Isn't it great to be a Wo-Mom?

I am Melissa and yes, I am a working mother.

Whew! Feels good to get that off my chest! Yesterday I attended my first "Wo-Mom" meeting. My friend Dorrie recently decided to create a networking, support group for working mothers in the bay area. The group meets every 4-6 weeks to discuss business topics of interest , but always there is the pressing topic of child care that gets discussed and re-addressed at every meeting. Meetings occur at various locales around the San Francisco bay area. Since the group is so new, so far, there are only about 11 members. Of those eleven, due to busy work and family schedules, five of us showed up for the meeting held at a coffee shop on the Embarcadero in the newly renovated Ferry Building.


Side bar: I love the Ferry Building. It is a wonderous place, very similar to an indoor farmer's market. There are permanent kiosks and booths selling imported olives from Tuscany, fresh flowers and specialty breads to die for. There is real Italian gelato place and next to it a cavier bar. Not that I am really into cavier that much, but it is fun to look at. Wandering down the center of the Ferry building is a treat for all the senses.

Meanwhile, back to our Wo-mom meeting. It took us a while to settle down to discussing the topic of the month "contracts" as we were all busy getting acquainted and talking about our individual businesses. Amongst us was a Qualitative Research Group Moderator, a Grants Writer, a Promotions & Advertising Specialist - she really calls herself a Tchotcke Queen as she can supply any event with any kind of gimick or fun take away item (and you thought I didn't know how to spell Tchotcke!) an Events Coordinator, and then me, of course, the Graphic/Web Designer. Quite a diverse group, but we discovered that we all had similar issues and concerns about how to juggle working and raising a family at the same time. I went, as a favor to my friend Dorrie, but decided to return again because the group was really dynamic, and it was actually quite helpful to discuss business ideas and concerns and feel supported. Plus, such a great way to network. We all discovered that we had some skill or something to offer the others in the group. Very cool!

So, I decided that the idea of the "Wo-Mom" group is a good one and something that I can benefit from. I just find it incredibly interesting that there are no "Wo-dad" groups around. But, then it isn't really necessary, is it? It seems inevitable that the brunt of the care taking is the responsibility and domain of women and that they ineveitably are the ones that have to juggle their clients, their time and their meetings around child care schedules. Women are the ones that have to hunt down good daycare, arrange for sitters and nannies, and in the event of an emergency, they are the ones that have to have backup-plans-to-backup-plans so that they can get their work done at all. How many men have to worry about that? Most men go off into the work place and blissfully leave all that behind. I am not pointing fingers or making any heavy acusations, just pondering the great role and responsibility that comes with being a mom and working mother.

The ice cream man cometh

Saturday night friends came over for dinner. Among them was Roger. Roger works for Dryers ice cream and is king and czar of all flavors. He gets to decide which flavors of ice cream will make it or be axed from the Dryer line up. In the realm of brand managing jobs, not so bad to have ice cream taster as part of your job description. Of course, as would be expected, he brought ice cream for dessert. But, that he would bring 6 tubs of ice cream, plus the new Dryers Dibs, was something every hostess dreams of! We ate dinner, but gorged on ice cream in the kitchen later! We treated our palates to the ever delightful Rocky Road, the delicious Chocolate Fudge Chunk, the always pleasing Carmel Delight, the crowd's favorite Nestle Crunch and of course the new slow churned Double Vanilla. Roger tells me that as great as all these flavors are, the number one, two and three best sellers at Dryers are and continue to be...Vanilla, Vanilla Bean, and Old Fashioned Vanilla. America, we are so very proud of you! I have to say, that of the bunch I liked the new Dibs product the best. Dibs are like bite size ice cream bars. Roger says that he can fit 47 into his mouth at one time. They held a contest at the Dryers head quarters and he lost out to some guy from Fiji that can fit 68 Dibs into his mouth. I figure with a little self discipline and lots of practice, by the end of the summer I should be able to do just as well as the guy from Fiji...a person has to have goals, you know.

Summer magic

School ends tomorrow for my kids, marking the beginning of summer. I love the summer. It brings to mind great times and favorite memories. Such as...

1-2-3 Jello.

Perpetually stubbed big toes (incurred from running around barefooted all summer long.)

Being kept awake by a single errant mosquito in the middle night and scratching the itchy bites it left behind the next morning, despite my mother's protests that doing so would leave scars.

Mr. Morton setting up a barber shop in his back yard. At the beginning of the summer, our next door neighbor, would set up a large bar stool in the back yard and shave the heads of his six boys. All the neighborhood kids would gather around and watch.

Eating homemade banana sherbert on the screened-in porch while watching the flickering TV in the dark.

Riding in our volkswagen convertible to the Rootbeer Stand, dressed in baby doll pajamas, at dusk.

Mr. Misty head freezes.

Fresh corn on the cob, dripping with butter. (What do you expect...I grew up in Iowa, on a college campus, set in the middle of a corn field)

Afternoons spent at the college library because it was so cool inside. We didn't have airconditioning, just big fans and big open windows that let the breezes in.

My mother covering the furniture with sheets, because she said it was cooler to sit in the upolstered furniture that way.

Riding my bike to the abbandoned Abbey Creek One-Room School house and playing in the mud and catching minnows in the creek.

My brother running around the house trying to catch a stray bat that flew into the house with his butterfly net...and actually catching it.

Playing kick-the-can and hide-n-go seek in the dark and being mortally terrified of every sound and every shadow, as I stayed crouched and hidden in the bushes.

Reading Anne of Green Gables in the dark, under a white sheet, with a miniature flashlight after "lights out".

The Gators rock the house!

It was a Gator pool Saturday morning.

Okay, maybe we lost the swim meet to the Highland Barracudas, but we had a lot of fun anyway! They made shark bait out of us actually. They are the toughest team in the swim league and took championships last summer. But who cares. The kids swam their little hearts out, as a crowd of parents cheered from the deck. I love the Gators. It is a swim club with heart and not ultra competitive. This is our second year of participating on the Gators. Joining the Gators was like joing a big extended family. Everybody cheers for everyone else and friendships run deep. Last year it took Kyle about five minutes to make it across the pool and he was always the last one to reach the end. The Gators didn't mind. All of them stood up and screamed and yelled and encouraged Kyle as he crept to the finish line. A beaming Kyle exited the pool and all he could say was that he was soooo proud to be soooo popular!

Having moved to California from the midwest five years ago, and with most of our families scattered across the fifty states, we miss having aunts and uncles and cousins nearby. Now my kids have a whole new family. If you aren't aware, the swimming culture is very buddy oriented. My older son who was a little on the shy side, and introverted now flirts with girls and teases them and has become this very confident young person that is not afraid to express himself. In fact, yesterday during the final free-style relay he decided he needed a swim cap to help him cut nonoseconds off his time. He called out to Hannah to throw him her cap...a bright pink cap mind you. He stood tall on the diving block, in this glorious fuscia cap, having the time of his life.

This year my Italian friends Roberta and Paolo and their two sons joined the Gators. In the Gator way, they too are being welcomed into the fold and even had their house tee-peed last night. Roberta and I chat away in Italian as we watch and cheer our kids on. We may not be breaking records, but the kids are having fun and improving their swim times inch my inch, stroke by stroke. So just remember, when the Gators rock the house, they rock it all the way down!

Blog tag

Sam read my blog and left a comment. Amy read my blog and found Sam's comment. Being the inquisitive person that she is, she visited Sam's blog and found this name quiz thingy. I visited Amy's blog and found that she had posted the results of her name blog thingy (with a very nice mention of my blog...thanks very much!) I got curious and visited Sam's blog to find out the details... and tadah! Here is what I got. All true, of course. Now I am going to get out of MY chair and go see a movie.

MELISSA
M is for Mushy
E is for Easy
L is for Lively
I is for Inspirational
S is for Successful
S is for Striking
A is for Alert

here is the link if you want to play too

What is up with the sun visors lately?

I don't know what is going on in your neck of the woods, but recently here in mine, there is a growing trend amongst some women in the neighborhood toward wearing oversize sun visors that cover the entire face. What is up with that? Now, I am not that much of a fashionista, but pleeaaasssse! This is not a good look for anyone. To walk around with your face covered by a huge piece of black plastic annoys me. If you ask me, and I know that you were just going to, it is a little anti-social and just plain weird. I get it. I get it. They are protecting themselves from the harmful rays of the sun. But, they look more like they are part of a hazmat clean up crew. Today, as I was headed out to the gym, a car cut me off. When I reached the light and pulled up beside said car, all I could see was a storm trooper visor covering the face of the offender. Great. Not only is said head device strange and anti-social, it also cuts off periferial vision and therefore is a catalyst for future collisions. I am all for sun protection and covering up against the harmful UVs but, I for one, will stick with a simple pair of Ray Bans, thank you very much!

Natural selection. Is it working?

Apparently not, if you live in my backyard. Every spring, for the last five years, since we built this pergola in the backyard, birds have been trying to build nests in it. The unfortunate thing for them, is that the spaces are way too small for a nest remain. But, every year, birds belonging to what I have to believe are descendents of the same line of birds that lay claim to our little backyard as home, continue to futiley attemp to create a domestic space in a space that is uninhabitable. Every year they attempt to stuff grass and leaves and paper towels that they find in our recylable bins into the niches and crannies of the pergola, only to have the stuff fall on to the ground thirty seconds later. Come June, as a result, our patio is littered with grass clippings, weeds and string that the birds have gathered to craft their nests with, but that end up on the ground instead. I have watched, for whole half hours, this process, until I give up in disgust at the stupidness of the bird. How it can not realize that, no matter how hard he tries, his nest will not stay put, is beyond me. I have even gone out, and behind the birds back cleaned out the niches with a hose, hoping that they will get the message that the space they have choosen is a disaster zone waiting to happen. About as smart as building a house in Lagoona beach, that is just waiting to slide into the ocean at any given moment. But, the birds, they never get the hint. Relentlessly, they return and continue to make nests. Personally, I think it has the earmarkings of the work of an overeager male bird. Some pregnant bird is sitting in a near by bush yelling at its mate to get a move on and make her a decent nest. While I appreciate his desire to please his mate, couldn't he finally understand that there is a more comfortable nest to be made in a tree nearby. You would think that after generations, the stupid gene would be eradicated from this particular family of birds. But, no. Apparently, stupidness never ever seems to be fully be removed from any of the gene pools.

My philosophy on decorating

Here are a couple of things you should know about my decorating tastes. First off, wrought iron speaks to me.

I sit on chairs that look like this...


I eat with utensils that look like this...


I illuminate rooms with things like these...


I don't much like floral patterns on couches or drapes. In fact, I can barely tolerate drapes. The closest I have ever come to hanging draperies is placing a simple swag across the top of a window, mounted of course with a wrought iron bracket. I like soft oversized pillows and lots of them. I like mixing vivid abstract patterns with soft brocaded beaded pillows.

I like dusky greens, warm grays and accents of yellow paint to add warmth and color. I like sponging the kitchen walls and bathrooms with all the left over paint samples to create a unique concoction of colors that look like rough, hewn stone. I like to paint boys' bedrooms bright orange or lime green with blue accents. I like to hand paint messages along the top of a wall in a foreign language...just because I can.

I like original and quirky art. I like to surround myself with pieces that friends have created or by artists that I have personally met. I have a statue made by a Kansas City artist using Indiana limestone in my hallway that I got at a art fair one summer, a painting of the Duomo painted by a woman in Florence who I met on the street in Italy and ceramics thrown on a potters wheel by a college friend in a studio that used to be next to mine. My own paintings are strewn about the premisis and are perpetually changing locations depending upon my mood. I have a hand tinted print on the wall outside my office that reads: "We lay there and looked up at the night sky and she told me about stars called blue squares and red swirls and I told her I'd never heard of them. Of course not, she said, the really important stuff they never tell you. You have to imagine it on your own."

My philosophy on decorating: nothing should really "go" with anything else, if it does, you are trying to tell someone else's story. Eclectic is good. If you surround yourself with the things that you love, you create your own personal style. I mix old with new, iron with wood, neutrals with brights, and straight and angular with soft and plushy. I like the yin and the yang of all the opposing forces. At any rate, your stuff should tell a lovely story about who you are and where you have been. Accumulate the stuff that speaks to you above all other things, and you will create a comfortable space to hang out in. No one can really tell you how to decorate. Never hire a decorator. It is your space. You have to imagine it on your own.

The small things that I like to eat

Cashews

Black Olives

Cherry tomatoes

Pepperoncinis

M&Ms

Hershey Kisses with carmel filling

I could make a meal on these...entree, salad, and dessert!

Goodnight kisses

Tonight Kyle had a hundred questions about the Sandman, which had him popping out of bed and wandering down the hall to find me two or three times, after I had already tucked him into bed. The Sandman, along with the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus and the Toothfairy are still very real to him. This is something that I continue to actively encourage because I cherish his innocence and the fantasy land that is still his to romp around in for yet a while longer.

As is our nightly ritual, after teeth have been brushed and before the lights get turned out, we read a book together. The tide is turning. I used to be the one that read to him and now he chooses to read to me instead. Tonight he selected "Home For a Bunny". "Spring Spring Spring sang the frog" begins the book. How well I remember, because this was one of my personal favorites when I was Kyle's age. I tell him this and he is quite impressed that we like the same book. I always liked the illustrations by Garth Williams, who also illustrated another personal favorite of mine, "Wait to the Moon is Full", and of course all the "Little House on the Prarie" books. Kyle starts the book, but can't make it past the first couple of sentences without stopping to ask a question or comment upon the story or a picture on the page. He wants to know what a bog is, how a bunny would make a hole in the ground and how do frogs breath under water. Our nightly readings take rather random turns until mom, who usually is starting to fall asleep on the pillow next to him, tells him to keep on reading! We finish up and then I tuck him in and kiss and hug him. Then I have to kiss and hug Teddy, his rather beat up, but well loved bear, that he made at the Teddy Bear factory last November, his inseparable companion and life long friend. I have to kiss and hug Teddy the same exact number of times that I have kissed and hugged Kyle, and believe you me, if I don't, I get called back into the room to even up the score. Now all is quiet. A definite stillness has fallen over the house. A stillness that only occurs when Kyle has fallen asleep. I think the Sandman has done his work for the evening.

andddddd....we are still procrasting....

So, this is the part of the day, here in Melissa's world, that we call fun with scanning. I was standing in the check out line at the supermarket a couple of weeks ago and saw this great TV Guide cover. Normally, I never bother with TV guide, or even keep the guide that comes in the newspaper for that matter, because I am a random viewer and never need to have a schedule to tell me when or what I should be watching. But, I couldn't resist buying this particular TV Guide, because it had an ultra cool special effect cover that changes from Princess Leia to Padme. I wanted to see if I could scan the hologram. By scanning it upside down, sideways and rightside up I caught the images and the image as it transformed midway. Pretty cool, huh? Okay, already! I am going back to work.... right after I find some chocolate....

Still procrastinating....

Well, the annual report that I am supposed to be working on is still sitting on my desk. This is so unlike me. Friday I had very good intentions of starting on it but, well, it was Friday, and after 10am I was well into my weekend mode and decided to wait to start fresh on Monday morning. Monday is here. I have checked my email, surfed the web, looked at a couple of blogs, and updated the family calendar. Out of the corner of my eye I can see it still sitting there next to my computer. From what I can tell it doesn't appear to be miracolously and spontaneously designing itself. Darn! Really have to get that thing started today. Double need to start the project today, because the client went and paid me for the first part of the project that I completed already...a logo that I designed. Now, I have no excuses, like, if they just paid me I would be so motivated to start the next project. Yes, decidly must start the annual report today.

That's when I decided to go take a shower. Like I really needed to take a shower and got dressed! Some Mondays, I will work in my pajamas all the way until 3pm when the kids come home. I even washed and ironed my hair. Like I really needed to do that. Who is really going to see me today. And ironing my hair! I have taken to straightening my frizzies with a hair iron I bought at the drugstore back in March. My obsession with having straight hair these days must come from some opposite response mechanism to having permed my hair for so many years. Yikes! But, now every time I straighten my hair with the iron, it makes me think of Susan Dey in the Partridge family when she used to iron her hair with a clothes iron. I feel one with Susan Dey. So, here I am back at my desk. Really gotta get going on that annual report. Any second now. It is going to happen. I can feel it. Hey, wait. I think there must be some laundry around here that needs doing...

Nostalgia is a funny thing

I am so guilty of wading around in nostalgia. I am definitely a wallower. Thinking back to times and places that have long since departed and dredging up the past is my speciality, it seems. The things that have disappeared from my life, the people that have changed or that I no longer have contact with, but are stuck in a moment in my personal history, seem touched with gold somehow, and all the more special because, well, they just are no longer. They no longer exist because new people and events have taken their places. Life continues to move forward at an alarming pace.

Just think, these very moments, these moments in which I am typing this blog will one day become pure nostalgia to me. I will look back and think: "What great fun it was to blog in those days." and "Wasn't it great when I had lots of clients and boring annual reports to design"? and... "Wasn't it great when I had to drive the kids to the pool six times a day for swim practice." "It was the best, when I went to the gym and sweated my brains out on the treadmill every other day."

Seriously, I will think this! I will think that this was a wonderful time that I will never get back again. And, whenever I hear the Paola and Chiara song "Amoremidai" my eyes will well up with tears and I will remember the spring of 2005 and think, "where did it go"? Did I really appreciate it as much as I should have when I was living through it? The answer is probably not. But, that is the beauty of nostalgia for me, I guess. Through nostalgia, I get to re-live it all later, and really remember how wonderful it was.

Day dreaming and wishful thinking

This morning I was procrastinating and looking for ways to avoid starting in on the design of a rather large annual report. There it is staring at me...a pile of messy word documents in a great big manila folder, sitting next to my computer, that all somehow need to be turned into a slick, easy to read booklet complete with glossy photos and imaginative illustrations. Sipping on my coffee, and looking for ways to stall a few more moments, as per usual, I went to the internet for fun and entertainment. I head over to La Bacheca, an Italian chat group, to see what is going on. Clicking around I was disappointed to find that there were no new posts and nothing to respond to that would keep me a few moments longer from the dreaded annual report.

I guess I was really desperate for a good distraction, because I started to read the Google ads that appear on the site. And then, there it was, this big glowing banner that advertised an Italian language school in the heart of Florence, that was just beckoning for new students to come and discover the wonders of the Italian language. I couldn't resist. I clicked on the link and was quickly whisked into another world. I read through the class offerings and soon thoughts of the annual report drifted away. I began to imagine myself in Florence, surrounded by other language students, excited to be abroad and bound together by our foreigness and the desire to learn the Italian language. The photos on the site were evocative and I could smell the old building, feel the ache in my legs after having climbed to the top floor of an ancient Florentine building with a view of the Duomo where the classes are held, and see the faces of the mildly bored, but patient instructors, who have names like, Sandro and Maria Grazia.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if all I had to do in a day were to spend four hours in the morning in a classroom perfecting my Italian, and then another two hours in the afternoon making conversation one-on-one with a professor. Lunchtime would be a delightful break in the day, when I would run down the eight flights of stone steps, or risk the descent in an ancient decorative Otis elevator, to the street below and to the corner bar for a panino and an aqua frizzante. Standing at the shiny counter I would be rubbing elbows with shopkeepers, business men, artisans and harried housewives . I would be immersed in the bubbling language and able to converse with everyone I met and understand conversations overheard from patrons sitting at nearby tables. And then, after meandering through the flea market in the piazza by S. Lorenzo and admiring the leather bags and second hand books, I would find myself back at the school in one of the small classrooms with high ceilings, featuring tasteful posters of Dante and David on the walls. Each room would have it's own balcony and you could hang over the railings and with a bird's eye view watch the activity on the street below. You would see the three wheel trucks, the beat up city cars and the watch as the vespas weave erratically in and out of the traffic. As they depart down side alleys, off to pick up girlfriends or return to work, the stacatto vrooom vrooom vrooom of the motor scooters would echo crazily through caverns created by the narrowly spaced ancient buildings. Gazing up and over the red tile rooftops of the city, you would see Brunelleschi's Duomo rising above all the other bell towers and chapels, and in the distance the purple haze of Piazza Michelangelo and the suburb Bagno a Ripoli.

It would be a joy to experience the life of a carefree student in Florence again. I have an ache in my heart as I daydream about the possibility.

Campaign for natural beauty

The other day, I was running around doing errands and stopped in at the Postal Annex to send off my passport for renewal. To process a new passport you need to fill out paper work, write a check and supply two new current pictures to the American government. The first couple of things I got done quickly. Taking a passport picture proved to be more of a task. I went to Longs Drug store to have a picture taken, thinking that would be fast and easy. However, I have this weird, quirky thing that happens when someone takes a picture of me using a digital flash camera. My right eye inevitably closes half way, giving me the appearance that I am either drunk, or have just had a stroke. It is quite annoying. On top of that, the picture was all washed out and my hair looked hideous. Not satisfied with the Longs passport picture, I went home and had my son take a whole bunch of pictures of me against a white wall in the brightest natural light that I could find. I had my son take the pictures because I was afraid my husband would tease me relentlessly. Then, from the dozens of pictures that we had taken, I had to start analyzing every aspect of my face, my smile, bone structure, the way my hair looked behind my ears or puffed up at the top. I finally chose one and than began the process of sizing and cropping the photo to meet the specification of having my head measure 1-3/8" from crown to chin. What an ordeal! But, I have to say I was much happier with the picture. My eyes are open, nice smile and my hair definitely looks better.

So, there I was standing in line at the postal annex thinking about how stupid I had been spending such an inordinent amount of time worrying about a crumby passport picture. But there it was, what can I say, female vanity and the desire to look my best for the airport security guards in Rome, at its finest. And then I looked up at the woman behind the counter waiting to help me. I was stunned and couldn't look away. I was staring at an extraordinary woman. I couldn't help but think that I was standing in the presence of a truly beautiful woman...and she had the biggest nose that I have ever seen. She must have been in her late forties, early fifties. Her face was framed by short dark curly ringlets and and she had the brightest ruby red lipstick on her lips. She was wonderful and all I could think of was that I hoped she never would change a thing about her appearance. If she reduced that magnificent nose, her beauty would be diminished. She was perfect, and I wanted to invite her home and learn all about her life adventures.

Have you seen the recent Dove commercials? The new slogan for Dove is "Campaign for Natural Beauty." Well, you have to hand it to Dove for attempting an honest push to recognize ordinary women and their unique faces and bodies. It is kind of refreshing. On the other hand, the Italian newspaper the Repubblica and the rest of the world's media is touting Angelina Jolie as the world's most beautiful woman. Hard to disagree there. But, it is still nice to know that there are beautiful woman all around us and not just in Hollywood or on the runways, and that they can even be found working at the Postal Annex in Fremont wearing ruby red lipstick. So, I decided, that confidence, along with the the ability to accept the things that set us a part from others and to flaunt them, rather than try to change or cancel them, are the things that make a truly beautiful woman. (That and the ability to keep your eyes open and take a decent photo.)

To Anchorage with love....

The other day I came across a couple of pictures of me and my husband standing on the Matanuska glacier in Alaska. We took a trip to Alaska the year after my husband graduated from business school, to visit college friends who had high tailed it out of Chicago, seeking good times and adventure in the wilds of Anchorage and the Alaskan judicial system.

Our friend Ken, never one to play it safe or easy, had spent a couple of years in France & Russia and later in Senegal Africa in the peace corp. He is a linguist and can speak French, Russian, Spanish and Wolof (a Senegalise dialect) but, has a hard time remembering names. Ken and I originally were buddies way back in college and then I introduced him to my husband. In addition to his many talents, Ken was also a drama major and a fine singer. Often times, he would walk across campus, in the dead of winter singing tunes from My Fair Lady at the top of his lungs. My husband, before he got to know Ken, used to think he was a little off his rocker. But, once I introduced them at a campus party, over a bottle of cold Russian vodka that Ken had brought back from his year abroad in Moscow, they became the best of friends...that is after they resurfaced two days later. Ken became such a good friend to us that he literally hitch hiked back from Senegal to be in our wedding. He walked, hopped buses, hitched rides on U.S military transports and jets, just to make it back in time to be our best man. After leaving the Peace Corp., Ken went back to school and got his law degree. But, not wanting to be totally conventional, he and his wife Becky, who he met in the Peace Corp., decided to move to Alaska and raise a family of two boys and one adopted Chinese daughter. He continues to litigate and even has time to act on stage in Anchorage and perform in local TV commercials.

But, way back when....before there were kids, we visited Ken and Becky in Alaska. The thing I remember most about Alaska are the vast spaces and endless drives. We would set out for a days excursion to go rafting and end up driving five hours just to get to the staging point of the rafting trip. A drive, that back in Illinois, would have taken us out of Chicago and all the way home to Lynn county and eastern Iowa. But, in Alaska...that was not a big deal. Space and lots of it...that is what I remember most about Alaska. Okay, that, and the daylight, the endless daylight... and, of course the glaciers.

So, living life on a glacier... not so bad. Not so bad when you are standing on one in the middle of a warm Alaskan summer, bathed in 24 hour light, that is. I have fond memories cavorting around the glaciers in t-shirts and shorts. Not so sure, however, I want to experience the glacier in the dead of winter. I will leave that to Ken, his wandering spirit, and his uncanny ability to endure long, dark icy winters, be they Alaskan, Russian, or Chicagoan. I instead, will continue to embrace living under the warm Californian, or even more preferrably, Tuscan sun.