Here's what's been going on...

Lots has been happening over the past few months since my last regular posts.*  


But before I get started again, I want to keep things a bit in order, here's the catch-up on the past few months----you can either read the bits or scroll through like a sort of flip book.  Some of the topics I've been thinking on and will revisit in the future, others are just bits....


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I've been culling.**


One of the items in the photo below went to Goodwill, the other stayed, just in case of emergencies.  Can you guess which one?  It all depends on whether or not you think it is more likely that my future self may one day:

a) work in a suited up corporate environment 

b) stay out all night dancing

I also went through boxes and boxes of papers, letters and one menu from a restaurant I frequented in college. I even found a handful of notes from my sixth grade bully.***

Elliot learned lots of things, like drinking from a cup,****  

Escape...

And all about fish...

We took family photos.

Elliot turned one. 

Husband and I went on our first trip away. He can drive with his eyes closed.  Yes, he is that good.

We flew to Key West where I was appalled by some of the sights, but enjoyed the chocolate covered Key Lime Pie anyway.

Husband stuck mainly to the more conventional seafood. 

Elliot and I went to the beach with the Jackalope and his mom.

We went to the Easter Beer Hunt.  

Elliot scored three pieces of chocolate and three beers. 

We went to a birthday luau pig roast.   It was awesome.  Seriously awesome. 

I got to try a bit from each section of the pig.  Even the brain.***** I have a new appreciation for pork. 

And somewhere along the way, I got pregnant.****** Two will arrive in late October.

See you next week...

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*And I want to get back to it.  It's good for me---it gives me a few minutes of amusement and creativity for myself, much like I imagine it is for a non-professional ballerina.  They may still work out just to keep their muscles in shape and to revisit their skills, but it's not what they do anymore.  That's probably the most concrete way I can explain it.  I like to write.  I used to be a journalist and probably one day I will be again, but in the meantime, I like to try to keep it all a little bit in shape...

**Everything happened so quickly when Husband and I got married and moved that I didn't go through anything.  It either went with us or went into storage here. So I've had LOTS to cull through, including giving more than half my clothes to the Goodwill. 

***I don't know why I kept them, but I'm glad I did.  Twenty-five years past, I have a much better perspective on the whole experience.

****This is a big deal.

*****It tastes a bit like savory marshmallow.

****** This is a big part of the reason for my absence.  We're really, really excited. (Well Husband and I are.  I'm not sure Elliot gets it yet.) But overall, we've been busy and I've been TIRED.  I feel better now.  And by Two, I mean that's its name in the meantime, not the actual number of babies.

A story about The Olds, an Anniversary and Supermodels

It's been a bit since I've blogged.

It has been a bit overwhelmingly overwhelming in these parts lately with the moving and settling in, so I haven't had time to sit down and think on things.

But everything is shaking out and getting in place, so I will be back much more frequently.

On another note, a few weeks ago, I read a news story the blogging is for The Olds.**

**********************************

This morning I took our wedding cake out of the freezer.

In non-shocking news, we are a little late to the game.

Today is our second wedding anniversary and I am hoping we haven't missed all the good luck.

It's super pretty.

And if I remember correctly, on the inside are both vanilla and chocolate layers.

This was the one bite I got.

And, also, if I remember correctly it was really good. 

This is the way it looks today.

For the past two years while we were on our first big adventure, it sat cooling in BigD's refrigerator** freezer.

You're probably aware that most couple eat the top layer of their wedding cake on their first anniversary, but we couldn't work all of the logistics out in time.

But I just learned that the practice of saving the top layer comes from the 19th century when all cakes were mega, mega expensive.  And cakes were needed for both weddings and for christenings.

So, since christenings tended to come relatively soon after the wedding, they would just freeze the top layer and use it about a year later for their baby's christening.

This was from our first anniversary.***

 
Who knew we were so old fashioned?

In any case, as much as I tried to convince Husband to wear our wedding garb**** our to dinner tonight, he sweetly refused, but he did agree to our fancy rehearsal party get-ups.

Happy anniversary, sweet Husband. It's been a big two years and there's only more goodness to come.


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*This is not a deterrence, but this morning when I sat down to type, Andy Rooney and his eyebrows popped in my head.  He does not blog, but he does pontificate on things in a particular manner that seems (to me) to be a precursor to blogging. (Also, he does not even know exactly what a blog is, and he kind of hates what he does know about it, so by that logic it must be for The Youngs. Score.) If you are following this, that might mean you are one of The Olds, too.  If you are too young to get it, then "google" it like all the other young'uns.

**I can NEVER spell this word. No joke, I think it's one of the hardest ones in the entire English language.  Why isn't there a "d" in it?  I think there should be.

***Yeah it's a pretty horrid photo of me.  But in my defense, it was a rotten angle.  Even skinny people look gross from that angle.  Also I was 38 weeks pregnant.  Only celebrities and supermodels are cute then, and then only a few of them.  The rest of them go into hiding on their compounds only to emerge a few months later super fit and gorgeous to make everyone feel inferior.

****I loved my dress and think the whole wedding event happened so quickly that I didn't get to wear it long enough.  I wore it the next day in our hotel until we had to change to get to the plane.  Then when we got back from our honeymoon, I wore it again to eat a breakfast of boiled eggs with Husband and my sister.  I do not think this is weird.  On our tenth anniversary, we're going to do it all again.  Only eight more to go...

Naw

We've been back in the United States for about six weeks now and (almost*) every single conversation I've had has started with, "So are you guys settled into your house yet?"

And the answer is, "No.  Thanks so much for asking, but we are not."

See this photo?

This photo was taken in the guest/man room in our apartment in Stavanger the day before the movers came to load everything into the giant container, which would then be put onto a cargo ship.  And then, one day, four to six weeks afterward, that ship would pull into a port in Savannah, Georgia, where then it would clear customs and then be put onto a truck and one day show up at our house in Atlanta.

That should have happened last week.

That did not.

Not one of those boxes in the photo in are in our house. Neither are any of the other boxes, filled with all our things that we thought were vital enough to send over to Norway and then send back to the United States.  Those boxes are in the country, still stuffed into the giant container that transported them across Europe and then the Atlantic Ocean.

But they are stuck in Savannah.

We've been flagged by the US Customs Authority for a random search.  Of. Every. Single. Box. And. Every. Single. Item. In. Every. Single. Box. In. Our. Container.

Much like the random searches going through airport security, we've been pulled aside.

And I am not against searches.  I was in New York when all of that happened, so (within reason) I am all for doing what needs to be done to keep everyone safe.

But, along with the annoyance of it all, pulling us for a random search does not make good sense.

Seriously.

First of all, Husband and I have been wracking our brains to think of what could have caused an alarm to the security force.  There's no contraband in the shipment.  We did not smuggle any explosives, pickled herring, dirt from a potato field or a live sheep from the meadows near the beach.  We claimed every piece of baby furniture and the vast majority of the clothes we bought over the two years.

Also, we did not pack it ourselves.  The goods were packed by a company, hired by Husband's employer, whose sole job was to pack our possessions securely while making sure all the international import/export/customs laws were followed.

And Husband called our relocation handler yesterday who said, "I have no information about why your container was flagged.  I also don't know when it will show up, as it might be a queue. And we shouldn't ask any questions.  Not only do they not have to give us any information, they don't like to be asked."

And again, I am not against any searches.  I really do believe that, within reason, the government should do what is necessary to keep us all safe.

I do question whether or not it is the best use of time and resources, man and financial to search a family consisting of a couple and an infant**, relocating from Norway***, completing an expat contract****, packed by a vetted moving company*****.

And no matter how I go over it, I am thinking, "Nope."

But that's how it is.  So, until the U.S. Customs Authority is done pawing through our stuff, we'll just be hanging out, with our six suitcases and giant new television.******




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*My mom (BigD), my sister and my sister-in-law, along with a few others, do not ask this question anymore.  Also, I talk to the three of them almost every day. So there's that.

**None of whom have any sort of negative record, credit, criminal or otherwise.

***Not known to be a hotbed of insurgency.

****With one of the world's largest companies.

*****This is their bidness.

******Which is slightly trashy, if you think about it. We have practically no furniture(don't worry, we have some things from my old apartment, toys and several boxes random things) but we have a  television, not as giant as Wendy's who happens to have the largest television I've ever seen outside of a sports bar, but I love it all.  Really, it could only be tackier if we took the wheels off the cars and parked them in the front yard.

We're back and no H is not my middle name

It's been more than three weeks* since my last blog post, and to be fair that one was pretty weak.**

(This is currently how we eat dinner.  We have no table yet and the pizza is frozen.  We are hobos.  Hobos with wine*** and nice chairs, but hobos nonetheless.)

Yesterday the plumber came and finished the repairs.  Over the past few days, we've had most of the cast iron pipes replaced as well as all the piping in the kitchen replaced, the damage which was found by the crew replacing our furnace and all the dusty dusty ductwork underneath the house.

I mention that because while it sounds boring (and it is) those pipes and ductwork, I suspect, are our anniversary trip.  Yep, a first-time-traveling-sans-the-little-man trip to somewhere that does not allow children**** may now be stuffed underneath the floorboards in the crawlspace.

But things are getting done, but it's been a transition.

Right now, as I type this, I am sitting in what most likely (in the not too distant future) will be the man-room*****/office.

I am surrounded by boxes, many of which are labeled "BOOKS/PAPERS."

When we got engaged, things started moving ultra-fast, so we could get all hitched up and move overseas.

In the process, (almost)Husband went to Norway to start work for a few weeks.

I packed up my apartment and moved things.  We were in such a hurry (packing, wedding planning, etc...) that, instead of sorting through much of it, I just tossed it into boxes and put it all into storage, intending to deal with it when we moved back.

In retrospect this may not have been the best idea, at least not completely.

I really don't need all those paperbacks including that unread copy of The Tao of Pooh, given to me by suitor whose name has long been forgotten, mainly because after that gift, there were no further dates.  But also because I abhor the vast majority of cartoon characters and especially loathe ones that lisp.******

But I do have every single one of my reporter's notebooks******* as well.

And on the top of the pile in one of the boxes was one of them with the notes from one of my favorite moments, in which I was confused with a major deity.

It was late in the evening in a nightclub in New York, after an award show. My intended interviewee was a southern rapper redneck type, who is not actually one bit Southern, but has perfected the redneck act to a tee. At the time, he was rumored to be engaged to a large bosomed actress, who once favored red swimsuits and had always favored musician types.  My orders were to ask him about the wedding plans, to get any detail at all.

The club was dark and smoky.  The music was at top volume and every conversation varied between shouting and speaking close into each other's ear.  My target interviewee was well into his bottle and had commanded the deejay booth.********

I walked up and it went something like this:

ECD:  Hi

SouthernRapperRedneck:  Hey darlin.'  What's your name?

ECD:  I'm Elizabeth from NameOfMagazine. I just wanted to come over and say congratulations about your engagement.

SRR: Uh.  Thanks.

ECD:  (I am not quite sure exactly what I said here, I scribbled "Chatter about wedding, etc...")

SRR:  That's none of your f***in' business. Get the f*** out of here.

ECD:  Well, alright, thanks so much.

And I turn to leave. I asked the questions.  He declined to comment.  So at that point I consider that part of the evening done. Oddly enough, SRR does not. He grabs my upper arm, holding me tightly enough that I cannot move.

SRR:  Seriously, get the f*** out of here.

ECD:  I would sir, but you're holding onto me.

SRR:  Who do you think you are!!?!!  Jesus H. Christ!!?!!

ECD: No sir, I don't.

SRR: Smartass!  Seriously, get the f*** out of here.

ECD:  I would sir, but you're holding onto me.

SRR:  Who do you think you are!!?!!  Jesus H. Christ!!?!!

ECD: No sir, I don't.

SRR: Smartass! Seriously, get the f*** out of here.

This went on for a few minutes, in varying forms.

He got more irate, I got calmer and more amused.

Then his manager pried his fingers off me.

And while I did not get the details of the upcoming nuptials, I did have a hand shaped bruise on my upper arm for the next week or so.

And I had forgotten that until I just read it again and I still think it's funny.

So that's something.

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*Or thereabouts. I could figure out the exact number of days but that would require me to find a calendar, count the days, etc... and I just don't care enough to do that, and really, I'll bet you don't care enough either...

**Hilarious, but weak. 

***Dear PC Police, Let me explain. First of all, I think most hobos tend to have wine, so that's apropos. But I do not mean to be insensitive to the plight of legitimate hobos, both past and perhaps present, I merely mean to identify somewhat with the act of carrying around all of one's possessions on one's back, or in one's suitcase, if you will.  Sincerely, Elizabeth

****Listen, there's no offense meant and we adore our little guy (and also many of the children we know), but to be clear, we adore our little guy.  If we're going to spend some cash to go traveling without him for a few days, we don't really want to hang out with strangers' children.  

*****I suspect that if you are married and are reading this post, the term "man room" needs no explanation.

******Yeah, yeah, yeah...but even in light of this shocking fact, it's pretty likely that Elliot will have a pretty alright childhood anyway. 

*******Except for the drawerful from my last semi-fulltime job.  One morning I came in, sat at my desk, opened my drawer and found it completely empty.  The mail clerk, misunderstanding a request to clean out some old file cabinets, dumped out three of my key drawers, including files, notes, tapes, a calendar from that current month and all of my personal items.  I spent the rest of that day, not reporting, but climbing through the three dumpsters in the bowels of the AJC building.  No kidding.  It was two years' worth of notes and ideas, including loads of interviews I had conducted for upcoming stories.  It was a BIG deal. And so I dumpster dove, all in vain.  I did not find one of my own things, but I did find really interesting unshredded expense reports.  These did not make the experience worthwhile, but did make for some interesting reading.

********Hey, don't judge.  This was a publicity event.  The famous people who were there were mainly B-list and below and were clamoring for ink. Every single one of their publicists knew exactly which magazines were sending reporters and to a certain extent, what the content of the questions could be...And also, to be fair, I saw SRR perform at another magazine's celebration about a year later.  He killed.  No joke, it was an awesome show.  I did not interview him that time, so I cannot say for sure if he was still confusing reporters with deities or if it was just a one-time event.

Norway, please

Today was an Alexander* day.

It began with rushing about to get to Elliot's Heath Station appointment, which led to a crabbiness with Husband. The house was a giant "just-got-home-sort-of-from vacation" mess and I couldn't find what I needed.

Then it started raining.

All in all a bad way to start out a day.

Once Elliot and I left the house, it got incrementally worse:

A car darted out at a roundabout when it wasn't the driver's turn, narrowly missing us.

A group of people crowded the sidewalk in front of a bus stop (there was no bus there) and the vast majority, who were non-Norwegians, parted ways. Two teenagers, facing a bit away, stood their ground and there was no way for me to pass.

There was no way they didn't see the rest of the people move, yet they didn't.

I said "Unnskyld" ("excuse me") several times, each time with a bit more volumne. Then loudly cleared my throat. Finally, I reached way over and poked one in the shoulder and said, in English, "Excuse me!" Both of them gave me a rotten looks and laconically ambled out of my way.

Then, six men, all ranging from about mid-20's to mid-40's, all seemingly healthy, pulled together and fit, went past me as I was struggling to get Elliot's stroller through the swinging door and up the five stairs into the elevator lobby.

Not one held the door and not one offered to give me a hand to lift the stroller up the stairs. These were not the neighborhood crackheads or even unkempt. These were businessmen who should have better manners.

But that's the problem, I'm not sure they did.

As I've written before, I have been warned that I am too polite.

I say "please" and "thank you" on a regular basis. I open door for people and have been known to offer assistance to women and their strollers. And a few weeks ago, I let two people cut in line at the grocery. Each had one item and I had fifty.

These are not commendable acts. They are just the right things to do.

Or so I have been raised.

Also this is not a trait unique to the Southern US where I grew up. I lived in New York City for almost a decade. It happens there, too.

And, while I am not terribly well-traveled, I have been a few places and have noticed these stranger-to-stranger kindnesses all over, even in France. Even when they knew I was an American in France.

Here not so much.

This is not to say that there are no kindnesses.

There are and there are many.

Just in recent history, Elliot's pediatrician kept the office open after hours to see us when I called and said I was worried about his cough. Colleagues of Husband's have made an effort to befriend me and make me feel welcome and acclimated. A fellow customer at Ultra about my age, bagged my groceries so I could pick up a howling Elliot and pay the cashier.

And, just a few days ago when Elliot decided to be rambunctious on the plane home from Alicante, a group of Norwegian grandmotherly sorts talked to himand the oldest one of them all, who had a smiling face akin to a dried up apple, made him laugh until he lost his mind.

But on the streets, no one will hold a door. And at the airline gate, the crowd of ticketed passengers will press to get to the front. And be warned, you should watch the hell out in the IKEA corridors.

Most of the time, I just accept it as a cultural difference and go along my merry(ish) way.

But today, on a grey yuck day, it just made everything worse.

After Elliot's visits with the nurse and the doctor, which was fun and hilarious, I was still feeling out of sorts (and it was only 10am).

Back in the waiting room, I was getting Elliot back into his warm clothes and was standing next to another mother, a Norwegian woman about my age, who was unbundling her young daughter. We started chatting a bit and it turned out that her baby was one day older and that we lived in the same neighborhood. She asked how I was doing and if I was a member of a baby group. And I had just enough time to say "yes" before she and her baby were called to their appointment. They headed off in the direction of the nurses room, but turned around long enough to say "Ha Det Bra," which is a salutation which means, "Have it Good."

And it made me cry.

*The star of "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." Fantastic classic children's book. No joke. If you don't know it, read it. If you do know it, read it again. His day wasn't so bad and neither was mine, really, in the big scheme of things, relatively speaking and all of that...but also, that doesn't make it good.

In Which I Explain the Price of Beauty in Norway

I've written about how much I love and miss mani/pedis (scroll down to Number 6), but also how they are mega expensive here, so they only happen for me when we go back to the states.

But, for my very first Mother's Day, Husband and Elliot went to the only place in town, Bare Clinic, and got me a gift certificate for the kind of mani/pedi I love, which means nothing too fancy, just the good, soaking, rubbing, scraping and painting.

First, my hands...the cuticles were trimmed and shaped, then my nails were clipped and filed and then painted.

Next I sat in a comfy chair, which reminded me of the ones in dentist offices, but without the bright lights, tray full of scary shiny instruments and an anticipation of imminent pain.  My feet soaked in a pan of hot soapy water and the polish was whisked off.  The sweet technician rubbed my feet and got every bit of calloused skin off.  Then she polished them properly, which is much more challenging than it looks.

And if it sounds like the sweet, sweet mani/pedi that I used to love...the one that can be had in every major American (and most non-major as well as non-American) city...the one that costs in the range of $17-50 depending on how swanky the venue...

That would be because it is the same.  

The process is similar and even the polish is OPI.  

The difference is that this mani/pedi cost 1490 kroner.* 

And, depending on the day and the exchange rate, that is about $231.  

I say this, not to necessarily share the cost of the present, but to illustrate a bit of the way things work here.

The pricing of these kinds of services are based on the time it takes to perform them.  

The manicure was the 60 minute mani which cost 700NOK ($108ish).  Husband could have chosen the 15 minute one, which is a polish change, or the 45 minute which is in between.  

It is the same with the pedicure. The lower end one is just a polish and the higher end one, which is what I had, takes 80 minutes and costs 790NOK ($122ish).

In comparison, check the price list for the waxing,* which is really when a skilled person smoothes hot wax over chosen and/or various hirsute body parts, covers the wax with linen strips and rips.  

It's pretty quick, or at least, if you're the one having it done, you hope it is.  

So the prices are pretty comparable to the US prices.

Also, the time it took for the mani/pedi (140 minutes) is approximately the same amount of time as it takes to cut and color my hair.  It is also about the same price.

The root of it all, in vastly oversimplified terms, is that everyone is paid a "living wage." Which also means that while a manicurist may not make the same wage as a CEO, proportionally, there is not the same massive difference that there is in the US.  

In related news, one also does not tip. 

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

*Don't judge or think I'm spoiled.  I'm not, or if I am, it's only a little bit.  I was my very first Mother's Day, so my boys got me my very favorite thing.  It was the best present ever and I appreciated it like crazy.

*Go to XE, if you'd like to convert for yourself.

Breaking: Cheery People Spread Sunshine*

So a few days ago, TIME published both "Is Our Happiness Preordained?" as well as "Laugh and the World Laughs Too: Happiness is Contagious"

The stories (as perhaps indicated by their titles) are about two studies, one finding that happiness levels are genetic and the second finding that happiness is contagious. 

And really, I think the subject could have been served better with one story with two main points....

If you have the happy gene (you probably know by now) you're all set.  If not, just move or get happy friends. 

Also, I am pretty sure I could have broken that news to the researchers much more quickly as well as economically.

*Also, water is wet. 

Looking for "evidence"

I’ve gotten a few comments and emails wondering about my last post...

Why don’t I try to sway political opinion? 

(I will correct misconceptions and fact check the “interesting” emails, and answer attacks, but I will not send emails of my own and will only lecture when provoked.)

It's because I really believe in the right to choose your own, no matter how flawed I feel your logic is.

I also hold back because, at this point, it’s futile.

I am in no way saying that the next three weeks don't matter.  I absolutely think they do.  I absolutely think that the most vital thing to do right now is to continue to be vigilant. It's crucial to make sure that everyone gets to vote, that they register in time, then actually pull the lever or put their ballot in the mail.  

But as in swaying?  Right now, no matter what the polls say, there are only about three undecided American voters left. 

I know one of them. She’s been asking questions that I've been answering for her---using and quoting unbiased sources of information.  

And Husband, who also knows her well, is making a chart of each side’s position on the four main questions she has, the ones that really affect her life.

Everyone else? They’ve made their decisions.

For the most part, the Obama supporters just wait to cringe at another “ya’ know,” unintelligent inexperience, ethical misjudgment and the possibility of four more years of exactly the same.

And the McCain supporters just wait for more “evidence” that Obama is a terrorist, a Muslim extremist or worse--- black ---and the possibility of a freewheeling liberal country veering toward socialism.

But everyone is worried about the state of the country, the economy and maintaining or hopefully improving the state of their lives.

Right now, it’s getting tough and worrisome for almost everyone I know, and it’s touching us, too.

Really, it’s disappointing. 

And frankly, if Obama wins, the Republicans should be psyched. Sure they’ll have to deal with four years, but he’s going to be left with such a GIANT mess that soon people will not remember how this all happened.

And I worry that will be it…

And that will be the biggest shame. 

Obama has the potential to be great, not just a good man who will be a welcome contrast, but great.

I really hope he has the chance to try.

So vote.

Porn Berries

I'm not sure if I'm late to the game, or perhaps it's just me, but...

Is British tv chef person, Nigella Larson, kind of porn-y and overtly sexy, but in a slightly wholesome way?

(photo from Hollywood Grind, which is not a porn site, but sounds like one.)

I am flipping through the channels and she's having a dinner party.  She's totally boobalicious*, leaning into the camera, which is all on soft focus, as she's preparing the strawberry dessert...

(imagine a slightly throaty, calm and composed, posh British accent)

"MMMMMMM, the strawberries are just bulging over the sides, pulsing with flavor. MMMMMMM When we take the succulent berries into our mouth, they will explode with flavor..."

And that's just the part I paid attention to enough to scribble down.  

Then I just listened for a while in between snickers.  

It looked really good, though---but I am not sure whether to call Husband and ask him to come home early or to run to the grocery store for some porn-berries of my own. 

*Boobalicious is commonly defined as prominently displaying an amazing amount of cleavage, an amount so substantial and impressive that no one (male, female, gay or straight) can avert their eyes from without a fair amount of effort.

It Does Really Matter (or Please Don't Flip a Bird to the World)

In case you haven't been following the news, there's a US Presidential Election coming up.  

The US economy (which clearly spills over into the worldwide economy) is in dire straits.  It's likely that several Supreme Court seats will come open in the next few years.  We've got several "conflicts" going on around the world, not to mention several non-economic messes at home. 

And that's just speaking in generalities.  

Somewhere in the long, long list of issues the candidates are debating, there is at least one, if not many, that matters to you. 

Whether or not you think you've got a stake in that one issue, believe me, you do.

For instance: 

Maybe you don't have millions of dollars in the stock market, but perhaps you care about the rate you get for your next car loan. 

Maybe you are certain you'll never want or need an abortion, but perhaps you do care about your own right to privacy or have compassion for a victim of a crime.

Maybe you can afford groceries every week, but you really have your eye on a 40 foot schooner and are calculating whether or not your tax return will cover the sales tax.  

Pick your topic, however large or small.  The candidates have radically different plans and thoughts on everything.  The big plan initiatives will trickle down to affect your own life in myriad ways. 

Do your homework and see whose plans you actually agree with and trust.  Read their websites. Listen to them speak and hear what they say. 

(And don't think for a second think that the Vice-Presidential candidate doesn't matter. It does.) 

So vote. 

If you're not registered already, get on it.  

Some states' deadlines hit this Saturday, October 4. 

Both registering and voting are easy and painless.  If you're reading this right now, you have a computer, so click on the sites below.  

Don't trust the internets?  All counties have an office, staffed by real people who will help you. 

And voting, even easier...In some states you don't even have to stand in lines on Election Day in your local elementary school gym. You can vote early.  Perhaps you can even vote via absentee ballot.  

There is no reason not to vote.  

Not only is it convenient, more importantly, it's an amazing, and somewhat unique, right American citizens have. 

All around the world, there are millions of people who would love an election...Not to mention a free election, in which it's okay (and encouraged) to debate openly, then vote without fear of personal repercussion.  

We have the the ability to participate in choosing the direction and path in which our country,  and our own lives will follow. And frankly, much of what this president does will affect the rest of the world as well. 

By not voting, you're not only taking your own freedom for granted, you're also flipping a giant (and prolonged) bird to rest of the world. 

Also, if you're an American citizen and don't vote, please don't complain about the outcome. 

At least not to me.  

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Registration Deadlines begin this Saturday, October 4

Declare Yourself

Overseas Vote Foundation

Rock the Vote

2008 Absentee Voting Information for Americans Abroad

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NOTE:  And in case you don't read the comments, this what Erin wrote below...I thought it was important enough to pull up here....

Here here sister!

And for our foreign friends that just may have been BORN in the US, check out Vote From Abroad which will get you all set up to vote.

Don't worry, you wont be drafted, taxed, or treated any differently if you exercise your right to vote!

Now You Are As Smart As a Fifth Grader

While I like to tell where we've been, I also like to tell you where we are.

And recently, Husband and I worked on a Flat Matt project for our nephew Matt, who is in elementary school in California.

Flat Matt is an adaptation of a project called Flat Stanley, which begins with a somewhat sad and gruesome story.

Stanley was a little boy in elementary school whose parents were poor and couldn't send him to visit a friend. Stanley was disappointed but luckily for him (depending on how you look at it, I suppose) there was an accident in his classroom.

A chalkboard fell down on him and squashed him flat. But, as gruesome as the incident was, it also allowed his parents to laminate him, stuff him into an envelope and mail him off to Stanley's friend.

So though he was now flat, Stanley could visit his friend.

So now, elementary students from all over, smash themselves flat and mail them off to their friends and relatives in distant lands. The recipients take the flat versions of their young friend around their own town, take photos and assemble a project and mail it back.

Then the living, breathing, un-smashed versions have geography lessons from around the country and the world.

So this is what we sent back to California last week.

The version Matt and his classmates got was a booklet, so you'll just have to do with it in blog-form (and with a few details removed.)

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Flat Matt Goes to Scandinavia
Hanging with Uncle and Aunt Elizabeth
Stavanger, Norway

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Norway is the northernmost country in Europe, part of a group of four countries called Scandinavia*

Norway is not a very big country, but it is a long one. (If you took the tip and swung it around, you’d end up in Rome. Italy.)

Only about four million people live in the entire country.

About 118,000 people live in Stavanger. That is pretty close to the population of Flat_Matt's_town, but Stavanger is much farther north resting on about the same latitude as Anchorage, Alaska.

(*The other three are Denmark, Sweden and Finland.)

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Almost 10 days after the giant yellow envelope was posted from Flat_Matt's_town, it arrived in the Durel’s mailbox.

Because it had traveled more than 5,000 miles, it must be important. So Aunt Elizabeth took it around the corner and across the harbor, so it could be opened immediately by Uncle.


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Uncle works for a big company. They have offices all over the world.

This is his desk in his office building. His business believes that everyone should work in the same room so they can collaborate and get things done.

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The heart of Stavanger is the harbor. Years ago, Stavanger’s main industry was the ocean, but over the past few decades is know for the oil in the region. Its newest nickname is The Petroleum Capital.

The Harbor is often packed with ships of every size. Small rowboats and giant oil tankers are moored alongside each other almost every day.

Behind Uncle and Flat Matt is the view from Uncle’s office front door.

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Often when people think of Norway, they think of snow and cold, which is true of some parts of the country.

But because Stavanger is located on the southwest coast, the average temperature is about 40 degrees Fahrenheit and it rains about 220 days during the year.

Stavanger is so far north on the globe that during the winter, there are long dark days. In the summer, though, it is exactly opposite. There are long light days.

Because sunny days are so rare, when the sun is out, the people go out as well. So after work, Uncle took Flat Matt for a burger and a soda.

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The coastline of Norway looks jagged and torn. That’s because years and years ago, giant glaciers dug into the land, forming fjords (pronounced “feee-yords” in Norwegian).

So now, sometimes people use ferries to travel from town, so they do not have to drive all around the jagged countryside.
Behind Aunt Elizabeth* and Cousin Milo, you’ll see an oil truck driving into the front of a ferry on its way to Tau.

*Uncle had to go to work, so Aunt Elizabeth, who is a writer with schedule which is more loose, is helping out.

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A few days ago, Norway took the #2 spot on Save the Children’s list of best places to be a mom. (Sweden, one of the other Scandinavian countries, was #1.) Maybe one of the reasons is because moms can choose between so many statues when their kids want to climb and play.

These are two of the statues that seem to be about fairy tales.

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This is one of the statues which are all over town.

But look even more closely at the photo and you’ll notice the old cobblestone streets.

The cobblestones were laid down in the 18th and 19th centuries and now are only for pedestrians to walk on, not cars (unless the cars have taken a wrong turn.)

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Oddly enough, along with the fishing and the oil industry, the hair industry is very big here as well. (Frisør means “hairdresser”)

On almost every single block, there is a place to get your hair dyed or cut or blown out.

Frankly, Aunt Elizabeth is mystified as to how so many stay in business in a town this size, especially when it is so expensive to have the services done.

(Where is Flat Matt? Look closely and you may be able to spot him.)

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This is the Norwegian flag.

Because Norway is a fairly new country, the flag’s design is reminiscent of the other Scandinavian countries.

Norwegians are very patriotic and fly their flag at any time.

May 17th is their independence day, similar to the US 4th of July. It’s a very very big deal. People dress up in the national costume and march in parades.

There are also firm and serious rules about how to handle the flag. It must be folded a certain way and cannot be worn below the waist.

It can, though, be worn on the head.

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Norway is also known for its sweaters.

It can get cold and damp and sheep live here.

So Norwegians made very warm wool sweaters.

Originally sweaters were only black and white because those are sheep colors.

Sometimes fancy ones come in red.

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Trolls play a big role in Norwegian literature and folktales.

Occasionally they are kind, but mostly they are rotten and sometimes they live under bridges.

Often they have big noses and ears.

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Norway also has antelopes.

Not only do they make tasty steaks, but also warm headbands.

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Norwegians believe everyone living in the country should be equal.

This is at the harbor in the middle of town.

Look closely at the steps. Do you see the smaller ones?

When it was time to redo the steps several years ago, the designers thought about all the creatures that may need the steps. The smallest ones are for the ducks.

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Look at the giant statue next to Flat Matt. What do you think it is?

Many years ago, before they found out, Stavanger was a shipping and fishing town.

That giant statue is a silver shrimp.

Then look next to it, at the corner of the harbor. You’ll see just a bit of a house that looks like it has a metal triangle on top.

That is a fishmarket where townspeople buy loads of fresh shrimp that has just come off the ships.

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We spent most of the day lounging around the harbor on the sunny day.

The house behind Flat Matt are hundred of years old.

Now those buildings are restaurants and shops.

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Norway is very ecologically aware. There are separate waste containers for paper, plastic and general trash.

In many grocery stores, there are recycling machines.

Flat Matt is helping to recycle by feeding the bottles into the round opening. Once he’s finished feeding in all the bottles, he pushes the green button.

A slip of paper will come out of the slot, which is kind of like a coupon.

When he’s completed his grocery shopping, he can present the slip of paper to the check-out person who will subtract the amount of money on the slip from the total bill.

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When Uncle was done with work, Aunt Elizabeth and Flat Matt went to meet him.

They walked home, past the Stavanger Cathedral (this is the back door) which is the oldest cathedral in Norway.

It’s been around for more than 900 years.

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And then Flat Matt ended up, right where he began…

At Uncle and Aunt Elizabeth’s house.

Come back again, soon!

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(thanks Erin for taking some of the photos!)