance to run through all of my residency documentation with cousin Federico, who had set up a meeting for me with his friend in the Bergamo Provincial Office on Monday morning at 8:15am.  The appointment was to get a a crucial part of my residency permit sorted out: a "permesso di soggiorno" (literally: permit to stay) required before the city will register me as a resident.  This is the same elusive document  that I (unsuccessfully) tried to collect nine times in Bergamo in the course of 2007.

"Bergamo?" you say, squinting your eyes and frowning.  "Why fly up north and take a day off work to get the permit when surely you can zip into the Roman HQ and get it resolved lickety -split?" 

Rewind one month: I had high hopes for the immigration office in Rome because, unlike in 2006 and 2007,I finally had all the "right" documents: marriage certificate, proof of employment & self-sufficiency, etc. On the day I set out to submit my paperwork, of course nothing went as planned - from a transit strike in the morning to verbal abuse when I finally got there and found someone who would speak to me.  So I wasn't even able to start the process in Rome after wasting an entire day in 35-degree heat.

Resourceful Filippo looked into all his networks and found that he wasn't even a zillion degrees of separation from anyone who could help me at this immigration office - hence the decision to fly up to Bergamo and accept the help of Federico's friend.

And so we're back to this past Sunday, where I spent the night vividly dreaming of plane crashes, and jumped awake more than an hour before the alarm was due to go off.  The appointment lasted no more than 15 minutes: I nervously filled out the final paperwork while Filippo charmed everyone in sight, then accompanied me to get all parts of both hands electronically scanned.  I have apparently been fast-tracked, so will fly back up in early September to collect my plasticised card...and deliver a case of wine to the guy who helped us out.

I believe that this will be the perfect occasion to break out the sparklies.

comfort food

The temperature has been hovering around 40 degrees for the past few days - a paralysing crescendo built from weeks spent in the mid-30s.  I know I should probably be expanding my culinary repertoire to include Italian warm-weather recipes, but the heat has forced my brain onto auto-pilot, so I find myself reverting to foods from Summertimes Past.  Some examples of this week's deliciousness include potato salad (so excited to have found wrinkly olives), veggie burgers with corn on the cob, and Thai green curry with eggplant and peas.  Like a true Kozlowski, I hung on to yesterday's potato-boiling and green bean-steaming water, and will use it to make barszcz later today.  A new shift-oriented schedule means that Filippo is home for lunch quite often these days - sunshine defrosts his bread in record time.

Speaking of repertoire and auto-pilot, I'm clearly blogging again, after a 3+ year hiatus.  You may note the new design and updated links in the left sidebar - I hope the freshness conveys how lovely it feels to be back.  Writing is my compulsion: this outlet opens the door and lets crammed-in ideas fly out.  I'm also playing the piano again, thanks to Filippo's generous Christmas+birthday+anniversary present of a Kawai CA 63.  Not knowing what he had in store, I brought all my favourite piano books back here following May's visit home, and am so excited to be using them already.  Right now I'm easing into things with some Billy Joel and light Royal Conservatory favourites, and plan to get into more structured practice once the newness has worn off and a few of my other projects (Turkey trip-planning, paper-writing) have wound down.

Due to competing demands (i.e. my job) I must close, but will do so on a high note: a new post on a new template from a new desk.  Yay.

good fit

Well I snapped these babies up for $25 at C'est La Vie on Main last Sunday; hiding my Saturday sunburn under a 3/4 length flowy-sleeved shirt, I picked my way through all the Made In China $65 dresses down to 16th. Don't get me wrong: there were/are a few great Made In Canada shops (Narcissist, Twigg & Hottie), but really only one for every eight. The thing that pissed me off the most was the Designed In Canada, Made In China, But We Charge For It As If It Were Not Made By Child Labourers Being Paid $2.50 A Week.

It's still really weird for me to see the buzz that has evolved around Main; my little sis has been living here since...she moved out of the house when she was 18 or 19...which makes it close to nine or ten years! Anyway, I literally started to retch at the repetition of SoMa in this article; god help us if it attracts people who actually use the term SoMa.

The exciting thing is that I signed up for knitting classes at Three Bags Full; there are many new babies being welcomed into my world lately, and I like to try to give them neat stuff. My favourite projects are still fun (Martha, crochet bibs), but I feel like it'd be exciting to branch out. Visiting Julia this past fall got my motor running; she integrates art into so many aspects of her day, and I'm still marveling over her multi-media sketchbooks...

I've not gotten used to having my camera around yet, as I'd lived for nearly 8 months without it before Filippo's visit, and had switched to saving snapshots of beauty in my brain. I actually pulled out my trusty Canon Kiss for the O-hanami Festival in April, but I still haven't developed the pictures, which reminds me of why I was so seduced by digital when it found me.

Hopefully I'll have a few cute projects to photograph and share over the next few months...but for now, I'm feeling like this post is winding down --have Skyped with Liz and Filippo and even taken a nap throughout its evolution, so that's that.

Soapbox 2008

I've not stuck to my self-promised "write when the mood strikes" mantra, mostly for reasons involving partying. There, I've admitted it. All Grand Proclamations aside, I have simply chosen to make time in my life for an activity not really part of my routing during the last 2 years. Will not complain about the opportunities and challenges of living in Italy, and rather say: Bergamo has taken 6 full weeks to loosen its grip on my system, and I've just recently embraced the splendour that is Vancouver. Now that I've reached a mature 31, it's time to reflect on where I'm at.

Well, first of all, have you checked your February horoscope on Astrology Zone? Do you think the link is in the left margin for pure decoration? Click that sucker and see how the stars are lined up for you in 2008; mine's a great read. I have high hopes for this month and year to come, and am especially encouraged that everything applies to Filippo as well...

But, back to the subject at hand, I found an article which provoked many a thought today, and ended up posting it to Facebook. I hope for a reaction from the people who do choose to read it --my own is this: I agree with Ms. Mallick's proclamation ("an epidemic of cowardice is infecting the globe"), and am wondering why and how I no longer call myself an activist.

Let's take a moment to consider a few of her words:

In a recent case of cravenness here, Prime Minister Stephen Harper declared "there will be no nuclear accident," and restarted the Chalk River nuclear reactor, despite the advice of its management, who told him the risk of a nuclear accident was one in 1,000. The international standard is one in a million.

Harper, who is not a nuclear scientist, seems to despise highly trained people, especially if employed by the federal government. The Chalk River incident puts political point-making ahead of the public good.

Anyone in the region was endangered by the decision. But I took it personally, and I don't understand why no one else appeared to react in the same way.

No Canadians rioted. I thought the government should have fallen, but it did not. Not a newspaper went ballistic. Peter Mansbridge read the news as slowly as usual. No mainstream public forum reflected the disgust many Canadians felt when they realized that scientific warnings and human safety were trumped in a showdown between a prime minister with rage issues and a female scientist who had made him look bad.

So, why didn't this whip all Canadians into a frenzy? I once complained to my friend Jamie Moore that Canadians (esp. those my age) are too apathetic for my liking --he replied:"if they're quiet, they're happy."

Are we happy? Do we care? If yes, what the hell is going on here?? Is the sense of impotence so overwhelming that we stew in our juices and try to make the best of things?

If no, why the hell not?? Is it another spin on the impotence thing, or is it just too hard to look outside of our own tight little box? Is our routine too precious to examine? (I'd rather call it a life than a routine, but I'm not sure that anything unexamined merits the label.)

I used to be that girl who majored in poli sci and minored in women's studies; you can imagine what kind of fun I was at parties. And I did lead a double life that never quite felt authentic (hiding my Bitch magazines from the poli bunch and Vogue from the feminists), but when did I give up being an activist? The passion is in there, but is released only in the presence of people who've known me more than a few years... Maybe a natural habit arising from changing countries every 2 years? Knowing that I'm likely making a single-serving friend and don't have any stake in opening up.

This has been on my mind in recent days because I have the privilege of working with a passionate activist at my new workplace, and she reminded me of two things:

1. jumping into a fast-flowing river = the feeling created when speaking from my heart
2. speaking from one's heart draws on guts, enthusiasm, sensitivity and bravery
   

And this is where my favourite quote seems to fit nicely:

Here in Canada, we have a government at war with its own bureaucracy, "equality" for women is officially no longer sought, the CBC is running criminally short of money, our infrastructure is cratering, we have no plan to cope with, much less reduce, global warming, Parliament's question period sounds like peasants fighting with cudgels and pikestaffs, and the government plays fast and loose with the desire of Canadians not to be irradiated.

And no one is demonstrating. No one is orating, or even shouting. We'll get what's coming to us. It's what happens to people who don't defend their rights.

It's as if she wrote this just for me. Her words not accusatory, but exhausted; straightening up after a long speech, leaning away from the table and settling into her chair. How am I supposed to react? Well, I'll start small:

My posts often seem pretty frivolous, but I do put quite a lot of thought into layering them; click on a link or two in the text, take a chance and maybe learn something new. Likewise, slinkingly (in the left margin) is not just for decor; do take a sec to follow a few from the list, and maybe tell me about some new ones?

On "Before Sunrise" and Microloans

One of the glories of being back in Coquitlam is my ridiculous proximity to the best satellite library of the Greater Vancouver Regional District. It was built about 500 metres from my parents' home when I was probably around 8 or 10; Nadia and I spent the summer sneaking onto the building site and trying to leave marks in the cement. The site was ideal for other beautiful reasons: at that time (much less so now) it was plunked right into the middle of one of the neighbourhood's Foresty Bits. Yes yes yes, it cost some trees their lives and displaced a raccoon or two, but it also allowed The Lucky Reader Who Discovered the Cove By the Window to be nestled against the surviving trees as she read.

So, I was just watching Before Sunrise, that touchy-feely movie about two kids spending the night in Vienna, which I procured from above-detailed library. I remembered liking parts in viewings past, but wasn't sure how I'd react now. Touchy-feely-ness aside, one of the most striking moments for me came at 1:07:24 --Ethan and Julie are in a Viennese coffeehouse, and the camera pans around the other people in with them, resting on individual tables for a handful of moments. I only took one semester of German 11, but it is easy to get a sense of the moods and discussions at each table --i.e. clip #1 (students) are the same in any culture, with the speaker telling his interrupter at one point, "Can you let me finish what I'm saying?" Debaters touch on Dubrovnik, Schiele, and Otto Wagner, while a girl quietly sits alone and reads. Cut to two North Americans: "I really think this is a civilisation in decline; look at the service. I mean, where is the waitress? In New York, this person would be out of a job."

This really shook me up because, despite my love of Europe (not least the very phenomenon of the coffeehouse), I totally saw myself in that idiot guy. More than once, I've complained to anyone who would listen that the Continent is gagging for a customer service-oriented paradigm shift. However (a big one), I do not think that my Reasons For Loving Europe are at all compromised or watered down by this astute evaluation, as:

1) the culture of passionate debate punches through my ribs, grabs me by the spine and pulls me in;

2) Europe turns the bigger faster cheaper louder North American trends that so frustrate me upside down --case in point: sturdy architecture produces small, carefully-crafted homes, because public places are living spaces.

One last note regarding microloans: I may be last person in the world to know about Kiva, but in case I'm not, thought I'd point you to this exciting website. Below are some hits from their Press Center: take a minute to watch Bill now, then save the audio to your computer or ipod for later!



NPR: Forum, April 6, 2007
Microfinance and Social Justice Philanthropy
“Kiva just shows how compelling this idea can be and why micro-finance has been such a success as a policy initiative. It taps into the belief of many people who want to find ways to make a positive change in poor countries, poor regions, and shows how you can do it effectively.”

	Listen (RealMedia stream)
	Download (MP3) (Windows: right-click and choose "Save Target As." Mac: hold Ctrl, click link, and choose "Save As.")

NPR: All Things Considered, December 23, 2006.
Young Donors Turn to Micro Loans
"If you've got even $25 to lend, you can point and click and become part of a global village promoting sustainable development." Listen Now.

The Golden Notebook

Why am I seeing this video only now? This exact edition of The Golden Notebook has been on my bedside table off and on for the past 2 years --I've dipped into it (like absently biting into this butter tart beside me now) and gained a tremendous amount of comfort and insight. Doris Lessing's 1971 Preface almost seemed to resonate more than the text did --I'll try to find and post it, but in the meantime, do seek it out in a library or bookstore. It takes only a few minutes to read, you won't even have to take out/buy the book if you're not hooked! (but I guarantee you will be)

meditations on suburbia

Handmade pillows of tasty goodness means: Christmas has hit those of us with Kozlowski blood. We're knee-deep in preparations for Wigilia, which this year will be at Auntie Maria's, and will feature a selection of the most delicious foods on this planet --starting with these babies, above.

Though ten million things have happened since my last sad little post in October, I feel like it's becoming a drag (no excitement of posts past) to muster up something readable once a month. After a brief foray into setting up a different blog just for the sheer excitement of Newness, I resolved to flip this one over in a satisfying way, and will now post according to my mood.

My digital camera broke on the last day of our trip through Piemonte, and has been "away for repairs" ever since --so rather than get back on my original crack (the trusty Canon Kiss), I decided to live life through the lenses implanted in my eyeballs for a bit. It helped me investigate the beauty I left behind in Bergamo with appropriate care and wonder.

The Wet Coast has been welcoming --I already zipped out to Victoria to see the girls, downtown for job and beer purposes, and around the Tri Cities on Christmas quests-- and I'm comforted by the grey-greenness and shifting light.

This is the melancholic liminal space that elbows its way in whenever I move --a feeling of being neither here nor there, applied across the board. Being a practiced introvert, I will likely be stealing my parents' camera, stalking around town, and posting pictures on my Flickr site rather than writing self-obsessed posts for the next little while.

For now, there are pierogi to be made/eaten, lovely people to reconnect with, and a certain scarf that must be crocheted for my sister within the next four days...

I suppose it's well-mannered to close with something Christmas-y at this stage in the game, so will list two interesting sources for anyone struggling with last-minute shopping:

Here, you can find out about the benefits of buying handmade goods, and explore a list of websites featuring wares by small-scale artists.

Oxfam Canada, USA and UK continue to offer poverty eradication-themed presents organised by theme (Gifts that Grow), price and general category.

Although it's been said many times, many ways,
Merry Christmas to you.

Craftspersonship

We got home from a dinner party fairly late on Saturday night, I popped in my earplugs and was down for the count --Filippo was woken up by the sound of 'something exploding' in the middle of the night, and true to form as my Brave Protector, went straight back to sleep.

It wasn't until I wandered into the kitchen to cook up some coffee on Sunday morning that we saw the source of the noise: six tiles had come loose from their glued spots on the wall and crashed down onto the floor.

"Six?" you say, "But that wall looks completely naked!"

Oh yes; as we talked to neighbours who had experienced the same destruction and poked at the wall a little bit, loose tiles started falling into our hands --so we decided to strip all the wiggly ones rather than have them fall and smash at their leisure.

While cleaning up the big mess, why did I still get a thrill from seeing Made In Italy stamped on the back of every diabolical tile? It's not the fault of the tile designers that the muratori used cheap glue to fix them to the walls; my longstanding love of Italian art and craftsmanship (craftspersonship?) helped to keep me smiling while I swept, stacked, vacuumed, scrubbed and did it all over again as more tiles came tumbling down... To be honest, Filippo's freakish ability to sing and dance around no matter how ugly the situation had me laughing for a good part of the day.

Speaking of craftspersonship, two of my favourite girls in the world (and their respective boys) will be joining me at the Venice Biennale next weekend --every two years since 1895, the Venice has hosted contemporary artists from all over the world, organising works by country-themed pavilion in the two main venues: the Arsenale and the Giardini. Anju and Charlie will be there for 3 whole days, while Esther, Pablo and I are only darting out for the Saturday; I will have to spend this week working out a sophisticated Visit Plan because there are an insane amount of events sprinkled around town, and I want get the most out of our short visit.

I really hope they offer AudioGuides because I tend to have a hard time wrapping my brain around contemporary expression... Either way, I look forward to discussing everything with the girls --art appreciation is in Esther's genes: her mom works at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, and we always got to use her free passes to visit the most exciting exhibitions in town. She once helped me debrief after my mind-blowing Mondrian encounter: I had gone to the Albertina to see "From Goya to Picasso", and with a few hours left on my admission, dragged myself down to see Mondrian --who up until that point I hated, and particularly associated with L'Oreal hair gel packaging.

My wrath increased as I came down the escalator into the exhibition hall, and heard the AudioGuide explain that the ideas behind the diamond-shaped painting hanging before me caused the end of Mondrian's lifelong friendship with painters in the De Stijl group --he dropped out when Theo van Doesburg dared introduce a diagonal line.

But in the end, Mondrian turned out a somewhat extreme version of my kind of guy: he was confident in his own principles, and trusted the ideals that guided his art. We should all be so lucky to have that kind of self-assuredness.

The point of that tangent, I guess, was to illustrate that I'm learning to search for meaning behind all pieces of art that are strewn across my path, and most importantly, am keeping like-minded friends close to help guide my process of discovery.

One Post for Burma

A BBC news report caught my ear on September 22nd: hundreds of Burmese Buddhist monks were on their fourth day of marching against the military dictatorship in Rangoon. I learned that the public unrest had actually been escalating since February, though the original purpose of this particular protest was to seek a government apology following the beating of three monks who had been protesting a 500% overnight increase in gas prices imposed in August.

Since then, I have been checking the news three, four, five times a day; wanting to hear more about what's going on, hoping for a peaceful resolution to the problem. The BBC has been my main source not only because they seem to devote more attention to international goings-on than other networks, but also because they consistently do an amazing job of contextualising their stories; please do visit the Special Report: Burma page they have constructed specifically to help inform interested readers.

You might remember that I have a special personal interest in the suffering of the Burmese people: my friend Judy and I were among 20 volunteers who spent two weeks over Christmas (2001) helping at an orphanage for abandoned Burmese children and refugees in the Thai border town of Sangklaburi. To jog your memory, take a look at my old-skool album on Flickr (available only until Nov 5) --the photos are very low resolution because they were scanned-in, but you'll get the idea.

That trip was a shocking exercise in academic interest vs. practical experience; we had spent four months prior to the visit studying, fundraising and preparing, so I 'knew' what I was in for...until we arrived and came face-to-face with people more desperately poor than I could've ever imagined. Each of the 120 kids at the orphanage had his/her own sad story, and the whole town was barely scraping by at a subsistence level due to its volatile composition of unwanted refugees, hilltown rivals and ethnic Thais.

In such a tragic setting, our volunteer group couldn't believe the serenity of the kids and caregivers at Baan Unrak; all were up for yoga practice at 5:30 every morning, and the daily routine was handled smoothly by all orphanage inhabitants --tasks delegated according to age and capacity. The four Buddhist nuns and monks were models of patience, acceptance and dedication; they paid individual attention to each of the children while keeping an eye out for potential newcomers and helping impoverished Sangklaburi residents. I'll never forget watching Dada Adi apply juice from an aloe leaf to a little girl's wounded leg; it was clearly infected and required antibiotic cream at the very least, but they simply didn't have any. We immediately donated all the expensive medical supplies our volunteer group had brought along --and I realised how much these four adults were expected/expecting to do with so few resources.

Today, netizens have agreed to write One Post for Burma --and this is mine. I continue to pray for a nonviolent handover of power from the military dictatorship to a democratic government of Burma; I pray for the release of Aung San Suu Kyi, and for her appointment as rightful leader of this struggling country; I pray for the continued energy and strength of the nuns, monks and all the heroes.

If you'd like to learn more about what's going on in Burma and/or at Baan Unrak, please do take a moment to follow these links:

Baan Unrak: House of Joy

Volunteer in Thailand or Burma

Campaigning for Human Rights and Democracy in Burma

Amnesty International's 2007 Report on Myanmar

BBC: The hardship that sparked Burma's unrest

Facebook list of Burma Resources

crunchy friends in a liquid broth

I cannot stop watching this video, I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe it's because, after so much concerted Brain Effort, I need something viscerally funny to shock my body back to humanness. (that's a word, I looked it up)

Speaking of looking up words, I mailed my thesis to London yesterday

YAY

then at 7am this morning, realised that I hadn't signed the 'anti-plagiarism declaration form' on page 2

WHAT!!??AREYOU*KIDDING*ME??!!

and spent a few hours scrambling to see if/how I could fix it.

Luckily, an angel named Rebecca (my research 'tutor') has agreed to print off a scanned page of my signature, sort through the thousands of theses stacked on the admin. desk to find mine, and gently sneak in the page --saving me from failing the assignment and wiping out the past 14 months of work.

The good news is that I randomly checked Rufus' website today after listening to 'Do I Disappoint you' and 'Beautiful Child' on rotating repeat for ~2 hours, and found that he'll be playing at the pretty little Milan Conservatorio on 24 November. Another few YAY+WHAT!!??AREYOU*KIDDING*ME??!! moments ensued, then I followed the helpful helpful fans' advice on the comments page and tracked down a couple of tickets: Row Z in the 'poltrona' section. Trust me: I was more than willing to shell out an extra $20 for the 'poltronissima' section, but the only seats left on offer were right up against the wall in Row M...whereas Row Z's are in the middle. I don't think it'll matter too much, because the Conservatorio's accoustics are allegedly the best in the country, and I was going to bring the binocs anyway. Aaaaaah, Rufus.

Wow, I haven't posted for months, had all this fun stuff to write about, but now my small mind is drawing a big white blank. Maybe I still haven't recovered from the multiple All Nighters that punctuated my week? Hmm, in tribute to said All Nighters (and to fill space until I can think of something more interesting, because, frankly, the little I've got here is embarrassing), will paste my summary below --email me if these 250 words leave you wanting more! ;-)

Abstract

In the past decade, economic, social and environmental reporting have coalesced into what has been named ‘sustainability reporting’. Spurred on by government legislation rewarding transparency and accountability, investment groups, the United Nations and market forces are indicating a preference for the Global Reporting Initiative’s (GRI) most recent sustainable performance measurement instrument: the G3 Reporting Guidelines.

Mirroring this revolution in reporting practices, social entrepreneurs are leading a business paradigm shift; re-investing profits into mission-based, socially- and environmentally-oriented activities, they are winning Nobel Peace Prizes and being featured in such formerly exclusively profit-motivated corporate bastions as Fortune Magazine.

Though the pillars of sustainability reporting and social entrepreneurship appear compatible, it is estimated that only three social enterprises have used GRI Guidelines, and a significant portion have chosen to forego reporting altogether. Investigation reveals that significant knowledge gaps and contradictions in practice have alienated small and medium-sized social enterprises (SMSEs) from the sustainable development dialectic, while literature, recognition mechanisms and reporting methodologies cater unabashedly to wealthy big business.

This project outlines flaws in the G3 Guidelines and GRI as an institution, and presents select alternative sustainability reporting frameworks, but concludes with a recommendation that SMSEs look past the contradictions and make the G3 work for them. Arguably the world’s most comparable and credible sustainable reporting methodology, the GRI is working to adapt its Guidelines to the special needs and circumstances of the third sector; although those changes have yet to be implemented, SMSEs have much to gain simply from producing a sustainability report.

All About Louise

Well, this first photo isn't about Louise, but I think it's the best one I've taken this year so am inflicting it on you whether you like it or not. May I quickly point out that the bee's delicate wings are perfectly angled to reflect the clouds; The Great Pastry Chef In The Sky has piped pollen rosettes onto the bee's little legs; and the whole scene is "pink-washed" --it just doesn't get any better than this (for me, anyway).

There was no May post because I hardly had any interweb access at all --not because of my tempestuous relationship with our provider, but because I was home a total of about 5 days. Louise, who lived in Tokushima with me 2000-2002, kicked off the month with her Bachelorette celebrations in Nice the very first weekend --13 girls descended on the city, wearing masks and wigs so as not to be picked out of a lineup (should the circumstances demand it). Aside from all the festivities (which pics do a good job of sketching out), I was SOOOO happy to be back in France --I could communicate without making ten million mistakes, eat mountains of navettes, and generally "blend in" a little more successfully than I tend to here in Italy. Bonus: I wandered through a handful of FREE museums because the first Sunday of the month is engineered to benefit starving students like myself! I've seen two or three other Chagall exhibits around the world, but nothing could beat the Musée national Biblique Marc Chagall --containing not only a Biblical-themed series of canvases and sketches that Chagall specifically left to the city of Nice (where he spent the last years of his life), but also statues, stained-glass windows, a mosaic and tapestry designed by him. I sat in the atrium built for the Song of Songs series for quite a while, discussing that day's Royal vs. Sarkozy election with its caretaker. I had high hopes for Ségolène --not that I agree with everything she stands for (too much community consultation, for one), but I admire her drive, believe that her motives are pure and would've liked to see her in power.

Filippo's Evil Bosses denied him his remaining holidays and made him stick it out until the 15th --so we packed up the car early and headed straight to an overnight ferry to Sardinia after his farewell party. Our "holiday" was mostly spent working on the roof and grounds of his roulotte that had been destroyed by winter storms --only 2 afternoons of the total 12 days were spent at the beach...but I did catch up on a lot of studying and take a couple great pictures. I also finally admitted to myself that I need a math tutor for my economics courses --too much calculus for my small brain to grasp, and I can't waste time learning basics when I should be applying these to "environmental valuation" concepts. YUCK. So am now on the hunt for a tutor who'll except payment in English lessons and/or homemade muffins.

We got home from Sardinia last Tuesday morning at 4am, and left for London the following morning at 8am --Anju and Charlie took good care of us during our 2-day stopover, and I'm now cleaning and planning in preparation for their Bergamo visit in two weeks! I heart houseguests! Back to the subject at hand: Rufus Wainwright, who you may know is tied with Joni as being my #1 favourite Canadian singer-songwriter of all time. On Thursday night, Filippo and I went out for drinks with Belgrade friend Vlada, who is a very successful Hairdresser To The Stars in a salon right near legendary Selfridges. If Hugh Grant and Sofia Coppola are having a good hair day, it is entirely thanks to Vlada. Anyway, he explained that through a series of ridiculous coincidences, he would be attending the final one of Rufus' 5 London concerts on Friday night, and would be partying with him afterwards --so I seized the opportunity to scribble down the things I'd always wanted to discuss with Rufus:

• When are you going to write me a goddamn musical?
• Proof that I am (non-scary) #1 fan: Tommy Tricker and the Stamp Traveller

Must ask Vlada what Rufus had to say. If only I had been there, we could've retreated to a quiet table to co-compose a preliminary score together...

For a post supposedly All About Louise, this really hasn't fulfilled its claims --so I'll wrap up by saying that Louise's dream of a fairytale wedding really seemed to come true over the weekend. Her (very short, by Catholic standards) ceremony was in Llandaff Cathedral, then everyone was whisked away to Fonmon Castle for a sunny afternoon of drinking, nibbling and quartet-listening in its lush green grounds. I had gotten to know many of Louise's good friends during her Bachelorette weekend, but ended up spending 94% of the time with Clare and Anju --we just have too much fun together. The best part of the day was probably the speeches, which don't feature at all in Italian weddings --Louise's dad and Maid of Honour spoke on her behalf (making us all cry like crazy), with Henry and his Best Man giving funny responses. For surprisingly self-obsessed pictures, see this Flickr album.

Last but absolutely not least, I must say a few words about my most precious Babcia, mother of my mother, who left us on May 15. She had been in terrible pain for about three years since two strokes confined her to a wheelchair then bed; she has now joined my Dziadek and Uncle Ed in love and light. I'll always remember her able hands (busy garden-tending and pierogy-making); incredibly soft, kissable cheeks; inexhaustible pride in our achievements and the tender care she treated us all to. Final story that for some reason just came to mind: when Krista was the first of the cousins to bring home the chicken pox, everyone got together so we could suffer/recuperate at the same time --Babcia came in from Chilliwack to look after all the kids, and I was so disappointed that she was packing her bags to return by the time I finally came down with it, as I was 10 and supposedly "old enough" to entertain myself. Nobody is ever too old to be looked after by a Babcia.