Relax, nobody died

While this may look to our Western eyes like a funeral, it's not. These are congratulatory arrangements sent to our new Asian-Latin-American supermarket when it opened last week. The bank, the local liquor store, even the competition (albeit one located at safe distance) sent flowers. I feel bad because we didn't think to do it. All we did was spend money there.

When the moon hits your eyes...

Regular followers may recall my Moondance posting 3 years ago--almost to the day. We had a similar experience tonight on this side of the water. We went for a walk late under a gorgeous full moon. We didn't need flashlights, partly because we're now in a more urban area with more ambient light and partly because we went to the optometrist this afternoon and had our eyes dilated. Boy was it ever bright out! I feel like I now know what a cat sees.

Not exactly Marlon Brando

Overheard at the Starbucks yesterday: Four middle-aged motorcycle "hoodlums" preparing for a multiday ride into the mountains of Maryland and Pennsylvania. One was a banker, a fact that came out when the others started complaining about tight credit. One was excited because the company he and his wife own (it involves yarn) had just landed a half-million-dollar order from Macy's, which was going to increase their business by 30%. One was going to have to leave the ride a day early because he had something to do at home. The fourth one never said a word. Yarn guy also called his mother-in-law to apologize because his bike had torn up the yard when he tried to get it up a hill. Yarn guy was chatty.

A Distressing Realization

Day before yesterday I failed to smile at a pretty girl. That disturbs me because it means the Yankees may have finally beat me down.

For the benefit of our non-Southern readers--if readers we still have at all--I should explain that the Southern lady (and Southern men afford all women that status until they prove otherwise) considers it her sacred duty to smile at any man she passes in a public place. This she does simply to spread the joy of her particular loveliness. The Southern man grows up expecting, prepared for, these pleasant little encounters. So imagine my shock when we moved north (and don't kid yourself, Maryland; culturally you are the North) and ladies did not smile when we met. Once when I was out jogging, a lady--another exerciser no less--actually crossed to the other side of the street, where there was no sidewalk. presumably to avoid having to acknowledge my existence. I doubt it was because I exude masculine menace. I have a house full of females. You can smell the estrogen on me, fer cryin' out loud.

Anyways, it appears that I have been away from home long enough to have grown accustomed to not being smiled at by the ladies. In fact, I seem to have gone to the opposite extreme and now try to avoid eye contact, so as not to upset those of the gentler sex forced to share corridors or sidewalks or grocery store aisles with me. So when I met a pretty girl, whom I actually know, by the way, I was not prepared to smile. That depresses me.

I hate to do this to you, but...

I apparently don't hate it enough to not do it to you. Our rate of spam comments has been increasing, so I've turned on the word verification step for comments. I'm sorry. Blame those who don't know how to behave in polite society. Are you listening, Japanese pornographers?

My Personal War Against Chinese Products

Alternate title: reducing the trade deficit one item at a time.

Last night I went to Target to pick up a few items and found myself consciously choosing NOT to buy two items made in China. I've long been put off by reports of Chinese products that contain stuff that's bad for you, or even lethal. I've rejected kitchenware made in China for fear of potential lead poisoning. But up until last night I hadn't really decided to make a real effort to choose non-Chinese products as a matter of course. So I spent considerably more on a cosmetic item by selecting the American product (hey, it was Neutrogena - that's a no brainer) and got what are most likely superior, name-brand Irish-made toothbrush heads rather than the Target-brand item made in China.

We have disposable income, so it's easy for me to choose to spend more to not buy Chinese. Still, if everyone made just a little bit of an effort to consider alternatives, maybe together we could make a dent in that massive trade deficit.

One Year Ago

One year ago today we returned to the US from our almost three and a half years in Belgium.

With the passing of this year, we have adjusted to full-time life in the suburbs, although not always easily and not always happily. After the initial feeling of being no longer fully American but not really Belgian either - because although we'd assimilated really well, we are in fact not Belgian - we have settled into our former American-ness but with an appreciation for what we were privileged to experience in Europe.

We miss European cafes and Belgian coffee and Belgian chocolate, but despite Belgium's claim to some of the best beer in the world, we do have good microbrews in the US that satisfy us as well as Belgian beer.

Life was slower in Belgium, but also more frustrating at times as we had to learn to adjust our expectations to meet the reality of life there.

We miss the peacefulness and safety of walking along the canal, but we do not miss those big horseflies that inflicted such nasty bites.

We miss the cool summer weather but revel in being able to wear summer clothes and summer shoes during the summer months.

We miss the long, long summer days but do not miss the long, long winter nights that encroach upon the day in Belgium.

We can no longer say "We just got back from three years in Belgium" because we're no longer just back. So now we look back and smile at the wonderful memories and realize we would not have traded our time there for anything. We are back in the US, but we retain a part of Belgium in what we have lived and who we have become.

Maybe it's time to rename the blog to something like "Life After Belgium".