This is not ideal, I know...*

*For those of you who have read my dear friend Amanda's post, you'll find this one very familiar. It's not my intent to copy her idea (and I could never come close to the amazing writer she is), but many scenes in her life mirror my own since our husbands work in the same industry, and I thought I'd take this opportunity to get out the frustration I feel sometimes when we have to face days like this.

This is not ideal, I know.

And as he said it while standing in the kitchen that morning, he looked pretty defeated. And it probably didn't help things that I was pretty angry and frustrated. So we stood there, trying to smile and avoid the inevitable goodbye kiss that precedes a 9 hour day at work while I was at home trying to enjoy what was left of our holiday.

The mister and I promised each other that we would have a nice, relaxing holiday from Dec. 22nd until Jan 2nd. No work, no phones, just planning for family to arrive and organising our Christmas and spending some much needed time in each other's pockets. Hmm.

The best laid plans of mice and men...

What actually happened is that I ran around like crazy preparing the food for the 2-day feast that lay ahead of us, and the mister stayed until the wee hours at work every day until the 24th, working on a new business pitch. We then had 5 frenzied days with family visiting, and then on the 29th (yesterday), he got up at 7:30am to go into work again, and stayed until the evening. We were planning on potentially taking a few days out of the country to spend some time together, but he had to go into work again today. So New Years Eve will have to be planned at the last minute.

This year he's worked so hard and has missed birthdays, trips, etc. And to be fair, I can't be angry. Because this is what his job is, and he's good at it. And perversely, the powers that be reward him for sacrificing his entire life to prove his commitment to the agency. And as much as it aches that he can't spend time just relaxing with me in bed and is shut into a white cube during the brisk sunny days of winter here, I'm fiercely proud of him for keeping it together and just trying to do his best and ride out this recession for the both of us. In an attempt to hold together what's left of our frayed sanity, we have to remind ourselves that every day is always a new adventure and a new challenge for us. So, really, the only thing we can do to survive this hurricane of chaos is just to smile and think of the future that lies waiting for us on the other side of tomorrow.

This morning as I lay in bed and smell the cologne that lingers on my t-shirt after he kissed me, I promised myself that I would just enjoy today and take in as much sunshine as possible. I slowly shuffled into the kitchen and noticed a piece of paper lying next to his now cold half-drunk cup of coffee. The piece of paper had a little smiley-faced self-portrait of him on it, and in his impeccably neat handwriting, the note:

I'm sorry I had to work today, but I hope you have a peaceful day my angel. I'll see you later. I love you. xxx

It's days like today that make me remind myself of how lucky I am that my best friend remembers to make me smile. Even through the rough stuff.

Are women that complicated to shop for?

Okay, you'll have to give me ideas about what you want, I'm going shopping on the 23rd.

Well... umm.. I don't really need anything.

I have some ideas, but do you want anything specific? Something other than your annual request for sparkly jewellery?

Well, I want something that I can keep. Something that will give me memories. Not an experience like bungee jumping. Something that maybe you've made, or something that I can keep with me.

Uh.. yeah..hmmm. Okay.

The answer to the title question from the man's point of view? A resounding YES.

I've already gotten about 5 little gifts for the mister, and am in the process of making a card for him (I do that every year, it's my little craft project ritual). While doing that, I've managed to start making food for the 2 Christmas dinners we're going to cook, I've sent out all 40 of our Christmas cards this year, I've wrapped all of our Christmas presents, balanced our UK and US accounts, and I've battled a horrendous bout of sickness. And yes, I work every day until 6pm, and no, I do not rely on pharmaceuticals for help.

No, I'm not nearly as gifted as you out there that have a few children under your feet. But I'm just sayin'.

Yes, to be fair, the mister has had a horrible amount of work to do that keeps him in the office until about 1am every night, and on top of that because he's faced with the prospect of working over Christmas, he's been out with colleagues until early in the morning very often getting drunk (I love the mister very much, but this British version of therapy gets on my nerves a bit).

So, has he had time to even consider that Christmas is on the doorstep? Not really.

I realise that Christmas isn't a time for presents, it's a time for reflection on family, friends, and excitement for the New Year. It's a time of togetherness. To be honest, my Christmas list doesn't consist of things, really. Maybe the odd book.. but what I really want is time. Time with my handsome man.

Life goes by in such a blink and what I'm enjoying most right now is trying to grab the moments in between. The stolen kisses under the covers before our respective work days start. The quick "goodnight"s before I drift off to sleep in the nook of his shoulder while he reads a book. The affectionate pat on the bum when he passes me in the hallway. The exhausted hugs after 2 days of being tense and angry. The hand that reaches over to mine in the car.

Those are my Christmas presents. Those are the gifts I remember to cherish.

That, and maybe a pair of diamond earrings or a Leica camera?

I'm just sayin'.

Not giving our bodies enough credit.

The past two weeks, I've had what could only be described as a dry, tickly, highly annoying cough. The one where you hear it too often on the bus and you end up giving someone the fish-eye. And I'm not even a smoker anymore, so who the hell knows where I got it from.

And then last Friday, it abruptly morphed into something that made me thisclose to calling a local priest and having him shout at me "the power of Christ compels you!"

I was sneezing, chilly, hot, sweaty, coughing up gross things, losing my voice, you name it. It wasn't the flu, though, I know myself pretty well. So I shuffled off to the doctor on Monday morning and had him check me out, silently praying to God that he would reach for loads of antibiotics so that I could remain in a stupor drooling in front of my Lara Croft playstation game for 3 days. Not so.

You see, doctors here are much different. In the US, you grow up with knowledge that if you're sick, you see a doctor for drugs. There are many different variations on this theme, but in general, this is what it boils down to. Doctors are always likely to throw some pretty, flourescent-coloured drugs at you and even give you free samples of stuff you don't need, just in case. This is probably because doctors are incentivized by pharmaceutical companies to do so. More drugs = more money= everyone in the medical profession is happy, and can buy themselves another limited edition Ferrari.

Luckily, I was brought up to not always believe doctors 100%, and to always know my body, how it works, to read about medicines and their effects, and to always question things (Mamo was a supervisor at Sloan-Kettering in New York, and she witnessed some horror stories). Now, I'm not a total granola-chick, but I do think that there are some things that we can do ourselves, rather than rely on a quick fix, because once you do that, after a while, the body just uses it as a crutch and becomes immune to the effects, and you'll need stronger doses of whatever you were taking originally. The mister is now used to me saying "listen to your body. if you're tired, don't use a sleeping pill, take a calcium/vitamin D and magnesium with some warm milk. The tryptophan in the milk will calm you down and the magnesium and calcium will help the restlessness in your legs...if you're tired and need a pick me up, eat something with Vitamin B in it.." Yes, for us, these things work like magic, it's amazing.

Anyway, I'm pretty good at using natural remedies for things, but this beast sitting in my head and chest would not go away, so I decided to look for the white coats. Plus, I was concerned because I had serious pneumonia twice in my life and I really didn't want to go through that again.

The NHS here is pretty great- very organised, very honest, and free. Some of the state tax that we pay here goes into making sure that you're taken care of. You have the option of paying for "private" medical care (which is the equivalent of you taking $600/month out of your salary in the US to pay for general health care), but if you don't, you're still fine. It's a good feeling.

I went into my doctor's office and in between fits of coughing, I explained to him what I had. He listened to my lungs, felt my glands, looked at my throat, took my temperature, etc. And he said, work for word:

There's nothing wrong with you other than the fact you have a bad cold and a bit of sinus congestion. Plus, you're tired. You just need to rest, steam your face over a pot of boiling water with some eucalyptus, and have some chicken soup.

Umm...if this were in the US, I wouldn't have been in the office for more than 10 minutes before my doctor would've prescribed me an antibiotic, given me some cough suppressant, given me a cough expectorant*, and handed me a handful of samples for a revolutionary antidepressant that just came on the market, for good measure.
*I'm not kidding, this actually happened to the mister- my doctor that I used to have (an NYU physician with a great record) gave my mister once for his cough- both a cough suppressant, AND an expectorant (one to stop the cough, one to remove the phlegm) to take at the same time. When I saw what he gave him, I immediately threw them both in the trash and helped him get better MY way. Ridiculous.

Well, after I asked this doctor if he's sure, he said just ride it out. Let your body build up its defenses against stuff like this. You don't need a flu shot, no one does. But everyone is so scared to get sick, they don't let their bodies build themselves up on their own.

I left there feeling a tiny bit skeptical, but really energised. And I came home and made chicken soup from scratch, and huddled under a blanket watching movies like Atonement, surrounded by snotty tissues. Two days of that, and I'm sat here almost back to normal, with colour back in my cheeks.

I keep forgetting the lesson that my body tries to teach me sometimes: it's okay to take a break. It's okay to rest. Your job isn't going to fall apart just because you took two days to heal. And when I do let it repair itself, it does. Our bodies are amazing machines that I think a lot of us take for granted. We're made from pretty solid stuff, and I'm happy that I was reminded of that the other day.

Now, my question is... what are the healing properties of chocolate and Gin & Tonics, pray tell...

Countdown has begun

Oh, Christmas. What a great time of year. During the weeks leading up to it, I always feel like things get a little more special. A little more magical. A little more serene and forgiving. Even in the most crowded of department stores, I actually don't feel like murdering the girl who dug her stiletto into my foot.

This is my second Christmas here in London, and it feels amazing. My first Christmas was also fantastic, but it still felt a bit new and unsettled. This time it feels like home.

My parents are coming up for the holidays, so it'll be their first Christmas over here in the UK. I haven't seen them since April of this year, and the reunion will be so precious. Plus, we've decided to pull out all the stops and cook a traditional Ukrainian feast on the 24th, and then a traditional British lunch on the 25th. Two days of cooking where one day happens to be all these complicated Ukrainian dishes from scratch? Yeah, I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

Just a little information to help you: Christmas lunch in the UK is sort of like America's Thanksgiving- a big bird, lots of veg, loads of wine, wrapped presents called "crackers" that you pull apart and reveal surprises, and then lots of amazing cheeses, biscuits, coffee, etc. It takes a bit of time to prepare, but it's not too bad. And the mister is an amazing cook, so he and I get things sorted quite well.

Now, for the Ukrainians, Christmas (which is actually on the 7th of January, traditionally) is a much more protracted (and meatless) affair. Why meatless? Because traditionally, Ukrainians were said to believe that the farm animals needed one day off a year, so it was therefore frowned upon to eat meat or eggs.

The dinner consists of a total of 12 courses, one for each of Jesus' disciples. No, I will not be attempting to cook all of them.

When Babchya was growing up, she told me that the evening started off with caroling, in about 2 feet of snow. Then, she and her 5 siblings would go back home and wait for the village priest to come by and make a blessing. He would take hay that has been formed into the shape of a man (called a Diduxh- pronounced deeDOOXKH) and bring it three times into the house to bless the house. Then he would place it in the corner of the house by the religious icons. After that blessing, the dinner can begin.

The dinner starts with a prayer, and then while everyone is standing, dry cubes of bread soaked in honey are passed around- from oldest family member to youngest. The bread represents a version of communion. Then, everyone sits down and the first dish that is eaten is called Kutya (it represents the sweetness and richness of Ukraine's land). Kutya is a wheat berry dish with poppy seeds, walnut pieces, dates and honey. The head of the household also takes a spoonful of this and throws it onto the ceiling of the house and if the kutya sticks, then it means that the harvest will be good that year. I can't imagine what 5 years' worth of kutya buildup does to your walls..

After that, comes Borscht (beet soup). This soup is SO delicious, and it usually accompanied with a dollop of sour cream in the middle and a nice crusty piece of bread.

Next we have 2 types of fish dishes (and if you ever forget which goes first, the soup or the fish, we remind ourselves by saying that the soup goes first, so that the fish have something to swim in...): fish in aspic, and white fish in a vegetable/tomato sauce.

After that, come the Pyrohy (Pierogies, as some people pronounce it). It's pretty common to see them around now, but for those of you who don't know, Pyrohy are like Eastern European dumplings. They're shaped in a crescent moon shape, and are filled with either mashed potato and onion, or sauteed sauerkraut and onion, or mushroom and onion. You boil them and serve them with some sour cream (yes, Ukrainians have a habit of drowning things in sour cream). What's really great about these things is that when you have leftovers, the next day you get to fry them up in some butter for breakfast- they're even better on the second day. Yum.

After that, you'll have to unbutton your jeans- because there's more.

Now we have Holubtsi. Holubtsi are boiled cabbage leaves that are stuffed with a rice/mushroom/onion mixture, and covered with a delicious mushroom gravy.

Everything after that is a bit of a blur, because growing up, I remember waiting impatiently for dessert (poppy seed bread, sugared walnut butter cookies, honey walnut bread...mmmm) and then waiting even more impatiently for the adults at the table to finish their drinks and their coffees already so I could launch myself at the presents.

So, how will I attempt all of this? Well, I'll attempt to pre-make certain things the night before, and then when my parents arrive, the mister will take Tato to the pub and get him out of the house and Mamo will help me prepare dinner, so I won't be doing this all by myself. I am amazed that when Babchya had her own family and friends would arrive, she would end up cooking this kind of dinner for 20 people!! All from scratch! I can barely make it through cooking for just the mister and I, so I'm sincerely hoping it'll turn out okay.

But hey, it's the magic of Christmas- even a burnt meal would be special (yes, I'm trying to prepare myself for the worst).

Anyway, here's to Christmas. Lots of food and wine and hugs and togetherness.

Maudlin. Thanks, my dear friend.

The mister and I went to a dinner last night and saw two of our closest friends on the planet. We ate, drank lots of wine, and talked about our lives, our futures, our dreams. For one of these men, life has opened a new chapter, as his wife has just had a baby, and celebrations were in order. For the other of these men (who actually was the person that first brought the mister into my life), life seems to be becoming more adventurous and more amazingly exciting. Both of these men we love dearly, and couldn't imagine life without them.

At some point in the evening, there was a comment made about my blog. It was described as being "maudlin". And the mister, without skipping a beat, nodded his head and said "yep. a little bit glass half empty."

And for once, I actually stopped to have a think about how I write. I love to write, and I've gotten loads of lovely feedback from people who have always loved my writing and continue to follow my stories (thank you so much). But to have people echo the same feeling every now and again made me self-indulgently introspective today.

I used to be offended when people would say to me "Oh, your face always looks a bit melancholy. It's in your eyes- they have this unknown sadness to them" or "Are you okay? You seem pissed off or a bit sad". I used to battle against this perception and try to explain to people that no, I'm NOT sad, I just happen to have that kind of face. No, I DON'T see the world as glass half-empty, I would rather just see it as a glass of something yummy. No, just because I am NOT smiling doesn't mean that I'm dwelling on something.

I stopped knee-jerk defending myself a long time ago, and last night, my gut reaction to the comment that I seem a bit "maudlin" surprised me. Because I felt for once like I didn't get defensive, and that I could actually articulate how I feel about that perception.

Being Ukrainian, I sometimes feel like I was born with this very very latent, very subtle melancholy hidden in the depths of my DNA. It's not unhappiness, it's not sadness, it's not discontent or depression. It's a very beautiful melancholy. It's as if my life were scored in the key of D Minor. And the things I love, the things I react to, are a bit related to that. I love Gorecki's music. I am obsessed by the contradictions of dark and light in the music of Sigur Ros (this song was my wedding processional and still makes me cry). I adore Shakespearean dramas about love and loss. I love the contradiction I feel when I sing a happy aria, but that the subject matter makes me burst into tears. I love the poem "Because I could not stop for Death". One of my favourite lullabies that Mamo used to sing to me is all in a minor key (it's a love story about a King, Queen and Prince. They get eaten by a cat, dog, and mouse, but it turns out in the end that the people were all made of cookie dough and sugar, so it was okay because they were treats for the animals). Yep, don't adjust your glasses: it's a lullabye about death that is actually sweet and comforting.

Our wedding was in this black church in the middle of a lava field in Iceland, and it was something out of Wuthering Heights. The sky was partly pale blue, partly dove grey, and really blustery. And when the doors opened and I walked towards the church as the processional music swelled, my dress was dramatically blown to the side and looked like a grey, green and black cloud. It. Was. Perfect. And yes, on the happiest day of my life, there was that bit of romantic melancholy- and flatteringly, people said it made an indelible impression.

Have you ever heard the Carol of the Bells? Yes, that's Ukrainian. And it's a very beautiful song about a bird that flies around telling everyone through her song about how joyous the holiday season is (it wasn't translated correctly for the English version). And you know what? A lot of that is in a minor key.

What I'm saying is, I am definitely not a morbid person, and I never have been. I'm happier than I ever have been in my life, and I am blessed with so much. But there is a luxurious and delicious quality about melancholy. It's like this romantic, poetic blanket that I like wrapping myself up in sometimes, and relishing what that moment brings. It actually enhances the creative part of my brain, and I end up writing, painting and dreaming. Happiness and contentment is a blessing, but there is also a hidden magic in exploring the other side.

I like the fact that I am as completely comfortable talking about death and tragedy as I am about love stories and happy endings. I get curious about things that society says we "shouldn't" know about. Some people find it uncomfortable to talk about those things because they're somehow afraid it will make them sad or frightened. For myself, I've never felt that. I've always been curious about the world and have questioned everything. I like how it feels. If I've ever sounded negative or low in my blog, it's only because I think it's healthy to explore those feelings to get them out of your system. I recognise them and then I move on.

I'm not saying that all Ukrainians or Eastern Europeans are like this, but a lot of us are. It's in our blood. And I feel so lucky that I get to be a part of that. It feels like a sparkling little secret that I will always carry with me, and hope to someday pass on to our children.

So, if you think I sound a bit melancholy, or you think there is something behind my eyes that you can't place your finger on, thank you for recognising that. That's just one of the many pages of the Book of Myshka.

And as far as glass being half empty, well, it just means that I'm pacing my drinking, and savouring every single drop of what I've been given.

Is it just me, or has the world changed a lot (or am I just getting older)?

This may sound like me standing on my soap-box and delivering a judgement, but it's not. I promise, it's just an observation.

The other day, the mister sent me a link to look at Sweemo (Sweet Moments). Apparently, this site lets you bid on having a "second life" and pay for an experience like swimming with the sharks, or going backstage at a gig, etc. It has a lot of info on the site and is very confusing, and you don't even know the people and the companies you're bidding on. Huh?

You know, maybe this is just lately, but I feel like people drown themselves in the virtual seas of Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Sweemo, Second Life... the list goes on and on. I understand that some of these social tools are good to keep in touch with family and friends, but some people seem to live their entire life online. Not with real people, real family, real friends, or just real experiences. They just lose themselves in the blue glow of their computer.

So, my question is this: Have people completely lost the urge to just go out and explore this world? What happened to all of the adventurers out there?

Yes, there are responsibilities of jobs and families, but if you're spending 8 hours on the Internet looking at experiencing a second life, shouldn't you use that time to plan an adventure of your own? Or if you have a partner, plan something amazing with them? Or your family?

I remember what life was like before the Internet. I was blessed to have a great childhood, as did my friends. I played kickball in the street in the summer, and I didn't know what a cell phone was. We didn't have You Tube, so we were blissfully spared videos of 16 year old girls beating the shit out of each other, or videos of people committing suicide. I had books that I read until they fell apart, not books online that kids can access now. I liked going to the library and being surrounded by that musty old-paper smell. I did have a computer- it was a Tandy 2000TX, and the printer printed out grey text off the screen that nowadays would look like aliens had transmitted it. And I actually spoke to people on the rotary-dial phone, rather than sending texts to my friends like "C U L8R, LOL".

Nowadays, I see kids as young as 8 carrying cell phones so that when they "go out" with their friends, they can call their parents. I'm torn as to whether that's good or bad. And really, whether 8 year olds should be hanging out with their friends without adult supervision. I see girls that are 7 years old that complain about the calories in a cupcake, and I hear 12 year olds talk about oral sex.

All of you out there that are parents must be torn, and you deserve a medal, each and every one of you, for being brave enough to tackle this world with your little one in it. I am truly astounded. Some day the mister and I will decide that we'll join your club and probably end up worrying about the exact same things, but in the meantime, I'll sit back in my quiet corner and make my silly observations.

Let's keep making our own adventures. And here's hoping that this fast-paced modern world won't result in our children's children talking about oral sex when they're 5.

I'm going to rant a bit. Because I'm worth it. Sort of like L'Oreal.

I'm feeling quite low and negative at the moment. Well, actually, just today really. I've been fighting a cold for a couple weeks, fighting the urge to smoke (yes, stress makes me crave it), fighting the stress that comes along with dealing with the current economic climate, fighting the urge to spend money on fabulous things (I've been a non-shopper going on 4 months now!), fighting the urge to worry if our jobs are safe.

While I've been fighting all this and keeping positive, I have been the housewife, the banker, the cook, the cleaner, the grocery shopper and the all-around Wonder Woman. And yes, I'm thinking what you're thinking:

She'd look really hot in that satin outfit with those gold bracelets.

The mister has been busy with his work battles and parties, so I've been picking up the pieces around us and getting us organised for Christmas.

And my body has thanked me in the only way it knows how: by shutting down my immune system and making me sick and weepy and feeling sorry for myself.

As I'm writing this, I feel like there are white blood cells scattered on a battlefield gasping for air while the little germ beasties are standing over them with sword held high, victorious. You see, the last time I got sick was.. hang on.. I think it was a year ago, so I'm not used to feeling like this. Plus, I hate that I cannot snap my fingers and fix it immediately, so I end up pushing myself even harder, and wonder of wonders, making myself even worse.

But anyway, I'm sick. And tired. And fed up with being negative. And fed up with being stressed. And it all came crashing down on me today.

And to top that off, Christmas party season in the UK is a nightmare, because I end up worried if the mister will be ok with so many late nights/early mornings of letting his hair down.. It's not a pretty sight (I know, because I've been there myself a bit).

So today, for once in a very long time, I feel like my spirit is a bit broken and needs MacGuyver-like mending.

I need hugs. I need kisses. I need someone to stroke my head and tell me that all of this will pass soon and normality will set in. I need someone to take care of me and not expect me to be fierce and fabulous and fun every day all day.

Even Wonder Woman's bracelets get dented from all those bullets hitting them, you know?

We did it. And I can safely say that America will slowly make me proud again.

I am at a loss for words at how amazing last night was. The mister and I were glued to the televison until 4am UK time, watching all of election drama unfold. And we woke up the next morning to a changed world. Obviously he isn't the oracle that is going to snap his fingers and change the world overnight, but he is a human being, a flawed human as we all are, that will help America be a better place. A different place. A hopeful country that will slowly try and change the world's opinion about it. And that makes me proud.

And here's a little message from Michael Moore:

Friends, Who among us is not at a loss for words? Tears pour out. Tears of joy. Tears of relief. A stunning, whopping landslide of hope in a time of deep despair.

In a nation that was founded on genocide and then built on the backs of slaves, it was an unexpected moment, shocking in its simplicity: Barack Obama, a good man, a black man, said he would bring change to Washington, and the majority of the country liked that idea. The racists were present throughout the campaign and in the voting booth.

But they are no longer the majority, and we will see their flame of hate fizzle out in our lifetime. There was another important "first" last night. Never before in our history has an avowed anti-war candidate been elected president during a time of war. I hope President-elect Obama remembers that as he considers expanding the war in Afghanistan. The faith we now have will be lost if he forgets the main issue on which he beat his fellow Dems in the primaries and then a great war hero in the general election: The people of America are tired of war. Sick and tired.

And their voice was loud and clear yesterday.

It's been an inexcusable 44 years since a Democrat running for president has received even just 51% of the vote. That's because most Americans haven't really liked the Democrats. They see them as rarely having the guts to get the job done or stand up for the working people they say they support. Well, here's their chance. It has been handed to them, via the voting public, in the form of a man who is not a party hack, not a set-for-life Beltway bureaucrat. Will he now become one of them, or will he force them to be more like him? We pray for the latter.

But today we celebrate this triumph of decency over personal attack, of peace over war, of intelligence over a belief that Adam and Eve rode around on dinosaurs just 6,000 years ago. What will it be like to have a smart president? Science, banished for eight years, will return. Imagine supporting our country's greatest minds as they seek to cure illness, discover new forms of energy, and work to save the planet. I know, pinch me. We may, just possibly, also see a time of refreshing openness, enlightenment and creativity. The arts and the artists will not be seen as the enemy. Perhaps art will be explored in order to discover the greater truths. When FDR was ushered in with his landslide in 1932, what followed was Frank Capra and Preston Sturgis, Woody Guthrie and John Steinbeck, Dorothea Lange and Orson Welles.

All week long I have been inundated with media asking me, "gee, Mike, what will you do now that Bush is gone?"

Are they kidding?

What will it be like to work and create in an environment that nurtures and supports film and the arts, science and invention, and the freedom to be whatever you want to be? Watch a thousand flowers bloom! We've entered a new era, and if I could sum up our collective first thought of this new era, it is this: Anything Is Possible. An African American has been elected President of the United States! Anything is possible! We can wrestle our economy out of the hands of the reckless rich and return it to the people. Anything is possible! Every citizen can be guaranteed health care. Anything is possible! We can stop melting the polar ice caps. Anything is possible! Those who have committed war crimes will be brought to justice. Anything is possible.

We really don't have much time. There is big work to do. But this is the week for all of us to revel in this great moment. Be humble about it. Do not treat the Republicans in your life the way they have treated you the past eight years. Show them the grace and goodness that Barack Obama exuded throughout the campaign. Though called every name in the book, he refused to lower himself to the gutter and sling the mud back.

Can we follow his example? I know, it will be hard. I want to thank everyone who gave of their time and resources to make this victory happen. It's been a long road, and huge damage has been done to this great country, not to mention to many of you who have lost your jobs, gone bankrupt from medical bills, or suffered through a loved one being shipped off to Iraq. We will now work to repair this damage, and it won't be easy. But what a way to start! Barack Hussein Obama, the 44th President of the United States.

Wow. Seriously, wow.

One more day. One more day until change happens.

Last night, I sat down to paint my nails. Feeling really adventurous, I started choosing from a variety of possible colours: blood red, black, cherry red, white, burnt orange, sea blue or midnight blue.

As my nails are short, I figured I could get away with wearing a vampy colour, so I chose midnight blue.

And I'm keeping it on. Why? Because I realised the election is tomorrow, and it might be a fun good luck charm.

You may think this strange and superstitious, but I'm realising that globally, this is the extent (in one way or another) to which people are getting feverishly involved in the election. It has become a captivating race, filled with crazy people slashing their faces with letters in an attempt to fabricate stories about the opposition, inspirational 30 minute infomercials, the very first nomination acceptance speech (since Kennedy), Obama campaign advertisements in video games, more younger people than ever registering to vote... the list goes on.

I am thrilled to be part of a huge potential change in the American government in my lifetime. If a man can be voted into office that will try and change the way people think, the way the country is governed, the world's perception of America... it would mean slowly waking up to a new way of living. A new perspective. A new day for our children and our children's children. Incremental changes now will mean huge changes for the future.

Vote for change.

My very scary Halloween

Halloween.

You would think that dressing up as witches and princesses and trick-or-treating for candy would end at around.. umm...15. Well, at least that's what it did for me anyway.

I'm realising that this day is actually kind of important for most people. Why? Nothing religious or pagan or anything.. but I'm realising that a lot of people like celebrating it because their inner child comes out. Their hidden playmate. The excuse to be silly and dress up and wear black nail polish and let loose. It's a good way to spend the evening watching scary movies with your girlfriends or being silly with your guy friends and pretend that you're 10 again.

The day is less of a big deal over here in the UK than it is in America, but all the same, people get their outfits on. What was I? Well, for about 4 years running, I was a vampire. I have no idea why, I've just always loved vampires. I did the whole shebang: black satin cape with red lining, black trousers and black turtleneck, hair slicked back, face painted the requisite "undead white", and blood dripping down the corners of my mouth. And the fangs. OH the fangs. They looked cool for about 20 minutes, but after a while, I had to chuck them out, because I was drooling so much I might have been mistaken for someone who escaped the psycho ward.

I think I was a clown one year as well, complete with rainbow afro.

The last time I got dressed up was probably 5 years ago back in New York, for a friend's party. I think I dressed up like an 80s fashion victim. Yeah, I know, really original.



*note..this is NOT a real pic of me from the 80s- it's a program that I found online that lets you take a pic of yourself and insert it into a yearbook picture from the 50s. 60s, 70s, 80s or 90s. www.yearbookyourself.com


Today? Well, I had hoped that the mister and I could stay at home and watch scary movies, but he's out with his boys, and since every single one of my girlfriends here has kids, I'm short on company.

So tonight, it will probably end up being me, some wine, and a Sex and the City marathon. Now I think THAT is much scarier than a bunch of ghosts and goblins.

And hey, I can always dress up, but the neighbours might get a bit freaked out.

Getting close (possibly to the Apocalypse)

Whatever your political predilections are, everyone seems to have an opinion lately. This is the most highly charged presidential race I have ever seen, and it's really exciting to see the Facebook generation doing their part. As an American now living in London, I have an interesting perspective on all of this, and it's nice to view things from afar. But apologies in advance if I'm going to offend anyone, it's not my intention. These are just my personal thoughts and opinions, and I feel like I need to get some things off my chest.

As we watch this Shakespearean drama unfold, it concerns me more and more that this country doesn't seem to have any concept of moral responsibility. I don't understand why, when Obama talks about "redistributing wealth" so that the people on the bottom can benefit, people start freaking and calling him a socialist. Ummm... AND? Since when did socialism (i.e having a social consciousness about the plight of others in the same country you live in) become a bad thing? Wow, I didn't know we were back in the Reagan Red Scare years?

I am sick and tired of people electing officials because they tell them they're able to protect their wealth, they don't have to get taxed, and let them keep their gun. So every one's safe and sound in their little padded rooms and don't really care if a country goes to war on a lie. As long as they get to keep their gun. Those people end up not giving a shit about the people on the bottom rung of the ladder who can't afford health insurance and who have to live on food stamps. The might as well walk around wearing a t-shirt that says "Hey, I'm rich and you're not. You're not my problem." Fucking greedy that country is. And I know, because I was brainwashed into thinking that for a long time.

When the cops were assholes or the country went to war, or I had to pay through the nose for my health insurance and I still didn't get what I needed without paying extra, you know what I said?? "oh well. Welcome to America.." And finally, the mister had to slap some sense into me and say to me "Wake up. This is NOT ok to feel like this. NO one speaks up in this country".

And he's right. The country is so large, that people feel like they can't be heard. The country is too big to be run by one person. And for that one person to be a Republican cokehead hick that has a penchant for modern colonization? Even worse.

The US, as amazing as it is, if it doesn't change its habits, is going right in the shitter. It has GOT to get out of the grips of the neanderthal idiots who have a death-grip on their cash and their guns, and has to get back to civilization before greed destroys it completely. Wake up realise that there is a bigger world out there and that people need to help each other out rather than get their fat heads stuck inside their honeypots. Please share.

And here's a lovely epic missive from one of my favourite comedians.

A year. A year has gone by. WHAT?!?!!!

The mister and I have been here over a year now. Amazing, how the time disappears into some kind of void. I look back at all the chaos that's happened... I quit smoking. I joined a gym. We moved house (twice).We're about to move again. We bought a car. We bought a boat. I had a job. I lost a job. I partied heavily (not as a result of all this, just because so many people here do.). I bought too many shoes.

I think I've made my point. And yet, I still have so many stories ahead of me, so many that are developing, so many layers to these stories. So, to be brief, I'll just make a list.

Here are the things that I've observed along the way:

The British really, truly, cannot walk without crashing into people- I suspect that it's some of some kind of depth-perception disorder.

The food here is amazing- so much so, that due to a lack of additives and sugar in their food, I have successfully avoided sensitive teeth and cavities (which has always been a problem for me).

I've gotten used to the weather- and my complexion has gotten better as a result of not being fried by the sun. It also makes me appreciate sunny days much more. They're like gold dust.

The party scene is a bit too much for me, and I finally feel that it's not boring and nerdy to say that, and it's okay to go home at 11.

I live in a country with historic castles and 16th century churches right on my doorstep, and I've found the magic in that.

Figuring out roads and addresses wasn't that much harder than the NYC grid system.

Girls here start idealizing, at a young age: orange tan, pancake makeup and fake boobs. Though I'm sure the opposite sex wouldn't complain about the boobs.

The cobblestones, bumps in the pavement, ridges in the road are a nightmare for any heel height. Flats are necessary.

Scarves are a must. Actually, let me rephrase that: anything that is a light layer that you can take on or take off, as well as an umbrella and gloves, are MUSTS for this schizophrenic weather.

People take many more risks with fashion here, which makes it an amazing country to people-watch.

The GAP is fantastic over here for cheap, but well-cut and flattering styles. WAY different than in the US.

Having a car is almost a necessity- central London can feel really claustrophobic sometimes, and it's heaven to be able to escape to the country for the weekend.

Everything is expensive here, and it's easy to spend too much money.

Pubs are lovely, cozy little corners to hide in on a rainy evening, and no one pushes you out if you've been there for 4 hours.

A mews house is my dream to own someday. Like the real estate equivalent of a box of chocolates.

People tend to keep themselves in their own circle of friends- it's hard to be included, even if you're the spouse.

People work hard here, but they play even harder, in order to "de-stress" for killing themselves at work.

Men here are interesting to watch: they tend to "work" their politeness/shyness and know that it intrigues women if they're not too forward, which, as a result, makes them seem charming and a bit naughty. They know exactly what they're doing, even if they profess not to.

Women, on the other hand, are much more forward here, they tend to drink with the boys a lot more, and seem to flirt much more openly.

I've noticed that I stand out here: I'm tall, bony, I dress in stripes and leggings, hair in a ponytail, very tomboyish. And with the amount of estrogen that these women are throwing around, I actually like that I'm the nerdy girl on the outside looking in sometimes.

I miss my family so much, and the distance makes me take them for granted a lot less.

It DID take me over a full year to feel like I finally fit in and be my own, independent, self-confident self. And that's pretty great.

Wishes

I have a very lucky life, I have my health, I have people who love me, and I try to be a good person. That being said, I still have wishes for my future, for the world's future, for my family's future. And today is the day that I am taking a little liberty of releasing them into the universe.

I wish and hope...

That I always giggle like a 5-year old.
That I never take for granted the love notes that my mister leaves me under my pillow.
That I try and see the forest instead of the trees more.
That I get to see my children's children.
That kids stop knifing each other for no reason.
That Babchya gets to be a great grandmother someday.
That my parents-in-law finally get a well deserved break from their chaotic magazine duties.
That people wake up and realise that they need to get involved in the fate of their country and VOTE.
That our children's children still have a semblance of a natural world to exist in.
That I always make time to play rock music and dance around in my underwear whilst singing into my hairbrush.
That I learn to forgive myself more.
That I keep reminding myself that it's okay to make mistakes.
That I make time for lunch.
That learn to slow down and take in every day magic.
That all the people in my life know how very much I love them.
That I'm always thankful for my beautiful life, my amazing husband and my delicious family. They are the presents that I get to have every day.

Philosophical perspectives (aided by Dutch beer)

We're back from a lovely holiday on our sailboat.

Yes, you read that right. Our sailboat.

You see, in the process of all of this job change, financial stress and chaotic move-or-not to move worry, we were also in the process of buying our first boat. It's been in the works for quite a while, as we're both avid sailors, but it was just put into place the day we left for Holland, which is where she's berthed.

So our two weeks of constant bliss consisted of: water, boat, beer, sunshine, listening to the radio and playing fierce games of Backgammon. I cannot begin to explain how your perspectives change when you don't have a computer to sit in front of, no Blackberry to sprain your thumbs on, no phones to answer. All I did was listen to the sails flap in the wind. Listen to my footsteps on the pontoon at night when I walked into the marina for a hot shower. All I brought with me was a pair of jeans that I wore almost every day, some t-shirts, and a backpack. The mister and I found ourselves laughing a lot more, taking more pictures, having more discussions.

But it was all lumped in the same head space, which was: life gives you such a giant test sometimes, and you have to dig really deep to find some head space to deal with it. To find that one thread that keeps you hanging on. And that it's all too short of a ride to kill yourself to make it perfect.

I still don't have a job yet, the market over here in the UK isn't great either (i cannot imagine how chaotic life in the US must be right now, it's so upsetting). But I know I'd make myself crazy worrying about it. I'll start sending writing samples to some magazines, maybe all this down time is telling me that I need to rethink my strategy. We'll see.

It's also my birthday this Thursday, a day older. I have to say, I still feel like a little girl that wants her presents and flowers and cake and party sometimes, but I'm realising that I have to do that for myself now, I can't expect that at 30-something it still is that big of a deal to everyone else (otherwise Chuck E. Cheese would have an adults menu). The mister is away on business that day, and all my girlfriends have kids, so I might celebrate by getting my nails done and treating myself to afternoon tea.

One step at a time.

See? You got me talking and now I can't stop...

Today we have sun, and I see that as a very good omen. Though I am quick to complain about the weather here, since we've only seen a week of 80 degree weather and sunshine (the rest was rain and about 65 degrees), I am hoping that we may get a late hint of summer.

I am also excited because in 3 days, we are finally going on a much-needed holiday away from the city, away from people, and away from the chaos. A sanity-check, if you will. We haven't been able to sleep much, and our brains have been preoccupied with work, with finances, with "life admin".

I went to see a group of friends last night for a drink and came home at 10pm, so exhausted that I practically fell into bed after a quick kiss "hello" to the mister. He's travelling for business today, and though it's only for the day, I actually feel how far apart we are. I feel the rush of the hours flying by. And when I feel like that, I ache for a kiss and a cuddle. That's the little girl in me. When things feel overwhelming, sometimes instead of dealing with it head-on, I prefer to languish in the warmth and reassurance of a hug or a hand to hold, and want to have us disappear from reality and just be with eachother. It really is, I believe, the best feeling in the entire world. Selfish and unrealistic at times, maybe, but still really delicious.

In other news, we went to a wedding this past weekend on the coast of England, and the mister and I took the opportunity to explore a bit and take a cliff walk and see quaint little stone villages. It was stunning, seeing the cliffs and their layers of prehistoric rock, walking along land that has been there for millions of years. Granted, the height that we were at is not for the faint-hearted, but it makes you feel so absolutely humble and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. So in the interest of history and fun trivia, I'll give you all some fun facts about London (I've been reading this book called The London Companion, and it's SO interesting!)

--What is “Big Ben”? Most people have an impression that it’s the name of the world famous clock, or perhaps the tower that houses it. Not true! The name actually refers to the 13 ton bell, while the tower is known as St. Stephen’s Tower.

--The Queen’s official residence, Buckingham Palace, was built in 1702… on the site of a notorious brothel.

--Her Majesty the Queen is not allowed to go into the House of Commons because she is not a commoner.

--A boy throwing a match into hay inside a bakery started the Great London Fire in 1666.

--During the time of the Roman Invasion, London was known as Londinium. In Saxon times, it was known as Lundenwic and during the kingdom of Alfred the Great, its name was changed to Lundenburg.

--Harrods department store in London still delivers goods by horse and carriage.

These pics below give new meaning to the words Rock On...

Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated...

Yeah, ok. My brain went on strike, as did my fingers. I've had a rough August, and I needed to disappear for a while and figure some things out. These aren't life and death problems, so apologies to anyone if I sound like I'm complaining. I'm not. I'm just sharing.

I lost my job.

The job that I loved, that I worked 12 hours a day for, the job where I finally felt like I had settled into this city and developed a much-needed emotional rhythm.

It was quite sudden, very condescending in the way it was done, and extremely hurtful. Most of the people that worked with me were shocked, but they intimated that this person that I had worked for had done this countless times before. Either way, I was out on my arse in a very ungraceful way. And to be honest, I felt lost.

I realised that some of my UK identity was helped by having a creative job, something that I loved. I liked working long hours to see a job completed in the best way possible. I liked meeting people in the UK creative industries. And the rug was pulled out from under me.

I went through a range of emotions: sad, angry, confused, feeling useless. Negativity about the weather, about the building we lived in.. And the FEAR was palpable. The fear that I wouldn't find a job for a while and we wouldn't have enough money, that I was getting older and I couldn't have children without a job with a good maternity plan, that I would be seen as incapable of holding down a job. I became envious of the mister's female colleagues that have super-powerful jobs, and I felt like the insecure little apron-clad wife. But I got angry at myself and through that I created strength. I had to pull myself up. I had to listen to a voice with a positive focus:

Snap out of it. You're not doing yourself or anyone else any good by beating yourself up. This happened for a reason. Wasn't meant to be yours. Take advantage of this time to see London, since you don't have that time very often. Take time to rest.

I started doing that. Doing silly touristy/artsy things and disappearing into crowds, into parks with a notebook, making myself familiar with certain streets. I started literally getting off trains and making myself lost, in order to test myself on how to find my way again.

The mister was amazing through this, encouraging me to relax, to get facials, to sit in the sun and read (well, we only had a week of sun this whole summer, so that was a bit difficult), to take time for "me".

I have been. I'm trying. I'm still getting there. I have at once been thrilled and happy to be doing project work for different agencies, and at the same time been covered by a little black cloud of frustration and loneliness.

It's hard sometimes, this life thing. But I have to make sure to remind myself that we're never given more than we can handle, so we'll always figure it out.

Oh, and I turn another year older in 3 weeks. Maybe that's freaking me out? Ugh. I'm SUCH a neurotic girl.

I'm ashamed.

Ashamed to admit that I've been so unbelievably lazy at writing, that my URL history doesn't even remember me when I typed "missustd...". I've totally neglected my writing, my reading, my commenting on all the lovely girls out there like Amanda and Janet who just attended BlogHer '08. How cool are you?!?!

So, where have I been? On a little adventure in my own little UK world. I've always been so tied up in my head a lot, that for the past month, I've been just trying to be. No stress, no expectations, just enjoying the amazing warm weather and sunny days (which don't come around very often here). I came, I saw, I'm conquering. And it is good.

I've started a new thing for myself: exploring. No, not in the Columbus-sense (though I will tell you about our sailing adventure in a later post). More in the my mister-is-away-a lot-and-I'm-languishing in missing him too much so I need to stop that-sense. I've started booking concert dates for us, theatre dates, etc. And so far, he's only missed a few, which is great. I can't always expect him to go with me because he needs to do client events or travel, but I have gone by myself sometimes and it's been secretly decadent to dress up, go see a play, and have a glass of wine overlooking the Thames.

And it's helped me climb a bit out of my safety cocoon (which I frequently go into because I just like my own space and my own environment too much).

I'm not saying I've been a total hermit, but I'm learning to find new ways to adapt to this life here. New fun things to do. I get envious that my mister has a handful of friends that he's known for over 15 years, and when they get a chance to go out, they really make a long alcohol-fueled late night of it. I don't have friends here that I can see very often, all of them have had babies. So, in order to have that same sort of experience of a big night, I take myself out. I've been to see STOMP, a play at the National Theatre, a burlesque/circus show, I've taken the train to different parts of London just to explore, I've been to the Portrait Gallery, I've booked us tickets to see our favourite bands play, I've tried new restaurants, I've been to a gay club (seriously, the best evening ever- just me, dancing on the dance floor by myself with my drink in the air, singing out loud to Journey until 2am),I even have a little window box garden filled with geraniums, rosemary and chives...

Forcing myself out of my bubble has changed my habits a bit, and that's a nice feeling. And I'm happier for it..more independent... my eyes have a sparkle and my cheeks are rosy with contentment. Thanks Amanda. You gave me this advice 2 years ago, and I finally listened to you. You're amazing.

So, it's after 7 here, and I need to leave work and catch the last bit of sun, preferably in a park having a glass of Pimm's with my mister.

Rock n roll.

"Words are things, and a small drop if ink, Falling like dew upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think."*

I love words. I love languages, dialects, accents, etc. I don't really know what that says about me, nor do I really care. I am just fascinated that millions of people could be saying the same thing but saying it in entirely different sounds. It's like music.

So, in the spirit of celebrating language, I'd like to share some of my favorite words. I'd write in different languages as well, but my keyboard doesn't have that function, so for now, it'll have to be english words that I find make me smile and are fun to pronounce:

kisses
chicken
mushy
monkey
delicious
yoi (this is a Ukrainian squeal of delight that I've always used, since I was little. It doesn't mean anything in particular, I just use it if I love something so much it makes my teeth ache: "YOOOOOIIII!!!")
magic
giblet
trollop
oxymoron
egret
kooky
audacity
precious
peaceful
special
friend
curious
stoic
jackass
disenchanted
graceful
Balenciaga
firecracker
moron

I'm sure there's more, but it was fun writing those down for now.

Okay, back to work.






* Lord Byron

I do NOT obsess. Do I? Why do I? Is that normal?

Yeah, ok. I obsess. And I'm trying to have a sense of humour about it.

I obsess because.. well, that's a side of my personality that's just like that. Plus, I am in a foreign country and I have no routine to cling to except my crazy job, my husband and my marriage. Well, and my sense of humour. I'm used to being self-reliant. And I feel very reliant on other people and circumstances right now, and that's tough.

When I'm working 12-hour days for people that demand me to be on call 24/7 in a country with so little daylight I might as well be a vampire, and feel wrung out like a dishtowel, my routine has very little flexibility. So I tend to believe that the mister, or someone else, will help create it for me. Will pamper me. Will figure out a routine for me. The fundamental problem with that is that with our work schedules, all we have is the weekend together. Routine? Hmm. Our life has never been routine, since the moment we met, got married shortly thereafter, moved countries and jobs twice, and moved homes 3 times. All in two years (though in a way, deep down, I think we perversely enjoy the challenges that we've been faced with- we're a pretty awesome team in that respect).

So, I start to obsess if things aren't exactly "just so". And not constructively. More like Chicken Little. I obsess over the times that we don't have, the plans that we can't make, the holidays that we can't take. Not because I try to be negative, but unfortunately, that's the solution in my personal equation: control freak+ stress + expectations-positive thinking= Negative Nancy. It's a bad habit that I have to get out of, because it gets a bit insidious in its negativity.

You know, you may think that these blogs aren't so much about my experiences in London, but about me finding out about myself as a person through Blogotherapy. And maybe that's a type of self-obsession, you could say. And people may think hmm. okaaaay.. I see that you need some venting, sheesh! But here's the truth: it's about all of it. It's my London Eye. It's my pure, uncensored current perspective. It's about how I learn about myself, my life, my place in this world, my husband, and our marriage. It's about all of the challenges and happiness and curiosities that I'm discovering. It's about learning how to figure out men (yeah, still working on that one) It's about my stories, my obsessions, my failures, my achievements, my hopes, my dreams, my insecurities and my love. And, as my friendly blogger Janet put it, it's about navigating the spaces in between.

I am a passionate person, an extremely empathetic person, an extremely emotional and demonstrative person. I take everything to heart. And I'm realising that my marriage is very similar, since both of us are very passionate and stubborn people who always do things 200%. And though the mister looks at me like I have three heads when I obsess when he does something that irritates me, he still encourages me to stop.

And listen.

And focus on the space. The positives. The moments of quiet. The bigger plan that we're both trying to achieve in this crazy world. It's the big picture that matters, and the moments that we spend with each other in between the lines, when we can.

But in the meantime, there's a lot to be said for writing down a few words here and there that help you see things more clearly. To appreciate a unique perspective. To learn about who you are. And to have a healthy laugh at your own expense.

You, the twinkle in my eye. You, the lint in my belly button.

When I was little, I saw Tato look at Mamo adoringly (like he still does), or not want to do anything fun without her. Even when I asked him to do stuff with just me, he would say "okay, but let's see what Mamo's up to". It would infuriate me to no end, and I would roll my eyes and ask him "don't you ever just get sick of her? I mean really, it's been 20 years already!"

And he would look at me, and in his eyes I briefly saw flicker the years of sacrifice, compromise, arguments, hugs, kisses and unconditional love. And he very succinctly said "nope".

He explained to me (honestly, I pretended to listen, but at that age all I could hear was the fierce beating of my own heart, for I had fallen in love/lust for the very first time) that love changes shape. It grows, it quiets down, it deepens, it sweetens. But that he always sees the girl that he fell in love with (even if she was, according to him, "a personified nightmare the first few years").

I'm still in awe about this. Every couple we know that are in their 60s and are still happily married, are an inspiration in this world of cynical relationships and custody battles. And all of them say the same thing "Just love each other. Talk to each other. A relationship is like a plant: both of you have to water it to make sure it flourishes."

And when you open your eyes to it, it is everywhere: I read so many beautiful posts from you out there about how in love you are with your families, your children, your partners, your lives, and how it is a constant learning process.. and it fills me with so much joy to know that that kind of love and happiness is almost uncontainable (is that even a word? Who knows, I'll keep it anyway). I love love, I love magic, I love stories like this. I'm a loveaholic.

As for my personal life, I am awesome at the love part. And I clean really well and I manage to remember to get the little things for the house, for dinner, etc. And I can organise and do the banking really well. The talking part? Not so good at that very much, though I'm learning. And my history with plants is horrible. I forget to water them. Or, even if I do, they realise their impending demise anyway, and decide to commit suicide.

Love isn't a catch-all like it used to be in my 20s. I'm well aware that it's more about the quality of time together, rather than the quantity. It's not the declaration of a thousand "I love you"s, but more about that one "I love you" when you need it the most. It's about the space that you give for love to breathe. The amount of time that we cannot spend together makes the moments that we do super-sweet. I still crave his hand to hold when we're going for a walk. I love that we can make fun of each other and have banter with only a sly look.

And I do know for a fact that years from now, when Mamo and Tato are no longer around, and our children ask me that same question, I'll have the same answer.

Я вас так люблю.

Little victories. And little disclaimers.

The small things in life are almost always in danger of being overlooked. Like dinner being cooked for you, an extra hug, or those teacup Chihuahuas, for example. I should know- I'm a master at letting my aggravations overshadow the precious moments in life- and lately I've realised that the days fly past me with the breathlessness of a speeding train.

So, in the spirit of realisation that it is almost the middle of June (honestly, I can't even believe that even as I write it) and I've been used up like a tissue at my current job, I am attempting to slow down and focus on the little things and give myself the space to appreciate them. The little things that make life magic. In all honesty, this is a scary thing to do for someone who is totally type-A and believes that if she isn't doing about 15 different things at once, that there's something wrong with her.

Item #1:

It has now been a successful 6 months since I quit smoking cold turkey. I have managed to stand my ground and resist habitual cravings, constant snacking, the temptation of a summery glass of wine and cigarette with friends, and the nagging voice that wants to force the mister to quit (just because I did). I haven't preached to people to quit, I haven't justified my decision, I did it because I told myself I would and that I wanted to, and I did. End of story.*

Item #2:

I'm learning how to drive. Now, to all of you that took in a very quick breath through your teeth, let me just say that I am a good driver despite some interesting circumstances in the past.** I've managed to cultivate a squeaky-clean driving record in the states, and now that I'm here in the UK, I've been a passenger one too many times. The mister happily drives us everywhere in our adorable little car (translation: he refuses to let me drive it for fear that we'll end up wrapped around a tree), but I'm starting to get a bit antsy and feel like I need to be able to have wheels if I want to get out for a drive. It makes me feel a bit stuck that I can't just jump in the car for a few hours. So, yes, I'm taking lessons. I have my provisional license (which over here is the equivalent of a learner's permit, so I feel like I'm some sort of kid with a fake ID), and I'm going to be let out onto the roads very soon. Keep your children indoors.

Item #3:

I've signed up for a 10K. Now that doesn't seem like a big deal, but you're talking to someone that though used to be athletic and a dancer, now maintains her flexibility by doing absolutely nothing, and luckily can still pull her foot up by her head while standing. But the lack of activity aside from walking everywhere here is starting to make me feel sluggish and wimpy. So the mister and I signed up for this run in July, and he's running for the RNLI, and I'm running for the RSPCA. I have a sponsor page on Facebook, but I've really not used that website for a while, so I haven't kept up with asking people for money. Either way, it'll be a good challenge- and let's hope that I'll still be running at the 8th kilometer and haven't resorted to using the £10 in my bra for a taxi.

These are the three latest things that I've done for myself, and it hasn't even registered in my brain that I should pat myself on the back a little. Instead, a little voice says, "Sheesh.. couldn't you have been more productive? Look what everyone else is doing! You don't sound very interesting."

Yep, I'm wrapping duct tape around this little gremlin for a while and shoving him in the corner. After 15 years, it's about time I start telling him to zip it.



*Though I have to admit, there were Oscar-worthy dramatic days where I begged and pleaded for the mister to give me one of his, but he's been supporting my efforts and hasn't let me.

**Admittedly, I did manage to reverse into a mailbox with Tato's white Toyota when I was 17 (and tried to repair the giant scrape with White-Out), and when I did get my first car at 19, I totalled the front quarter-panel.

Priceless.

Hello, I'm back poking my head through the warm waters of the blogosphere. Hope everyone's well and leading very adventurous and amazing lives. Or lazy and relaxed lives, because that's equally fun.

What have I been doing, you ask? Well, let's see:

Work
Work
Work
Work
Eat
Sleep
Work
Work
Saw a girlfriend for dinner
Work

Yep. That pretty much sums it up.

The girlfriend that I met was a girl I used to work with in New York, who still works for the same company, but in London. We know a lot of the same people, and it was good to see what business was up to lately.

She's one of those girls that is ridiculously confident and self-aware at her age (we're around the same age), and is hilarious in her black and white approach to things. In her personal life and professional life, she's fun, fair, and has a strong sense of self. A really good all-around person, and fucking amazing at her job.

I realised walking home that nothing is as important as not sressing out: just play the game at work the best you can, and appreciate that you have your health and your family and friends (yeah, I got very philosophical after a couple of pitchers of sangria).

I did get a priceless lesson at work the next day though, and my super-confidence was ripped to shreds.

I was told that...

I am a confident, beautiful woman who knows what she wants and how to get it, and that people find me intimidating and unapproachable, and that's becoming a problem, because they can't connect with me.

And my boss said that this is a problem for him.

Yes, apparently, attractive women in the business world who are trusted to run things, babysit people and their jobs, have kids, run the house- all while wearing high heels, keeping a sweat-free face and odour-free perfectly fit body, and having a sense of humour that is at once beguiling and witty- these women are called BITCHES.

Take that same description and take out the "wo" in the fourth word up above, and you have a CEO that just got handed gold-plated keys to a private jet and a yearly personal supply of Cohibas, and has three secretaries that he's sleeping with all at the same time because people find his confidence hypnotically magnetic.

What do I do? I do love my job so much, and I do really like my boss and his thoughts on what my job should be, but do I change who I am just to make sure that people like me and have nothing of myself left at the end of the work day? Or do I hope that people will learn to understand me and get over their insecurities?

I find it exhausting, this uphill battle that I sometimes have in this country, in this business, trying to figure it all out, trying to work with men that want me to be a man disguised as a woman, and seeing first-hand, in the mister's job, the amount of praise and adulation he gets from being exactly that: confident and aloof and direct.

I think I may need to bite my tongue, change my approach and be a little less-confident and more like everyone else. So be it.

Yes, you read right: A little less-confident.

Priceless.

Extremes

I just realised I've almost reached my 8-month mark of living in the UK.

8 MONTHS!!! Wow. It's gone by so quickly!

It's been a hell of an interesting road so far, that's for sure.

So, between the observations, the ranting, the quiet times, the hilarity of it all, what's been the good and what's been the not so good?

Fun:
Setting up home with the mister.
Spending time with his family.
Exploring a new world.
Finding a beautiful flat.
Getting an awesome job.
Walking around everywhere and taking it all in.
Seeing my parents' excitement when they visited.
Celebrating our 2nd anniversary in yet another country.
Settling down and getting a routine.
Learning about myself and facing challenges.
Getting used to different words and phrases and brands and habits.
Drinking more and having more fun.
Observing people and the way they behave here.
Being able to travel to European countries on the cheap.
Meeting people through my work.
Seeing myself be brave.

Not so fun:
Missing the mister when he travels.
Being in a flat that is a bit removed from the village-y parts of London.
Missing my parents.
Missing all the familiar feelings that I had in New York.
Missing my friends (especially the fiercely huggable ones like Sean and Amanda)
Feeling lost. And actually getting lost!
Not having any friends here.
Because of my work hours, not being able to take evening classes for fun.
Not being invited to parties with the mister.
Feeling lonely and a bit sad.
Not having my own world- just having work and home, and that's it.

The good always outweighs the bad, so I just have to take those lemons and make Spanish Fly. Challenges are meant to be just that: NOT easy. But routine is never easy either. The hard part is that it's two extremes now. Nothing in between. And I realised that I'm making that for myself. I'm making it tougher by using my mister as my entire world here. I mean, it's easy to do that since I don't have anything else here, but per my previous post, I have to dig deep. It's not fair to put the onus on one person to keep you entertained. You have to have your own ME place, and so does that other person. THAT's what completes the puzzle. I need to do my own thing, and maybe then the attention that I need and the loneliness I feel will dissipate, because I would have created my own London life. My own London world.

Why have I never learned this? Why does it sound like I am only just now growing up, though I am a woman in my 30s? Because I never had the strange comfort of a semi-anonymous blog to psychoanalyse myself. Plus, I'm a late bloomer.

Go figure.

It comes from somewhere.

There's a band called The Weepies, and on their latest album I've been addicted to this magical, quiet song with some of the most beautiful lyrics I've ever heard. It's a sublime little whisper of a melody, and I highly recommend it, lyrics are below.

I've been listening to it on and off because I've been a little bit introspective. The mister, as you know, travels incessantly for his job, and because he's a superstar at what he does, he feels compelled to go if someone asks him. It is a highly orchestrated chaotic life of timezones, sleepless nights, late nights out with colleagues, flights, love notes and missed phone calls. And I haven't seen him for a while, because he's been on a nonstop trip- first to Spain, then the US, then China, then back to Europe. We've seen each other just a few times this month, and the empty space beside me as I go to bed yearns for his tall frame to fill it. I make him laugh on the phone and I'm great at just getting on with it, but as soon as we whisper our "I love you" and hang up, I have to swallow my whimper, and tell the lump in my throat to go down. I go for a run, I go for a horseback ride, I clean the house...I just shove it all away and don't think about it. But when I lay my head down at night and he's not there, the house feels cavernous. Empty. Yeah, it's just goddamn hard.

I've had to dig deep for strength sometimes, since I've lived here. It's only the second year of our marriage, and I feel like we haven't settled yet, haven't created a routine, haven't seen each other enough. And to be in a strange city without my best friend a lot of times, it's tough. The few friends I have here, they have kids, so I don't see them very much. My parents-in-law are always there for me, but I don't feel right leaning on them too much. Sometimes I feel like I'm an invincible Superwoman, other times I feel like I'm a faint whisper on the breeze, just drifting, yearning to feel something grab a hold of me and pull me down. To need me.

It's not that I'm not happy, because we knew this would be a challenge, an adventure for us. But the times that I do see the mister, I just want to tie him down to a chair and force him to spend a month with me in the middle of nowhere. I want to monopolize him. I want our life to stop running away from us, just for a little while. But we can't. Because life keeps going forward and we just have to get on with it.

That being said, I'm so proud of the stories we're creating, what we're achieving, the challenges we're facing. And I remind myself that these crazy years will someday start slowing down, and someday, somehow, we'll have the life that we're working toward. The quiet life on a boat that we keep dreaming about...

I have to be strong and just keep walking forward, because, well, life would be boring if it were simple.

Yesterday, when you were young,
Everything you needed done was done for you.
Now you do it on your own
But you find you're all alone,
What can you do?

You and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now.

You know there will be days when you're so tired
that you can't take another step,
The night will have no stars and you'll think
you've gone as far as you will ever get

But you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now
And yeah, yeah, go where you want to go
Be what you want to be,
If you ever turn around, you'll see me.

I can't really say why everybody wishes
they were somewhere else
But in the end, the only steps that matter
are the ones you take all by yourself

And you and me walk on
Yeah you and me walk on
Cause you can't go back now
Walk on, walk on, walk on
You can't go back now

Hmm. Depends on what's in the glass, I guess...

In a nation full of heavy drinkers, I've sometimes arrived at predictable moments of self-analysis while looking at the drink in front of me, mainly regarding my outlook on life: half full or half empty?

I was raised by a gentle father, a disciplinarian Type-A mother, and an old-fashioned Ukrainian grandmother. From about age 7-10, I was with Babchya (the grandmother), since my parents were working in New York City to make the $$, and commuting every Friday evening to come and see me upstate. Babchya was a criticizer. I am totally in love with her now, but back then, I couldn't do anything right by her, and I felt really isolated without my parents. When they would come up on Fridays I would be insane with joy, but when they would leave on Sunday afternoons to get back to the city, I would fiercely cling to them, sobbing and pleading with them not to leave me. It was heartbreaking, and I can still remember what that felt like. After a few years only seeing me once a week, Mamo (my mother) couldn't take the strain anymore and moved upstate to be with me and Babchya while Tato (my dad) worked as a broker on Wall Street. Mamo and Babchya fought a LOT, because I was both of their property, and both felt "right" in their decisions about me. It was then that I tried to make everyone get along by disappearing into my own little creative world, and being the happy-go-lucky perfect child that excelled at sports and music- but no matter if Mamo was proud, she would cut me down to make me try harder. She would push me to my limits, a lot of the times physically, in sports, to force me to be a stronger person (she used to call me "Miss Delicate").

As far as Tato, for the next 4 years we only saw Tato once a week, because he kept commuting, trying to take care of us. He would arrive on a bus Friday evening, get up with Mamo on Saturday morning at 7am to drive me to Ukrainian school and dance classes, and on Sunday, he would have to take the 3pm bus back to NYC. I cannot imagine the strain he must have been under, and how difficult it was for their marriage to only see each other once a week. He finally said "fuck it, I miss my family way too much, this is getting ridiculous" and left the city to be with us and became a boat salesman at a well-known marina. And up until 2 years ago, that's what he did, and loved every second of it, because he was finally able to be with us. And I was finally able to have that unconditional "you're the bestsest no matter what" every once in a while.

Now, reading that summary of my life, one would assume that I would be a fiercely independent tough cookie and relish time by myself, since all of those days of proving myself and sobbing when my parents left would have shaped me into a woman of steel. Right?

Nope.

The opposite happened, and that's just because everyone reacts differently to their childhood stimuli.

I became a person that from my teenage years up until my twenties, I craved affection, attention, and as soon as someone close to me went away, and that affection wasn't there, it was extremely hard for me to cope. Ridiculously, I took it personally. I felt like I was the reason they'd want to leave, because I'd never be enough to keep them around. The pattern that was repeated in my head was Where are they going? Why is it more exciting to be without me? Are they ever coming back?

I was destructively half empty.

Even writing about that now, in my thirties, it strikes a tender chord with me, a bittersweet acknowledgement of what I used to be, and the woman that I've now become. It makes me want to hug that girl and tell her that she's always good enough because she lives a good life and she's nice to people, and she strives to be a good person that wants everyone in the world to have lovely love stories. I still have little remnants, little negative gremlins that creep up and say "ha, ha.. see? We told you that you'd screw up", or, I'd have a really lovely day out with the mister and then I'd say "well, how come we didn't do THIS also? That's disappointing.". But luckily, the mister recognises that trait and calls me on it before I start spiralling into more criticism.

It's not fun to know that that person still exists in me, but I know that the only way I can change that is to keep reminding myself of the amazing adventures that I've had, and will continue to have in my life as a Ukrainian woman, wife, writer, and hopeless romantic. And with my mister right by my side, solid and unwavering.

Half full.

Warm weather brings male eye candy

Some are big.

Some are small.

But they're everywhere.

My point? Now that it's summer, boobs are taking over this country. And in Britain, women seem take a certain ungraceful pride in showing their cleavage as much as possible, or getting so drunk they get their boobs out at parties. I've not seen one British girl with small boobs, so I think it just may be their national symbol. Now, I'm far from being a prude, but I do think it's a tiny bit unladylike to show your bits off just to get men to get them free drinks, or crane their necks and crash their cars/bicycles/scooters/buses. I think less is definitely more in this case.

Plus, I do find it entertaining that men, no matter if they're married, single, partnered, whatever, all act the same. They have to look. I've realised it is simply in their DNA. It's Freudian. Women look as well, but for entirely different reasons. I check out the entire person, up and down, to see their outfit, their shoes, how big/small/fat/skinny they are, how their hair is, how they strut. Men do it (according to one of my male sources) just because they can. Because a hint of cleavage makes them curious to see what's underneath. And when they start coming out in the spring weather (one of the mister's very married-with-children colleagues calls it "Tit Monday", which is a bit juvenile), they can't help but notice. The way I see it, men get their fair share of action with all kinds of sizes, but after the merry-go-round is over, they end up falling in love with the entire package, and not just the accessories. But they still enjoy perusing some of the accessories out there.

Maybe I'm saying all this because I have a skinny, size 0 boyish no-hips build, and though I love how healthy and strong my body is, I do wonder what it would be like with big ones. Or maybe I feel like saying to all the men out there "Hey, we get it. You like them. Just please stop being so obvious, and then try covering it up by saying you were only looking at her outfit."

Either way, my British friends, please try and be a bit more discreet sometimes and keep them tucked in. The hint of skin is far more alluring, in my humble opinion.

And as for mine, well, I love my little bits. And I love that the mister fancies the pants off me.

2 years. Two little friends.

The mister has been travelling lately. A lot. And I don't hear from him very much if he's at a work conference, so it gets to be very hard. We both miss eachother tremendously, so to distract ourselves, we soak our brains in work, to the point of exhaustion.

So, this past week the mister flew me out to meet him after a work conference for a surprise holiday. Greece.

It was sunny...

though the sea wasn't very warm...

but really thrilling, since we visited some of the ancient sites.


It was also our two-year anniversary (yeah, yeah, I can hear you veterans giggling out there at how "new" we are...).

It was amazing, because even with just 4 days away, it recalibrated us. Calmed us down. And, as the mister plainly pointed out, it "took away the work and corporate crap that we get tricked into thinking is so important". It made us realise that nothing is as important as time together. Space to breathe. Just holding hands and walking down the beach and not saying anything. Dreaming of sailing boats.

And even though we're back at work now and the mister is travelling constantly for the next 2 weeks, we still have that little moment to hold onto for a while. That little hey...pssst...I love you that's like a mental love note that keeps our smiles twinkling.

Two years. It goes by so quickly. Too quickly, sometimes.

My love letter to them*

*I've been reading so many of your beautiful blogs about how in love with your children you are, and I could never fully imagine what that might be like until a few days ago...

Mamo and Tato came to visit me in London a few days ago. They arrived on Sunday morning and left on Wednesday afternoon. It was like medicine. I got plenty of hugs and kisses, plenty of dinners out with the whole family here, and plenty of time to look at their beautiful faces and marvel at how cool they are sometimes.

Mamo and Tato are like chalk and cheese sometimes. Tato is a cuddly man who reminds me a bit of Tommy Lee Jones. Tall, salt and pepper hair, and dresses like a guy who lives on a sailboat 24/7. He has a fantastic sense of humour, and loves going out and playing host to people. He can talk your ear off about pretty much any subject, loves parties, and loves filthy jokes. He can also have a horrific temper, but I've only seen it a few times (mostly when as a child, I pissed him off to the point of utter ridiculousness). But he has always been quick with a loving word and fierce hug, no matter what, and he likes nothing better than just being with Mamo and relaxing with a good book on a boat.

Mamo is a diminutive, sharply Scandinavian-looking woman with a runner's body, very muscular. Blonde wavy hair, blue eyes, and dresses like a horsey-woman (which she is): dark jeans, button-down shirts, good leather boots. She is fiercely independent. She was the one who spanked me when I was out of line, she was the disciplinarian. The one I always had to work hard for, the one who always wanted to see the best out of me. She threw me into sports, she made me challenge myself. She wasn't always quick with the hugs, she was more of a "pick yourself up and do it again" kind of person. She was always honest with me, no matter how much I didn't want to hear it. But the few times that I've briefly seen the silly, giggly side of her that sends me letters with stickers, it absolutely yanks at my heartstrings.

They seem like opposites in so many ways. Yet I can't imagine two people more perfect for each other and more in love. They've been married for 36 years.

These are the people who have molded me, who have shaped me into the person that I am. I have my mother's exact speaking voice, but I have my father's tall, boyish build. I have my mother's impatience, controlling nature and insecurities, but I have my father's naughty humour and romantic side. I have Tato's dark hair and eyes, but Mamo's face structure. I exist only because these two people met quite randomly, decided to get married 2 months later, and then decided to have me a few years after that. That's the only reason I get to be on this planet. That's mind blowing.

Please don't go, don't ever go, I thought to myself as the car pulled away to take them to the airport. I waved them off, smiling, but I was slowly realising that my 30-something years on this planet have gone by much too quickly. I can't understand how that happens. I feel like after 3 days in the UK, they were only here for 3 minutes.

I think there's a "click" that happens in your thirties, when you stop thinking of your parents as these immortal, omniscient creatures, and start realising that they're just these two people that tried their best to help you out. Two people, a couple, with a life that has an end point, just like you and I (depending what religion you believe). And thinking about them like that makes me realise how much I've always needed them, how much I've always looked for their advice and their hugs and their kisses. I've been lucky every single day of my life. I hope I tell them that enough.

We tend to say "oh, I hope I'll never be like my parents...", and I will still have moments of saying that. But sometimes I can't stand that they're getting older, because, selfishly, I'll always want them around and hanging out with me and the mister when we're 60. It seems like yesterday I remember Mamo being 44, and in the blink of an eye, we're celebrating an age where they should be grandparents soon.

I guess what I'm saying is that no matter how tough I pretend to be, and no matter how much I tell myself to not pay attention to it, I miss them so much sometimes it's a physical pain in my heart. It's indulgently sweet and acidic at the same time. It's as if a tiny part of me doesn't live in this country, it lives with them. I still feel like their little girl, their baby. And I know I'll always feel like that.

Seconds before they jumped in the taxi, Tato grabbed me in a tight hug, held me back from him to look at my face, and then pulled me tight again, saying "oh, my sweet girl, sometimes all I need is a hug."

I know. Me too.

I love you.