Postcards from the Mothership

I’ve got mail!

I haven’t received a lot of mail from blog readers. Most people use the comments to get in touch or get their point across. And I don’t check my blog mail daily, partly because I can’t access it from work and partly because canada.com is just a cumbersome pain in the arse to use.

So you can imagine my delight when I checked my mail the other night and I had TWO e-mails from people who had found blog by looking something up on Google. (Can you see why I’m happy? It’s the intersection of all my favourite bloggy things: feedback, Google and the referral logs!)

One was a request from a family who had also been to see A Day Out With Thomas. They, too, had shelled over the big bucks for a professional (read: teen with a digicam) picture of Thomas with their kids, but had lost the contact info for ordering additional prints. I was happy to be able to provide the information to them.

But the second one was the one that really made me laugh:

Hi there!

I was searching for Krispy Kreme donut shop in the ottawa area and I came across your blog when searching for the words ‘petro canada’, krispy kreme’ and ‘ottawa’ on google.

I was wondering if you could let me know the locations of the petro canada’s with the Krispy Kreme donut shops in them – I’ve called petro canada’s information line to no avail and was so glad when I found someone else in canada who know where they are!

I’m getting married in September, and for my groom’s cake, I want to make a giant tower of Krispy Kremes with a little flag on top. ^_^ and until now, I thought I might have to make a treck out to Quebec in order to get the tasty treats…

Thanks in advance! Great Blog by the way – much more entertaining than most!

Cheers,
-J

A groom’s cake of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Isn’t that fabulous? In the ensuing correpsondence, she mentioned she was originally planning on making a castle out of Rice Krispie square bricks, but thought the doughnuts would be easier for guests to take home. It’s almost enough to make me want to get married all over again!

This is my Internet legacy. I’m not leaving a time capsule of life in the early 21st century, or creating an online baby book for my boys. I am a community service rep for Krispy Kreme and the Island of Sodor.

And, just a “wow – small world!” aside while we’re still (sort of) on the subject of Tristan’s day out with Thomas and feedback from blog. One of the comments on that thread is from the director of the St Thomas Railway museum, saying he was pleased that we had such a good time. Turns out he used to be a student of my dad’s, back when my dad was teaching drums for a living about 30 years ago. (My surname, Donders, is pretty uncommon.) He used to come to our house for lessons, and mentioned streets we lived on when I was six or seven years old. Cool, eh?

Categories: blogging

Hello bloggy friends. I’ve been asked to write an article on blogs for our workplace wellness newsletter. Not exactly writing for Salon, but it’s a start! I’ve tried to write this as a blogging 101, but would appreciate any comments, thoughts or suggestions. (The resources at the end had to be formatted the way they are listed because not everyone has access to the full Internet. Am I missing any good general resources?) Be sure to admire the alliteration in my title. Aren’t I clever?

Have you read a blog today? (Score additional points if you’ve blogged today.) If not, you’re missing out on perhaps the biggest revolution in the communication world since Gutenberg. Okay, perhaps that’s an exaggeration. But much like the ubiquitous Blackberry, while you might sneer at the concept, once you finally have a blog of your own you’ll be hooked!

What the heck is a blog?

A weblog, more commonly known as a blog, is a journal, usually informal, that is published on the Internet. There are as many reasons for blogging (the act of writing a blog) as there are bloggers (people who blog). There are political blogs, literary blogs, and celebrity blogs; blogs about knitting, blogs about pizza, blogs about babies; there are photo blogs and technical blogs. There are blogs written by professional writers, and blogs written collaboratively by people who have never met in person. You can use your camera phone to e-mail pictures to your ‘mo-blog’, and you can subscribe to a ‘podcast’, an audio-blog you download to your MP3 player.

Most blogs have a few common characteristics. They are updated frequently, often daily but usually at least once a week or more. Posts (individual blog entries) appear in reverse chronological order, with the most recent posts at the top of a page, and previous posts archived by date (and sometimes by category). A small biography of the blogger is usually present, and lists of “100 things about me” are a common feature of personal blogs.

Blogrolls and comments

Bloggers show their allegiance to or interest in other like-minded bloggers and blogs by maintaining a ‘blogroll’, a list of links to favourite blogs. In the world of blogs, a.k.a. the ‘blogosphere’, having a lot of blogs linking to your blog confers status and a certain respectability. One blogger has developed an entire ecosystem of over 30,000 blogs, categorizing them from Insignificant Microbes through Crawly Amphibians and Marauding Marsupials to Higher Beings, based on a combination of daily visitors and incoming links.

Most blogs feature a commenting system that allows blog readers to interact with the blogger. This is what makes blogs both unique and addictive! Especially in the early days of one’s blogging career, it’s a heady thrill to send something into the great void that is the Internet and know that not only is someone reading what you wrote, but has taken the time to reply to it as well.

Why do people blog?

So now you have an idea of what a blog is. What is more difficult to convey is the sense of community among bloggers and faithful readers of blogs. Blogging is more than just finding a forum for your thoughts, opinions and attitudes (although that is a large component of it.) Blogging, and reading other peoples’ blogs, easily becomes a daily habit. It is surprising how quickly one becomes addicted to hearing the minutia of a complete stranger’s daily travails. Personal blogs can keep guests updated on wedding plans, or act as an online baby book, sharing stories on the fun and foibles of raising children. Blogs can simply act as a place to vent, to discuss, to compare and to congregate.

How do I get started?

Although blogging got its start among the technically savvy, you don’t have to know much more than how to find the Internet and how to type to have your own blog. The Web giant Google provides a free online interface called Blogger, or you can subscribe to one of many popular blog-hosting services such as Moveable Type and LiveJournal. With Blogger, you simply choose a “look” for your blog from among a dozen or so standard templates and select a name for your blog (by far the most agonizing part of the process) and you can be blogging within minutes. For the more technically adept or adventurous, or those with deep enough pockets to hire a techie to make the changes, the customization options are limitless.

What makes good blog?

This, of course, is highly subjective. However, some principals seem to run through all types of blogs, whether political or personal. Here are ten tips for new bloggers.

1. Write often.

2. Write well. You don’t have to be Margaret Atwood, but you should be able to string together a sentence. Pay attention to grammar and punctuation. Your readers will thank you for it.

3. Open your blog to comments from others. At first, no one will comment. But then someone will, and you will be hooked.

4. Be brave and write what you truly believe. Don’t fall into the trap of writing what you think others want you to write, or writing to live up to someone else’s expectations.

5. Build a community. Join blog directories, and use them to find like-minded bloggers. Or follow blogroll links on blogs you admire. Read and comment on other people’s blogs, and link to the ones you really like through your blogroll. Most bloggers will return the favour.

6. Install a hit counter, but don’t obsess over it. Some really great blogs never get much traffic, but some really bad blogs are unfathomably popular.

7. Don’t try too hard. Not everything you write will be a masterpiece. Strive to capture moments, and convey them honestly.

8. Don’t be afraid to try something new. Post a poem, a picture, a letter to the editor, a short story, a rant. Blogging usually lends itself to shorter pieces, but every rule has an exception.

9. Be smart and be kind. Don’t blog about your boss or proprietary work issues – people have been fired for doing that. Don’t say things on your blog to deliberately hurt other people. Don’t steal other people’s words or ideas. Don’t be a comment troll (someone who intentionally posts nasty comments just to stir up trouble.)

10. Have fun!

Blog resources

Here’s an arbitrary and capricious list of interesting blog links. Please note that all of these sites are in the public domain and may contain offensive language or material. Also, all blogs listed are English only, with the exception of Blogger and the Blogs Canada directory, which offers some information in bilingual format.

Blogger, Google’s free blogging software
http://www.blogger.com/ (English)
http://www.blogger.com/start?hl=fr (French)

Blogs Canada, a comprehensive list of Canadian blogs.
http://www.blogscanada.ca/ (English)
http://www.blogscanada.ca/directory/default_fr.asp (French)

Ottawa Start Blogs, a list of Ottawa blogs
http://www.ottawastart.com/blogs.php

Truth Laid Bear’s blog ecosystem
http://www.truthlaidbear.com/ecosystem.php

DotMoms, a collaboration of mommy-bloggers (and a really long list of mommy and daddy blogs)
http://roughdraft.typepad.com/dotmoms/

Place and Thyme, an award-winning Ottawa photo blog:
http://www.placeandthyme.com/

A selection of Canadian political blogs
http://www.blogscanada.ca/politics/default.aspx

Rick Mercer, from CBC’s “This Hour has 22 Minutes” and “Made in Canada”
http://rickmercer.blogspot.com/
(For more celebrity blogs, visit http://www.icerocket.com/c?p=celeblogs.)

And finally, most humbly, the author’s blog about being a working Canadian mum to two preschool boys, called Postcards from the Mothership:
http://momm-eh.blogspot.com/

Categories: blogging

This is the part of my trip when I really started having fun. Disclaimer: this blog is really, really long!

On the rails again, this time from Venice to Rome. Just a few days ago, the prospect of this leg of the trip terrified me, but not anymore! I imagine that the intensity (for lack of a better word) is probably going to increase from Venice to Rome, but I think I did a good job of getting my feet wet and getting used to the Italian pace in general in Venice.

My favourite passtime in Venice came to be canal cruising. Since there are no cars, there are canal buses that transport you around. When I first got to Venice, I bought a three day pass, and I sure got my money’s worth! It’s a great way to see the city, albeit a LOT crowded on certain routes at certain times.

Wandering through these cities, I can’t help but wonder how anybody could live here. With the possible exception of Salzburg, all these cities seem to be a nightmare for the locals, with tourists everywhere. In Amsterdam, you have to haul your furniture up via pulley and shove it in through a window; in Venice, your moving van is a boat (I watched somebody move today.) And the parts of town that are not tourist hell seem quite run-down. Of course, that’s just what I saw looking around.

It’s been a great place to visit, but there’s no place like home.

5:45 pm, same day
The Colosseum, Rome

The Colosseum! The Pantheon! The Roman Forum! The Trevi Fountain! Oh god, what a wonderous, ancient, fascinating place this is! It is huge and majestic and solid and imperial! It is the embodiment of what I wanted to see on my trip. It is magical!

I’m sitting on the hot stone steps inside the Colosseum. I didn’t even mean to come here today – I was just wandering around, and had been to the Pantheon and the Trevi Fountain. I was kinda lost when I saw the majestic ruins of the Colosseum from at least half a kilometre away. So I followed the Via dei Fori Imperiali past the Roman Forum and into the Colosseum. It is breath-taking! Even outside the Colosseum, everywhere I look are these spectatcular ruins, only some of which are addressed in my guide books. These ancient ruins are everywhere, and I have no idea what half of them are.

I can’t believe I was afraid of this! I love it! It’s all I wanted from this trip and more.

P.S. I’m officially in Rome/Italy now: I had my butt pinched as I hiked down the main street, hauling my backpack from the station to the hotel.

The hotel is absolutely fabulous, too – the best I’ve had yet. The foyer is off this dusty, crowded square, but it is all done in marble inside. My room is on the top floor (3 or 4, I don’t really remember. I just remember it was 40C and I had just hiked across town with my pack and the stairs nearly killed me!) But I digress – the room itself is tiny, but quaint, with a desk, phone, soft bed, sink and closet. The wonderful part is that it opens up onto a concourse two stories above an open courtyard garden! It’s completely enclosed by buildings on all four sides, but open to the top. I love it. I love Rome! This is great!

8:24 pm, same day
Albergo della Lunetta

I’ve just had the most wonderful, tasty, enjoyable dinner I’ve had since I got to Europe!

I was wandering homeward from the Colosseum, half-heartedly thinking about the McDonald’s I noticed a block from the hotel, when I saw a sidewalk café on the street leading to the hotel. I read the ‘tourist menu’ (a choice of appetizers, main course and a dessert for a fixed price – very common here) and saw it wasn’t four or five courses and trés $$$ like most I had seen. I really went to town and ordered wine instead of a soft drink. Hoo-ah! I had a ‘farmer’s salad’ with black olives and feta cheese (mmm) and linguini with fresh pesto sauce and a banana and a cappuchino. Bellissima! I lingered; I ate s-l-o-w-l-y; I took in the scenery. Emboldened, perhaps by the wine, I wandered around the square afterward, enjoying the twilight and searching for stamps.

So here I sit in my tiny home, beside the open window facing the terrace and the garden, relishing the occasional breeze that dries the sweat on my brow.

I do love Rome. Venice was nothing by comparison. A fading starlet, past her prime by many years, trying to recapture the fame of her youth with heavy but unflattering make-up. Desperate for attention, longing for the glory days, she is but a shadow of her former self, and all the more pathetic for the attempt.

But Rome! Ah Roma! Your majesty is enhanced with the passing of the centuries. The tourists, who own Venice and so many of the other cities I’ve seen, are swallowed; mere insects against your imperial form.

The legends of Rome in the modern day: everything you’ve heard about the maniacal drivers in Rome is true, and understated! The busier an intersection, the bigger (wider) the streets become. Traffic is a free-for-all with cars and mopeds going every-which-way. Most intersections have pedestrian crosswalks, but there are no lights. Pedestrians have the right of way, regardless of what the traffic is doing. Crossing is an act of faith if there ever was one. You step off the curb and proceed (with mock-confidence) with head up and eyes straight ahead, showing no fear. Hoping you live to see the opposite curb (but doubting it) you march across the road, and cars, buses and mopeds swerve in front of, behind and around you. A rare few actually slow down or (heaven forbid) stop to let you pass, but I suspect these are foreigners and tourists, unfamiliar with the local insanity.

And the Roman men? Well, all that seems to be true enough, too. Although I was asked out to dinner and a sightseeing tour in Venice, nothing compares to the appreciative charm of these Roman men. They are, however, at least in my experience, very sweet and quite harmless. They smile engagingly and compliment you (I’ve heard ‘bella Canadienna’ a half dozen times today) and I’ll return their smiles and keep walking. I imagine I’d have a ‘friend’ or two of I stopped or showed any interest, but I don’t and they’re quite nice about the whole thing. I haven’t yet resorted to Grandma’s wedding ring (worn for luck and protection where a wedding ring belongs) since that scary guy on the train from Munich.

And so, in case I haven’t been explicit enough on this point, I love Rome. If in fact one day (Beloved) and I do make it to Greece, I think a stop-over in Rome is a must. Now that I think of it, I forgot to throw a coin into the Trevi Fountain; I’ll have to go back.

The curtain of darkness has fallen, and I can hear a saxophone playing lovely jazz solos somewhere below me. This is too picturesque for me to describe, me in this tiny but wonderfually cozy and homey room, writing by the open window, with the lonely saxophone melodies carrying through the sweltering summer night. I feel as if I’ve fallen into an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel! What a wonderful trip this is…

Categories: Europe95

I am beginning to realize that I have done more than create two little boys. In fact, I have created a third entity known as brothers, and brothers have a personality all their own, the best and the worst of the composite parts.

I know a little bit about brothers. I have one. He’s five years younger than me, so we didn’t often have a lot in common growing up. I played with his Star Wars toys sometimes, and he played kissing games in the fort in the vacant lot with the neighbourhood kids sometimes. But five years and a gender gap is a lot to overcome. I may have a brother, but I’ve never been one. (Although I must admit, as adults my brother and I have discovered each other anew. Together we have populated my mother’s life with three grandsons in three years. We have more in common, and more respect for each other, now than we ever did growing up!)

When I was in grade 7, I made friends with two boys, brothers, who were one year ahead and one year behind me in school. These boys wrote the definition to the word brothers as I know it. They weren’t inseparable, and they generally annoyed the crap out of each other, but they had a bond that was clearly visible, tangible. When I think back to growing up with these brothers, who came to be among my closest friends, I remember not only the shit they disturbed (I have clear memories of them putting the cat in a pillow case and spinning her around over their heads) and capers they pulled off (one day we decided to play hookey and feeling the absence of the brother who attended another school, we liberated him by telling the principal his grandmother had died – without even asking the brother in question if he wanted to play hookey that day.) I remember most clearly the inconsequential time they spent together, throwing a baseball, watching TV, playing games on the Nintendo. It wasn’t that you never saw one without the other, and autonomously they were great friends and companions to me. But there was a depth to their friendship that I’ve never seen, before or since.

That’s what I think of when I think of my boys as brothers. That they will always have each other, even as they irritate the holy hell out of each other. And having them so close in age, just a few weeks shy of two years apart, means that they should have lots of common ground over the years.

But really, I thought I’d have a few years to spare before some elements of brotherly behaviour manifested themselves. At three and a half, Tristan gleefully goads 18 month old Simon into doing stupid things. The dumber the stunt, the harder Tristan laughs, and of course Simon is a willing patsy. Recently, Tristan has taken to goading Simon into biting his own shoe when they are buckled into their car seats. This is the pinnacle of humour to Tristan, who howls with delight, and I have to drive with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Simon’s foot to keep him from complying. Tristan made my heart melt the other day by asking over and over if Simon had finished his dinner yet, because he (Tristan) had just finished building a particularly lovely track and wanted Simon to drive the trains with him. On another day, I hollered myself hoarse at Tristan’s hysterics over Simon touching his tracks.

And shouldn’t we have been much closer to the teen years before I heard the first, “Mummy! He’s looking at me!”?

Brothers!

It’s funny how no matter how excellent a vacation has been, it’s still a bit of a relief to return to the routine of every day. Or maybe that’s just me. A return to routine of course means a return to blog.

I woke up this morning to another in the seemingly endless series of hot, sunny days this summer, and was downright cheerful as I got ready for work. I had picked my outfit with some care the night before, and I realized it felt quite a bit like getting ready for the first day of school. It’s been more than seven years since I had any kind of school routine, somewhere around seventeen since it was my full-time occupation, and yet those ingrained patterns die hard.

I was only away from work for two and a half weeks, but it may as well have been two months. It seems like I was gone forever! Only 199 unread e-mail… better than I expected.

The past two weeks were heavenly, though. I couldn’t have imagined a better vacation. It was sunny and hot for the vast majority of the time, just the kind of weather on which I thrive. In addition to our adventures with the big blue train, we had playdates at parks and in pools, a day at the waterslide park, barbeques with family and friends and birthday celebrations. We found time to be tourists in our own town, and I spent many many hours looping the back highways south of town, hot wind blowing through the car and a hot Tim’s coffee in my hand as one baby or another caught a car nap in the back seat.

Yesterday, after living in this city for nearly two decades and vetching endlessly about the lack of a good beach, we found an excellent beach just around the corner from us at Britannia Bay. Why why why has no-one mentioned this gem to me before? The water is clear and warm, the bottom is sandy, and you can walk out for 50 meters and still only be up to your knees – perfect for toddlers. My mom and I took the boys out there yesterday, and had so much fun we vowed to go back at least one more day before the end of summer, maybe even next week.

Summer is far from over, but there are 199 e-mails waiting for me, and one or two of them might be important.

Reaching the half way point, more or less, of my European tour. Today marks a return to normalacy in the world of 2005 (vacation is done), but for the edification of one person who has told me in person that she is enjoying these entries (isn’t she kind?) and Running2K who has been reading and commenting faithfully, we continue to travel in 1995.

Ah Venice. How can I describe Venice? An ancient city that shows its age as a badge of honour. Dilapidated and run down, yet still beautiful beyond description, Venice seems to me to be the opposite of the tidy, perfect towns of Germany and Austria. Venice is raw and rude and arrogant and makes no apologies; the Venitians are xenophobic and unhelpful; yet the charm here is magical.

It is an intimidating, not welcoming, city, and I think to truly appreciate and enjoy it, you cannot be timid; you must heave yourself, heart and mind, into Venice and hope for the best. I can see that Venice has much to offer: the majestic canals; the quaint, twisting alleyways; the art; the churches; the history. Venice may be indifferent to you, but you cannot be indifferent to Venice.

I’m lying here on a bed in a room with 29 other beds, in a convent of all things. This is my home in Venice… at least it’s safe! God, the curfew is 10:30 pm but I don’t think I’m going to make it that far. I think it’s a combination of travel exhaustion and homesickness that makes me want to go to bed so early… the sooner I go to bed, the sooner the next day comes. By the time I’ve finished dinner, I’ve usually had enough of the present day; what an adventurer I am!

Dinner is a real problem for me here. My “home” schedule usually has me having dinner around 6 pm, but the restaurants don’t even open for dinner until 7 pm here, and no one seems to eat before 9 pm at least. Just finding a meal during the day is rough. I hate anything near formal by myself, so I eat a lot of baguettes and cheese picnic style. Eating just seems so much more complicated here, although I’m proud to say that I resorted to the ubiquitous McDonald’s only once, on my “very bad day” in Salzburg. Come to think of it, Venice is the first city I’ve been in that has neither a McDonald’s nor a Body Shop – every other city has had several of each.

I ment the nicest man on the train from Salzburg to Venice yesterday. He was probably in his early fifties… he spoke to the other couple in the compartment quite a bit about politics before addressing me, and I had him figured for a Cliff Claven windbag type. He ended up being wonderful, though. He lives in Austria, but has obviously traveled all over the world, including Ottawa and southern Ontario. He showed me the most beautiful scenery on the route, complete with a running commentary. Near the Italian border, we had to leave our car because it broke down and he made sure I got properly settled in another car. He was very fatherly, and I would have been in an absolute panic without him explaining what was going on. He translated both the Italian and German for me. All I know about him is that his name is Herman, and he made the trip excellent for me.

Italian border guards carry machine guns while inspecting the train. That’s a new experience!!

Categories: Europe95

As I transcribe and re-read this article, I wonder what ever inspired me to be a writer. It wasn’t a varied selection of adjectives, that’s for sure. I never realized until transcribing this journal how many times I’ve used the word “beautiful”. But for the sake of authenticity, I’m reprinting this verbatim, in all my 26-year-old glory.

Categories: Europe95

Ten years ago today, I was in Salzburg, struggling with competing urges to carry on my trip, or to turn on my tail and run for home. I remember calling home, crying so hard I couldn’t speak properly, and I think back to my poor mother, who initially forbade me from going on the trip. I’m surprised I didn’t find her at my hotel room door the next day. Here’s how it happened.

Salzburg – the worst of the trip so far, and the best.

Yesterday was awful. Awful. On the train from Munich to Salzburg, an odd man professing to be a reformed convict (!) kept trying to befriend me. Thankfully, his ticket was a handwritten note on a napkin, and he was escorted off the train at the first stop. (I was just trying to figure out in my head how to ask the conductor for assistance when he was escorted off. Among other things, he cast a long look at my legs and asked me if all Canadian women had such lovely legs.) Although I had a bit of a headache, I still enjoyed the Alpine scenery, with the beautiful flat plains covered with huge farms leading to the gorgeous purple mountains on the horizon.

I found the Pension Chiemsee without a problem, and then disaster struck – I realized I had lost / been robbed of my swiss army knife (a birthday present from my brother), which was on a keyring with my spare housekey and the key to the lock on my backpack. I called back to the Heidelberg pension, but she didn’t have it.

I was devastated. I knew it was a small problem, hardly worth getting upset about, but I fell apart. I called Mom, unable to talk I was crying so hard. I knew it wasn’t the loss of the knife and keys; it was the stress of the strange encounter on the train plus ten days’ worth of exhaustion, frustration and culture shock. Mom tried to convince me to eliminate Italy from my trip and come home a week early. All night long I considered it. It was nothing and everything, and I wanted nothing more than to be home again. After speaking to Mom a second time (out of homesickness rather than panic this time) I had calmed down a bit – but not much!

The wonderful woman who owns the pension found a friend with a hack saw, rode her bicycle across town to get it for me, and used it to cut open my luggage. By this point it was 6 pm and I just wanted to curl up and cry. I forced myself to go out for a walk, knowing I would do nothing but cry if I stayed in the pension.

So, still weepy and vaguely pathetic, I went to wander half-heartedly around the Altstadt. I was scowling like a madwoman at the beautiful old buildings – the more lovely the sight, the more bitter I became. Finally, I stumbled across the Dom, the beautiful Renaissance cathedral that (Beloved) had told me about.

My day turned around.

It was perhaps 6:40 by this time, and the sign I couldn’t quite translate said something about a concert at 7 pm. Since I had hoped to catch some of the Salzburg International Music Festival, it seemed like this was going to be as close as I would get. I wandered about the cathedral for a bit, in awe of the frescoes that covered the domes and the gorgeous arches. Sentimentally, and again on the verge of tears, I lit a candle for Grandma and Grandpa and Granny and Granda. Then, I settled into a pew to ogle the incredible art and await the concert. It was in this cathedral , I learned from the guidebook, that Mozart was baptised and later became concertmiester.

The orchestra and choir, from England, were very good, and occasionally augmented by some wonderful modern dance by a group of young ballerinas. The true magic, however, came during the last piece, when the entire orchestra and choir stood up, in mid-song while still playing, to move throughout the church. Dispersed throughout the huge cathedral, they finished their song. It is impossible to describe how magical it was, like being surrounded by and a part of the music, soaring with it and on it. My poor frazzled nerves were completely soothed.

Today, too, has been a good day. The first shop I passed (one of the rare few open on a Sunday) sold swiss army knives, and I immediately replaced my lost one. It was symbolic, to me, of recovery and continuance. Then, on the pension owner’s advice, I went to see the water garden at Hellbrun Palace. Originally built as a summer retreat by Prince Arch Bishop Sitticus in 1613 – 1619 by the Italian Santino Solari (the same architech of the Dom) the palace’s water garden proves that either Sitticus or Solari (or both) had a wonderful sense of humour.

There are statues of Greek mythology everywhere, and a wonderful series of water-driven marionettes and a water-driven organ. Guests are led through the park en masse, and hidden spigots and nasty tour guides ensure everyone gets a good soaking. The whole group, maybe 50 people, LOVED it! It was such a silly thing, adults yelping and jumping and laughing like children to avoid surprise streams. I absolutely adored it; it was the most fun I’ve had since I got here. So simple, and yet so much fun. The gardens and decorations were pretty on their own; I must have taken ten pictures here alone. On the same grounds was a little zoo with a friendly little bear cub… entertainment in the grandest Dani-style.

And so, Salzburg was the worst, and the best. Tomorrow, the real challenge begins – Venice!

Categories: Europe95

Today was the last day of my summer vacation. I couldn’t have ended it on a better note.

(Note to Nancy: Please don’t read blog today. We missed you, and don’t want you to feel any worse about not being able to make it. I can’t imagine any other time I would implore you not to read blog, but today, don’t do it.)

We had a playdate with some of my best mommy friends today. I thought we might have moved beyond the age where playdates work well, but I was wrong. I remember early playdates with these same moms, when our babies were two, three, four months old and we would meet in the park, laying the babies in a row on a blanket and chatting for leisurely hours. Playdates got more chaotic as the babies turned into toddlers, and conversations were reduced to what you could elicit in three word sentences between rescuing toddlers from trouble. Now the babies are between three and four, and a second (and third!) wave of babies has crested, is cresting, will be cresting very soon, and conversation has returned to playdates as the babies that have become preschoolers entertain themselves and each other. The miracle of this playdate is that almost all the kids are IVF babies, and the miracle of our friendship is that we met on the Internet.

I can’t tell you how much I love these women, how important they are in my life. With work and family life and so many other things demanding my attention these days, it would be easy to let these friendships drift into oblivion, into sweet memories of shared experiences. But after a day like today, I promise myself anew that keeping in touch with these smart, funny, interesting women is worth the time and effort to stay in touch.

My boys have been stretching the bounds of my patience this past week, but today they made up for it. I kept looking around, wondering who replaced my troublesome tyrants with such sweet, well-mannered and adorable boys. Tristan asked to hold a two week old baby girl, and I thought my heart would melt. When I got to hold her myself, my heart did melt just a little bit. My kingdom for a girl! (Actually, I’ve said before that I’m sure one of the little girls there today was my daughter misdelivered by the stork. She reminds me so much of me as a little girl. It’s almost unsettling.)

Thank you, my friends, for such a wonderful, memorable day. I couldn’t have scripted a more perfect end to a glorious summer vacation. Can we do it again soon? (I’m free tomorrow!)

Categories: infertility