Megan's hitching

Megan and I have been friends since the very beginnings of graduate school.  (Carolyn Davis, who's wearing the blue dress and dark cardigan in middle row, posted this photo on Facebook and then was dear enough to send it to me so I could borrow it at a decent size.  We all look so young there!)

And since 2000, we've had adventures. 

Both of us have always had odd freelance schedules, so occasionally, on sunny weekdays, Coney Island was just the place to be...then we'd head up the boardwalk to dance all afternoon at Ruby's, the diviest bar on the beachs.... (trust me on this...It's loads more fun that it sounds and were some of the best afternoons ever, especially on days when the Cyclone was open for business.)

Then there was always Halloween.  On this particular year, Megan was a mermaid.  Jess was a pregnant housewife and I was Miss Reform School. 

And of course, the wettest and rainiest concert Bruce Springsteen ever played.  (Yes, we are on the very tip top row of the stadium...But it was our second concert that tour, we scalped the tickets that afternoon---for face value no less, gotta love Bruce fans in Jersey---- It was awesome---and the one concert out of the ten or so I've seen that Bruce played "Rosalita.") 

And there have been countless events in between.

...Sipping key lime martinis on Manhattan rooftops.

...Staying up the entire night before the movers came to finish the packing.  (We spent several hours in the smallest hours of dawn wandering the streets for discarded cardboard boxes. Who knew eight years in the same apartments could fill up so much space?) 

...Helping me make new friends in Atlanta when she came to visit shortly after I got settled into my new apartment.

While I sort of hate that we don't have more photos of the nights out and the parties and the afternoons wandering, they most likely would be full of incriminating evidence and compromising situations, many of which I just don't want to explain.

...At least not now.  I do have lots of notes and explicit permission to use the stories as I see fit. 

She's is the best kind of friend...Amusing, brilliant and best of all she shows up.  And I don't mean just arrives, but participates and is a good guest.  And By good guest, I mean, adds to the party and stores up good stores and observations to tell later.  

This is a key quality. 

So even though Husband was at a crucial time in his work and couldn't come with me, I headed to New York last week, for Megan and David's hitching.  It couldn't have been lovelier.  They got married in the back gardens of a castle.

There were parasols for the guest waiting outside, then loads of dancing, food and drinks.  I saw people I hadn't visited with since I left New York.  And even in the midst of all the activities, Megan and I visited a bit as well. 

She and David hired a celebrity silhouette artist to work the wedding.  (Yes these do exist.  The night before this guy ---who was second generation, using his father's scissors that had never been sharpened--- had flown in from Los Angeles where he was the entertainment at a movie premiere.) 

He snipped out two copies.  One for the guest to keep and another to be glued into their guest book with a note.  Because my family couldn't come, Megan told me to bring a photo for the artist to use.  
(Yep, that's an approximation of Sweet Lillie. I had a photo of Milo, too.  But then actual human guests walked up and got in line, so we decided to wait.  Then time ran out.  I hate that we don't have a full family, but oh well...)

Megan loved Lillie's so much that after we walked Adele, her puppy who is almost exactly Lillie's age, she sat down for a portrait as well.


David waited patiently standing by...

And then it was almost time to go. 

It's Not a Secret Assignment, but It's Something

I've been going through old photos today and came across this one...

For years, Megan and I were partners in crime.  

This particular photos was taken one evening when we were undercover at a starlet's engagement party.  The bride was ultra hot for both her role on an HBO award-winning drama, but also for her recent reveal (and numerous in-depth interviews and stories about) her eating disorder.

I was on assignment and had been guest-listed by the club's publicist.  And Megan was serving as my plus-one.

The trick was to blend in, while taking notes and still filing by my 2am deadline so it would make the next week's issue. 

The slight problems we had to overcome:

--The club was mega-small...One open space upstairs that was roughly about the same size as my studio apartment and one small space downstairs. 

--The only people there were the groom's friends and family and the bride's friends and family. And the groom was the bride's manager and had been longtime romantic interests, so pretty much everyone knew everyone else.

--The vast majority of invited guests were Italian Catholics from New Jersey.  (Megan is sort of from New Jersey, but she has bright green eyes and flaming red hair and freckles.  As for me, I am white and pale, and even when undercover, I drawl.)

But blend we did.  Mainly I think it had to do with short, non-specific conversations and constant movement, some of which was in the photo-booth (See photo above). 

And of course, I got all the scoop.  

And no matter what it is, Megan always shows up to help.  

She's showing up in a few weeks, too.  When she suggested a visit, I warned her that the excitement level would not be up to her recent graduation from race car school or even her day to day life in New York.

She laughed and said "Well, it sounds like you need a visit and maybe some help unpacking boxes or something."

So while we won't be lurking about nonchalantly, champagne in hand, it promises to be all good. 

 

Our first visit

As it's been well documented, Megan is my peep.  And I've been psyched about her popping over from New York for a visit...

What did we do all week, you wonder?

We burned fried chicken and then ate it anyway.

We had a night out...

(Husband flashes a gang sign while Erin plays it cool.)

(The slouch of my body is to distract from the fact that I am approximately the same width as both Megan and Kyrre.  Is it working?)

Then we got fancy to go to my baby shower. 

(My friend Omar went to India and brought me a lovely belt.  Because my waist has gone missing, now I am using it to wrap what I can.  Thanks, Omie.)

(Look at everyone.  How lucky am I?  More on this later.)

We visited with my sweet hunds.

(Milo and Lillie are blue because they just found out that Megan will not live with us forever.)

We took a driving tour of the area. Husband explained it all. 

Then for Megan's birthday, we all went to dinner. We gave her a scarf and lessons on the correct use of toothpicks, but only if you're in Stavanger, Norway or Colquitt, Georgia.  

(Don't try this at home, kids.) 

A Small Lesson Starring Lasagna

I miss our Mormon.

(JD, the lasagna and Jacque)

We live on the second and third floor of a three story house.  The bottom floor is split into two apartments.  On the right is where a rotating pair of Mormon missionaries live. (On the left is where the smoking* Goths make their home.)

The Mormon apartment has two windows on the street level.  One is plastered with photos of Jesus and Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt**. The other is situated right in front of the desk where the guys do their paperwork and studies.  

And when I noticed that, I got a little nervous.  I hate any sort of sales pitch.  I don't want help picking out my clothes in a boutique and I don't want pressure regarding religion. 

But, thanks to Megan, I never got the conversion hard sell (if there even was one). When she was visiting, we were wondering past the movie theater and one of their colleagues stopped us to chat. He was American, cheery and friendly, so of course we weren't going to be rude. But early into the conversation, Megan announced that she was all good on the religion front and I said that I was committed to my Protestantism. We added that I lived above some of his friends.

The next day, Jacque introduced himself (as Elder LastName from Denmark) and we were happy "hey" buddies afterward. When I waddled by, they would wave and Jacque would pop his head out and offer to carry my bags. When I would run into them in town, they would chat and ask for updates and still want to carry my bags.  

In the beginning, I was convinced that I was being (benevolently) stalked a bit. But eventually I realized that he and his fellow Mormon walkabout-er (JD from Utah) were not truly after my soul and Pickle's. (Though I suspect they wouldn't have turned down either.) 

They were just really nice guys.***

Along with their general cheer and helpfulness, they were fun to chat it up.  Jacque would tell me about how he was looking forward to being a capitalist once his two-years were over.  And JD mentioned how he missed snowboarding back home. 

When Elliot was born, they presented us with a lasagna.  When Jacque came up to deliver it, he told Husband a story about how when his mother had a baby, she really appreciated the dinners people dropped off.  So when I went into the hospital to have Elliot, they got the very best cook in their church to make dinner for us. 

And we ate it for days.****

When Elliot was just about three weeks old, there was a knock on the door.  It was kind of late, about 10pm.  I was crashed and exhausted, lying on the couch in my pajamas. 

Husband went to the door to see Jacque standing there.  He had gotten the order to head to Oslo the next day and wanted to say good-bye.  Because I was not dressed, I didn't go to the door.  And I missed him the next morning. 

And I've always regretted it a bit.  It wasn't the right move at all.  He had been a kind, cheery part of my day for months and I appreciated it.  I wish I had told him a last time and sent him good wishes on his way.

JD and his new roommate don't wave and they just watch as I stagger past with Elliot in a car seat and bags of groceries.  And as I type this on at noon on a Friday, the Goths have a their music cranked UP and my floor is quivering to some Middle Eastern-ska-wailing.

So, I've been thinking about good neighbors.  

Overall, I've been pretty lucky. 

In New York, I had dear Derek downstairs and the cigarello-smoking, black leather clad (down to his bikini, no joke) cowboy across the hall.  

In Atlanta, there was creepy downstairs Jodi, who was so icky that (almost) Husband and I spent more time at his house, contributing a bit to his becoming Husband sooner rather than later (thanks Jodi!). And there is dear Joan, Husband's next door neighbor.  We loved her and will stop by to see her when we are in town next month.

But overall, in any definition of the term, good neighbors are hard to come by...and wherever Jacque is now, as he finishes up his last months of Mormon walkabout, we wish him well.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

*By "smoking" I don't mean "model-like good-looks", I mean "suck on the unlit end of smoldering cigarettes directly underneath our open windows."

 **I know, I know.

***Also, I was giantly pregnant.

****If anyone you know ever has a baby, bring them food.  Trust.

This Just In...

Megan is a "predator" for one of the big American television news outlets.

This means she produces, writes and edits stories. Then she sends them out and, according to the news needs of television stations around the country, they will be aired for the viewing pleasure of people in Topeka, Los Angeles and Atlanta.

This also means that she knows stuff.

And this is what just arrived in my "inbox" with the subject line "did you know this?"



I sure didn't.

Current obsessions #1-3

I've been slightly neglectful in my blogging.  While I like to keep everyone caught up, it's been a busy week.  

Overall, I've been slightly obsessed with a few different things:

1) Settling into our new home.

While I loved our first home from the start, over time, it became clear that it wasn't going to suit our needs, especially with Pickle on the way. 

Our old landlord had crammed every bit of space with her own things and we just needed more room.   

So we moved here:We're on the second and third floor.  

Take a close look at the bottom right window. 

A few days ago, in the early evening, Husband and I were taking loads of things into the house. As we passed by, there were two young men sitting at a desk facing the window. (And no, I wasn't being all Gladys Kravitz about it. The window was Right.There.)  

These two men were thin, with white shirts and dark skinny ties, staring at some papers intently.  Complete non-Norwegians.  (Trust me on this.) As we passed by, they both looked up and waved hello.  

When we got inside, I said, "Do you think they are Mormons or maybe Latter Day Saints?" 

(You know the look I am talking about.  Don't pretend you don't....Young, fresh scrubbed, sun light deprived, sincerely beatific and dressed in a crisp uniform... Plus, there were rumors of door-knockers in the neighborhood.) 

Husband laughed and said he hadn't noticed.  (He's not as good at the details as I am...) 

But on the next pass-by, I took a better look at the signs in the window... 

And what do you know? 

One poster is labeled "Mormon Heros, Joseph Smith" and the other is a giant picture of Jesus.

They seem nice, waving and friendly.  And I wouldn't mind if they popped out and carried my groceries, but I'm hoping they won't pop up for some "conversion time." 

Husband thinks it they will be great neighbors.* 

He suspects there won't be any wild parties or loose women running about (These days, we are like this because we are now mature, parents-to-be.) 

He also thinks they will be less likely to tell our landlords that we didn't correct their mistake on the number of dogs that live here... 

So really, while we're not into conversions, they are always welcome for dinner and the new season of "Big Love."

Ahhhh sunny kitchen and big back porch...

A fresh guest room all ready for Megan's arrival in a few hours.  And it will be perfect for BigD when she shows up post-Pickle....

And the sweet hunds are settling in nicely...

2) Getting ready for Pickle to show up...

Husband painted the nursery and put all the furniture together.  Look closely...you'll see that it's all going to be pretty blue (not baby blue...), stripes and giraffe print. You'll also see boxes of things that all need to be washed and put up.  I've been a little nuts about all of this, too.  

I thought the plan was in place and getting done, but it wasn't, so I had to rejigger some plans.  My dear dear college friend Patty is going to make a baby quilt for me using the fabrics. She wins awards and knows how to do things, and has shifted things around to really help me out.  I couldn't be more fortunate.  

And dear Big D is dealing with some other things, so finally I know it's all going to get done.  

But per usual, it's going to be cut down to the wire.  I just hope it all arrives before we go to the hospital to collect the little guy, because before that moment, I really care.  

Afterwards, apparently I will not, so Pickle may always live in a half-done room, which really is not the most welcoming way to start off as a brand new person.  

Also, I have been weirdly obsessed with our new Brio Go, which arrived yesterday.  

All stroller sorts of things in Scandinavia are SUV-serious.  They can roll over cobblestones, on sandy beaches and through the woods for family hikes.  

(Guess how many of those choices the Durel family needs?  If you only guessed one for sure, perhaps, two, you'd be right on the money.  If you cannot choose which two, check out our last hike for clues.) 

The choices are limited to start with...and the vast majority are difficult to put together and to use.  Not this one.  It all goes click, click, click...

(Plus, I think this film is so soothing, too.  I wonder how soothing it will be once we pop in a howling Pickle...So I figure, lessen all stress that we can control...Click, click, click...)

3) My feet

Nope, I cannot see them either.

*In any case, they beat the heck out of our old neighbors, with the junkies and the "open for business" window.  More on this later....

The East Coast Tour, including Tu-Tu's, Tattoos and One Small Pickle)

New York was lovely.  

I spent one day wandering around my old neighborhood shopping, getting a haircut and eating the best Thai food ever.  The next day was happily spent at Megan and David's wedding.  And in the evenings I visited with my cousin Jane and her husband Shane in their new swanky apartment in Brooklyn.  

It couldn't have been better.  Really, I just think I need about three good full days in New York at least once a year.  It's just like visiting home.  

But because I was all the way over on that side of the world, it only made sense that I popped down to Georgia for a few days to visit my actual home. Sadly, I didn't get any time to visit with any friends, but I had loads of good family time. 

Here are just a few snippets...

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Big D is the best kind of grandmother ever.  She isn't cloying, always has treats and keeps a trunk full of dress up clothes, just in case...because occasionally the clothes the short people arrive in just won't do once they are there.  

Right now, Virginia is modeling one of my old ballet costumes*, topped off with a hat her dad (and my brother) Will wore once when he was a cowboy for Halloween. 

It was the exact ensemble perfect for Bill's cookout birthday party, which was just what was going on around her.

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James, Virginia's little brother, who was born on my 35th birthday, enjoyed the book about Norway Husband and I gave to Bill. 

Bill loves books and tends to peruse through them immediately after he opens them, even if we're all still sitting around waiting for the next present to be opened.  

We know this, so we're prepared. 

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Brother Will and Sister Claudia posed while Bill explained alllllllllll about the Vikings and fjords. 

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Later that week, Jack (Claudia's son), Big D and I went to visit my grandmother, Nana.  

Nana is 98 and has just moved into a residence home.  She seems to like it there and has loosened up considerably.  

When D asked Nana if it was okay if Jack drank his bottle on her bed, she said, "Of course. It's not like he's pouring a bowl of hot soup between the sheets."

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While we were there, I introduced Nana to her newest great-grandchild.**  

Husband and I will be back at Thanksgiving for a visit.  We'll probably have more photos to show, but Nana may not actually meet Pickle until next summer...Unless of course she comes over early next March when Pickle is hatched. 

(Contrary to her expression at this second, she was psyched about getting another great-grandchild.  Pickle will be lucky number seven, depending on how you count.  And I suppose there is always the possibility that one could arrive sooner and we just don't know about it quite yet.)

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To celebrate my official name change to the one on the right hand column (and also just because it is just loads of fun) Bill took the girls out to dinner. 

Then it was time to come back home. 

*For a guaranteed a good time for everyone involved, say the word "tu tu" as often as possible when having a conversation with a five-year-old who is wearing just that. For an added bonus, accidentally confuse "tu tu" with the visible "tattoo" on child's right leg.

**Yep, that's what you read. More on that later...

Away from home

So this week is a busy one, with many photographs and posts to come, but I'm traveling.

I spent almost 48 hours in New York, popping in for Megan's wedding, visiting with Cousin Jane and her husband Shane and doing things like wander my old neighborhood and get my hair cut.

Then off to Gainesvegas for a quick visit with Big D and the family for a few days.

Sweet Huband is at a crucial part in his project so he couldn't scoot off with me. He's at home with the rest of the Pack, but is keeping me updated.

It's good to be here for a visit, but better when we're all together.

But I'll be back in Stavanger on Monday...

Skype and A Small Lesson on International Mail

Skype is the schnizzle.  

When we moved here, Husband hooked me up with Skype, which, for the uninitiated --- and in its most simple definition --- is direct connection over the internet. 

A quick program download turns your computer into a phone.  Add a (relatively) cheap video attachment to your computer and presto!  you have an in-home video conference.  

It's free from computer to computer, and just a few pennies (or kroner) to call a land line or a cell phone.*  

Next to Husband, Lillie and my red cowboy boots, Skype is one of my very favorite things.  

When we moved here, several of my best friends, who didn't have the program already, loaded Skype onto their computer and got the little video attachment.  

So --- not nearly frequently enough --- we will figure out time zones and schedule a visit. 

It's really like the weirdest television show, ever.  Along with the main stars of the program, occasionally there will be guest stars or a field trip.  To wit:

Megan and I have discussed the final details of her upcoming wedding, then we've introduced my Lillie 

to her Adele (the Airedale).

 

When Kathleen and I talk, often her daughters, Addie and Lula, who are some of my favorite short people ever, will pop in to tell me about school.  And on occasion, Kathleen has walked me (the camera) through their new house so Addie could show me their new pink room.  

In the middle of a visit with Wendy, Husband will sit down for a minute to say hello and to discuss the waves and their common love of surfing. 

(And that's just what happens with the friends who have video.  Guests drop in as well when it's only voice, too.)

All that to say, I love Skype, almost as much as I love my friends.*  

Husband and I are all the way over here and they are all the way over there, but with a little bit of timing, all that can work out.  

Everyone (for now) can live where-ever we are and if you forget about the time difference for a while, it's almost like they are next door. 

A few weeks ago, Wendy and I were visiting. I was filling her in on some news, which included a a ridiculous story about crying over udon noodles a few nights before. 

This is the Reader's Digest Condensed version of the story for the curious: 

It all began when Husband said "What would you like for dinner tonight?"

And the first words that popped out of my mouth were "Doc Chey's," which is an Asian restaurant we used to frequent in Atlanta.  And the minute I said it, I wanted it so badly I couldn't think of anything else.  

But there is no Doc Chey's here---not even a close approximation. 

So, I got a little teary eyed.  Luckily for Husband, who is patient and kind about these things, it only lasted a few minutes.  

Then we went and got a burger, which is a close approximation of any burger I have known and rated 5 on a scale of 1-10.

She laughed for a while, then said, "We have that here, all over the place."  

Then she was quiet for a while and said, "You know, you probably need some pudding, too."

And immediately, I realized that I did.  I needed pudding and badly.

So 6,819 miles and slightly more than two weeks later, this is what arrived.  

Look closely at the label. 

It says "Used Clothes."

While that is not entirely untrue...

Inside were two articles of clothing.  Both of which I have decided are good luck because one has been worn happily by Wendy and the other has been passed down from Kathleen to Wendy. 

It is also not entirely true...the package was not full of only used clothing.**  

Inside (and you'll have to trust me on this...) dear Wendy had not only stuffed in packages of udon noodles and boxes of pudding, but also a note covered with good wishes.  

And underneath that note were things I didn't even know to want, at least not yet. But every single thing shoved into the package was thoughtful and exactly right.  (Though there was one item I desperately hope I will not need or want anytime in either the near or distant future.  Though it is good to be prepared, for sure.) 

What did I do with udon noodles and packages of pudding?

Of course I immediately made a (simple) lunch which consisted of one bowl of awesome and a cup of pudding-y goodness.

Then I ate it. 

What happened to the rest of the pudding?  I put it in the refrigerator with a note.***  

*You're welcome Skype.  Now I would like some free things, please.

**It's all about the taxes. 

***Don't worry.  Husband understands, plus I made him brownies.