Kristen Vermilyea

typical, i know.  timing has never been my strong suit … but i have all these projects  i’ve been working on and i look at all these blogs by all these amazingly creative people almost daily and am inspired and motivated to join their ranks …

now the wise thing to do would be to either post such things on this blog and not stretch myself too thin by adding the pressure of two blogs to update, or to at least wait until after the stick-o-butta arrives , but sometimes i’m not so wise … we’ll see …

check back in the next few days for the scoop …

So it’s time.  The baby will be here in about a month and we need to buckle down and focus on a perfect name for the little stick-o-butta.

While everyone wants to know what she’ll be called and has been asking for months, we have decided to see what she looks like before we give her a name.  We have a list – a top 5,  if you will – and even a top 10, but who knows if any of them will be the right one once we see/meet her…we can only hope.

Of course, we were pretty much settled on a boy’s name and simply knew that it was a boy so we were all set – we did have a few alternates in case he didn’t look/feel like a “Charlie” but we were pretty set – and that was a nice feeling.

I didn’t think Charlie was a terribly popular or trendy name when I thought it was a name I could see giving a possible future son that a few years back, but as seems to hold true in the universe, once you start saying something, seeing something or believing something, the rest of the world jumps on that same bandwagon. 

Now this may be fine for those who like and find comfort in trends and like/same-ness but that’s just not me – if it’s trendy or popular or ‘in’ you can pretty much count on me not wanting it.  For example, no one was naming their kid Henry when I decided it was my favorite name about 10 years ago … until I said it aloud.  I told someone that I loved that name and would someday name my kid that and then bam – it was everywhere.  I mean, until then, I had only known one Henry in my entire life.  Only one.  Then one of my best friend’s dads had a baby and he and his wife named him Henry.  So cute.  Little Henry Hoffman.  Okay, I thought – they live in California and don’t exactly travel in the same circles and I think it’s a family name so – I gave them a mulligan.  Then it seemed that everywhere I turned, someone had a Henry.  There were Hollywood Henrys and New Hampshire Henrys.  I heard it called on the playground, in the grocery store … everywhere. And I was pissed.  But did I have a right to be so?  No. Of course not.  It wasn’t even a family name for me.  Did that give me even less of a right to stake a claim on this fabulous name?  Probably.  Especially since I had to admit to ‘laying claim’ to names that others used that were my family names.  Like Parker and Hunter.  But these too have become trendy.  Too bad.  I used to have a little fantasy that I would have twin boys named Parker and Hunter and when people asked where they got their unusual names, I would say, “family.”  And that would be that.  It would shut them up and I would smugly walk away.   This was when I was in junior high and still wanted kids – when I got a little older, I was going to be a career woman and would have no time for the little beasts so the favorite baby names we relegated to possible dog names.

So Henry was out.  I still love the name but dislike that it’s become so common and an ‘it’ name.  And as I have said, I am a counter-’it’ person.  I want classic and classy with a twist – not different for the sake of being different – unique but not made up.  And no crazy spellings of classic names – that’s just asking for trouble.

So one needs to be flexible. Of course, I realize I’m not the only one who this happens to.  Others seem to take it okay.  Maybe I’m overreacting.  Maybe it’s like art or thoughts or music – there are no original ideas as they say – someone has always thought of it or done it or made it before you.  Get over it.

I mean I don’t want the kid to have a name that no one has ever heard of before or that will always have to be pronounced or spelled out for everyone – what a nightmare.  My poor brother, Keir has had to deal with this his entire life and while I think he likes his name, this guy has had to endure some serious strife because of it. 

Because kids love to rhyme words and names, he was hit with ‘Keir the queer’ his entire childhood – poor thing.  Then there’s spelling – kier, keer, kir – like kir royal?  And then there were those called him Peter .. Peter?  Where’d they get that?  I guess when you say Keir quickly or not enunciated enough, you hear Peter – yeah, okay – Peter – I think the kid just answered to whatever.  But it’s a great name.  And he is Keir.  Maybe not the only one in the universe, but one of the few and the best one as far as I’m concerned.

Once we found out it was a girl, Charlie and Henry went right out the window (though there is a small posse of friends and some part of me that would love to call my girl Charlie/Charley) so that should make it easier, right?  Not really.

When you have your first serious talk with your partner about a name, all this other stuff comes into play –what about a family name?  From whose family?  Should it be mine, because the kid is getting your last name?  Does it matter that we are in a different country and she’ll be born here?  Should we name her something having to do with the country or culture she’ll be born into?  And they pronounce things slightly differently here – so do we take that into account? (i.e. Elle would be pronounced Ella here, etc…)

So you make your first list – broad strokes.  You get to veto each other’s names that you would not consider. Me – I love Louisa (The Sound of Music, of course) the sound of it, the way it looks on paper… I can picture a little girl named Louisa running through a field with her hair in a bow, wearing a dress made out of curtains … well, you get the picture.  It’s one of my favorites.  Nope – he won’t even consider it – he vaguely knew someone who had a kid named Louisa and the kid was a pain in the ass, or weird or something… that’s all it takes, folks.  One bad memory.  Or sometimes not even that.  Sometimes you just don’t like a name for no apparent reason.  He feels that way about Charlotte, another name I like. No reason, just don’t like it.  Okay.  No Charlotte either- (but honey, we could name her Charlotte and call her Charlie!  Nope. Not happening…) veto, veto, ve-to.  (This whole compromise thing in marriage gets really old sometimes, doesn’t it? …)

And he likes lots of names that I must admit are really cute/sweet but that are really trendy.  He balked at my reasoning at first then I showed him the social security site for top names in the US and they were all there.   And though I really do like almost all of these, I just can’t do it.  Maybe my kid won’t be like I was and will find comfort knowing that there are 12 other Ellas or Sophies or Emmas in their class but I just can’t do it. (There was nothing I hated more than not being the only Kristen in class and having to be Kristen V…. hated it!)

But what if said trendy name is really an old, recycled name (meaning used to be out and old but now is hip and cool because it is old. ..) and you have a family member with that name – is that okay?  Will you always be saying, “Oh, I know that there are 12 Graces in her class, but she was named after her grandmother…” Another conundrum.

And what about the fact that the family names I like are not the family members I really want to pay tribute to?  My grandmother, Mary Thelma (Worthylake) Hayward was v. special to me and she would be the one to whom I would pay tribute by naming a child after her. But while I like Mary, I’m not in love with the name and definitely don’t care for Thelma.  I was set on giving the child the middle name of Worthylake whether it was a boy or girl and thought that would be lovely – and I love the name (I have used it as the name of my film production company and use it for a few email addresses too)  I thought my husband was on board too, but he now seems to think that any name plus Worthylake Harbaugh will be too much/too long and I guess I’ve let him convince me of such.  

I don’t have a middle name.  My parents thought that Kristen Vermilyea was long enough.  Good idea in theory I guess, but it kind of backfired as I just gave myself middle names according to my latest whim or more accurately, latest obsession.  I was Kristen Marie when Donny and Marie Osmond were popular had their Friday night variety show (I also felt close to them because my Aunt Lynne went to BYU the same time they did and she once took a photo of them on campus – from far away, but still – and I somehow felt like we were connected – like I knew them – related even.  I took the photo to school and told everyone that my aunt was friends with Donny and Marie and that maybe they’d come to NH for a visit.   I also had my mom buy me purple socks because Donny wore purple socks and though I wanted to be Marie, I wanted to date – yes, I was young – 7- but a crush is a crush – Donny .)  I was Kristen Olivia for a good long while when I wanted to be Olivia Newton-John.  I mean, who didn’t?  She was beautiful and had that fantastic accent and she could sing and act. Wow. I’m sure there were more fleeting middle names in between, but the ones that finally stuck were Brooke and Ashley.  I think they likely showed up in junior high.  In my memory, my parents were sick of me changing names constantly and one liked Brooke and the other Ashley and that became it.  Looking back, I think the more likely explanation was that I liked these 2 names and instead of choosing just one, thought it would be fancier if I had 2 of them.  It’s also likely that there was someone on tv or in a movie that had 2 middle names and I likely thought that was pretty cool. 

This stuck for a while.  Kristen Brooke Ashley Vermilyea.  KBAV.  A few people even started calling me ‘bad ass’ – Kristen Bad Ass Vermilyea – in high school I remember – which was exceeding funny as I was the least bad ass person anyone knew in high school.  I found out at my 20^th reunion that most people thought I was a narc.  That’s how uncool I was… Recently I found a decorative piece of slate that my mom had painted for me when she was in her ‘crafty’ stage.  It has a teddy bear in the center and my ‘name’ on all 4 sides.  Kristen Brooke Ashley Vermilyea.  How sweet that my mom wanted to make this for me but also, how mortifying.  What do I say when my kid maybe someday sees this and asks who that is?  How embarrassing… I think I may have hyphenated them at some point as well.  Nice.

I guess I’m realizing that no matter what we name the baby, there will always be another girl/woman with the same name and that is okay.  There will always be someone who says, “Oh, like Brangelina’s baby” or some other Hollywood star or musician or architect or astronaut.  And it will be my choice to answer either, “Yes, just like that…”, or “No, not like that.”  (Guess which I’ll be more likely to say? …)  I realize that many people need context and a touchstone.  Many people always seem to need to put you in your place and give you their opinion.  Others are kind and keep their damn mouths shut and mind their own business.  That’s what I call good manners.

A few of my best friends have offered up their names to the baby which is a fab gesture but sadly, one that won’t be accepted.  At our baby shower this summer, one of said friends sat listening to the conversation that had begun about names.  (The small group of close family and friends that was gathered was dying for a hint of what we were thinking of and though we had said we were not going to, I couldn’t not share a little … )  So after listening, she offered that Margot with a ‘t’ is silly because it’s silent and will bring nothing but grief. “Mar-got?  Mar-got?  Don’t name your kid that – that’s stupid.”  And when the name Elinor was brought up, she said, “Elinor?  That’s an old lady name!  Why not just call her grandma – this is our new baby, grandma – doesn’t she look good for her age?”  And it went on.  Everyone at the table was in hysterics as she held court.  She was honest and tough, but fair.  Finally, after many more names and reasons not to give them to our baby, she offered this (in her precious Massachusetts accent which was slightly increased after a few glasses of wine) “As your best friend and the one who made you Godmother to her kids, I will say that I think Maureen Anne Ryan Harbaugh is a wicked good an awesome name for a baby.  It’s served me well …”  And so it has, my friend, so it has.  Our baby would be lucky to have such a strong, sassy, fitting name as yours.

 PS don’t you steal any of my names.  I may just have another baby.  Or get a dog.  I’ll find out … you know I will …

(before i begin my rant, i will apologize for my absence and only say that there are about 6 half written posts from july that never got finished while we were on ‘holiday’ in NH/ME … in rereading them, i’ve decided to move forward and keep the mediocrity to myself and strive for more interesting stuff for you now and in the future (one can only hope…)

1. lack of air conditioning in public places

apparently, if you have a large enough space, you can have A/C but even if you do, it can only be something like 6-7 degrees colder than the air temp outside … so it’s pretty much worthless … poor Mark sweats to death daily at the office and me and my growing belly schfitz (I need to get Leo Rosten’s the Joys of Yiddish to spell this correctly but you get my drift …) on the tram, in the store, on the bus, at the grocery, etc….

I know it’s an environmental thing and an energy saver but come on, people … for a few weeks a year?!!!

2. the amount of people who smoke

not much really to say here – i am probably noticing even more now that i am with child, but it’s obnoxious … like the US 20 years ago or worse … you walk off the tram or train and it seems like 1 out of every 3 people light up and before you’ve taken your first breath of fresh air, it has been filled with the exhailed smoke of someone in front of or next to you … really gross and nasty and annoying.

3. traffic tickets

in the states you can talk/charm/cry/explain your way out of tickets.  here they arrive in the mail.  no discussion, no argument, no recourse … and going through a tellow light is v.v.v.v. expensive ….

So I went to my 4th prenatal yoga class today and was hit with the same thing I’d experienced the previous 3 times … the pregnant women here are all baby.

These women – they all look like they just swallowed a basketball.  they are tiny everywhere else and look damn good.  And they seem to be either tiny, tiny little Lilliputian mommies-to-be or six footers.  I feel as though I am the only ‘regular’-sized broad in the bunch. 

Last week, I placed my mat in the only available spot in the room, which was in front of the mirror, but facing away from it, as we kind of arrange ourselves in a circle.  This is more than fine for me as I always try to avoid the mirror as I find it a huge distraction and instead of focusing on my technique or whatever else you are supposed to use the mirror for, I get depressed looking at my frizzy hair, red nose, spreading hips …

So I’m in front of the mirror, facing away and thankful for this – until we bend over to stretch and I am looking at my bottom.  From this vantage point, I can also see 2 Lilliputian bottoms and one captain of the women’s basetball team butt and they look good.   Now, before I bent over, I felt fairly confident about my legs and rump.  I don’t happen to carry weight there and usually this is where I have some confidence about my body.  My ass may be flat, but at least it’s small … what I see in the mirror is the same woman’s ass and legs that were the model for those oh-so-lovely plywood cut outs you see on lawns in NH and ME … the bent over large lady in the garden …. yup – that’s me … What the….? (i tried to find a photo of this to enhance your mental picture, but was unable to … hmm …. sorry … you’ll have to use your imagination…or go for a drive)

I felt like I used to in nyc when I left my apt. to go on an audition - I would look in the mirror before I left and agree that I looked fairly good and walk out the door feeling fairly confident …

 At the audition,  the confidence would be quickly be replaced with feeling like a troll as I walked into a room full of tall, gorgeous amazons …. What the …?

 I have only gained 9 lbs and am just over 6 months along.  You look surprised.  I am surprised as well – and v. happily so.  For the first time in my life, people (Mark and my mom mostly) are saying to me:  “are you eating enough?” and “what have you eaten today?” and “you need to eat more”… wow …. in my ‘previous’ life, it was the opposite - Ioften ate too much and when I was not even hungry – v. food-focused.  Now I am constantly hungry and don’t want to eat.  Since being pregnant, I have often heard the following escape my lips: ” but I  don’t feel like eating ..”  What?  Who is this chick and what have you done with kristen?  And more importantly, can this please be the new me forever and not just some pregnancy fluke?  Wouldn’t that be amazing …. sigh … I’m not holding my breath but I am trying v. hard to remember what it feels like to not want to eat so I can recall it if (when) necessary down the line …

gotcha. i’m not going to tell just yet. well, truth be told – people do know. just not everyone and i think it will be nicer to hear it from me directly than to read about it here (or on facebook, which is what i am really anxious will happen … as some of the people ‘in the know’ are big FB-ers …)

i think i finally look pregnant and not just like i’ve binged on beer. i think. but i’m not that big – which is good – at least as far as perhaps trying to loose this baby weight come late Fall … 9 lbs. so far. that’s all. but i think that at least part of this ‘feat’ has to do with the fact that i am ‘here’ and not ‘there’ (USA). nuff said. but i will be ‘there’ in a few weeks for a month so we’ll see what happens …

this is a great blog i just found – i haven’t read it all yet, but love the idea and much of the advice is lovely.

I’m just past the half way point in my pregnancy (21 weeks last Saturday) and still loving not knowing if i’m carrying a boy or a girl.

i was taking the bus home from the brocki haus the other day and went past my dr. office – as i rode by i smiled knowing that she has the amnio results and knows the sex of the baby.  i couldknow.  now.  but i don’t want to.  it’s like having a big christmas or birthday present under your bed that your mom put there – most people (my husband included) would not be able to sleep until they knew what was in the package – i love that its there and i don’t haveto know – that the time will come when i’m supposed to know and i’ll know when that time is.

i wrote on my facebook page that i was really enjoying not knowing if it is a boy or a girl and boy did i get varied comments – some people love this idea and others think i’m crazy – “how will you decorate the room if you don’t know?” and “just tell the dr. to call me and tell me – i promise i won’t tell anyone .. not even you.”  i love it all and can see all sides and points of view.  

so in the mean time, back in reality – Mark is really wanting to know - especially now that the answer is truly within our reach.  so we have reached a compromise:  at my next dr. appt (a week and a bit away) we will look at the ultrasound together with the dr. and see what we can or cannot see and find out that way.  and if we cannot tell from the ultrasound, she will have the results on a piece of paper from the lab and she can tell us that way. 

at first i was still a little hesitant to agree to this, my idea of a compromise, but it’s grown on me…

UPDATE:  the pregnant woman changes her mind!!! i woke up a few days ago (a few days after i had written this post and yes, had not posted it .. tsk, tsk, i know …) and just HAD to know – waiting almost 2 weeks until the next dr. appointment was/is TOO long …

funny how things change … i think it may have had something to do with the fact that i’m going to be spending some time this weekend with our friend who is also pregnant and we had talked about doing shopping … and then i was in the basement looking at fabric as i want to make myself a new tote bag and saw all this pink fabric (i like pink) and thought … aww … if it’s a girl i could start making stuff …. and then i just thought … okay – it’s time …

but can a broad reach her doctor at such a time? no!  of course not! 2 days now … maybe i’ll end up waiting until next week’s appointment after all … we’ll see … after all – don’t they say that patience is a virtue? …

I just paid about 10$ for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.  Yup.  I’m worth it.  Really, it was for the baby. 

As far as comfort food goes (in my opinion) there is not a lot of it here.  Oh there is fantastic, fresh bread and pastries, pasta and pizza, cheese fondue and wonderful, healthy stuff, but I’m talking good ole’ American “Mom” food -   and the availability to get said food day and night.  (Truth be told, I have had a pangs of anxiety on more than one occasion in regards to this new, mostly pregnancy induced dilemma.)

You see, there aren’t any 24 hour stores in Zurich.  Most grocery stores close by 6 and a few little specialty stores are open till 8 (because they are closed from 12-4)  And the only shops open on Sunday are in the train station.

So any hopes I had of late night cravings whispered (or yelled) to my dear husband and him driving to the nearest Store 24 or 7/11 are dashed.  I sort of feel cheated by one of what I see as the ‘pregnancy perks’.  Not that I want to make my dear, sweet husband do more than he already does for me and the house and the ‘family’ but I really was looking forward to waking up at 3 am, rolling over, waking Mark up and saying,  “Honey, the baby really wants the Hostess chocolate cupcakes”  (or the pink sno-balls, a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, Salt and Vinegar Pringles, Ritz crackers with cottage cheese, Fritos, an eggplant parmesean sub from Dover House of Pizza, a pizza from C.C. Tomatos, chocolate cake from The Barley House, a Peanut Buster Parfait from Dairy Queen, a seasame seed bagel from DunkinDonuts, a strawberry shake from Friendly’s, strawberry PopTarts, banana chocolate chip pancakes from the diner, or …. okay – I need to stop.  My mouth is literally watering and not only have I more than made my point, I have also made myself v. homesick and cranky.

Here in Zurich I can say, “Honey, could you get me the organic ginger cookies from the kitchen?’  (or fresh strawberries from the fridge, an apple, some peppermint tea, apple juice, Toblerone – just a bite of course, some ementhaler (Swiss) cheese, yogurt with any one of 10 different kinds of Muesli (granola), a chunk of bread with honey … you get the picture – all fabulous, healthy and delicious – but not always what ‘baby’ wants …

Recently baby wanted a sandwich that you can only get at a little shop at the Enge train station.  A simple but fabulous tomato-mozzarella-basil-on-a- fresh-olive-roll-taste-treat.  Well, when we got there (about a 15 minute tram ride from the house) they were fresh out.  No other kind of sandwich in the case would do.  I was inconsolable.  Until I saw that there was a McDonald’s in the same train station.  (Let it be known that in the states we were both probably a ‘handful of times a year’ kind of fast food people – mostly on road trips – there, I feel better having clarified that…) I looked at Mark and said, “Honey – it’s high time the baby knew what those fries tasted like.”  Mark did not need convincing.  I sat on a high stool in the window swinging my legs like  5 year old waiting for ‘the man’ to come with my cheese burger, fries and Diet Coke.  Though it was not the same as at home – (it still tasted healthier here and the portions are smaller) it was just what the 3 of us were craving.  We smiled and licked our lips of the remaining salt on the tram ride back home just in time for my afternoon nap.  Nice.

Our upstairs neighbor, Lukas was telling us recently that when he was in graduate school in the states (he is Swiss) he lived with a married couple while the wife was pregnant.  He said that he and the husband would often times be sent out late at night on ‘missions’.  At least I know that if I get really desperate, I can bang on the ceiling and Lukas will come and gather Mark and go off in search of a cow to milk.  … sigh.

The funny thing is, I am not really having so many cravings.  Mostly I want nothing.  Sometimes one thing pops into my head that I could tolerate and then that is all I want for days.  I really don’t want to eat but am constantly hungry.  Pretty much the opposite of my pre-pregnancy self.  Go figure.

post script - mom just arrived from the states bearing gifts of peanut butter, Annie’s white shells and cheddar, Quaker Oats and brown sugar – hooray!)

Mark and I just spent our second weekend at our friend Daniel’s mountain house.  It is sheer heaven – an old men’s sporting club built in the 1920’s. 

I can’t possibly do it justice by describing it – just imagine old camp details and original features updated with leather furniture, modern art, a piano, thousands upon thousands of books and total and utter relaxation and peace.

After our first fabulous visit over Easter weekend, we accepted his generous offer last weekend to join him again.  The 1st time, we were 2 of a larger group of young, hip Zurich types – I felt old and uncool but everyone was refreshingly lovely and interesting – great conversations and lots of laughs.

This time it would be just the three of us and promises of reading, eating, hiking and napping.  Sign me up.

Mark had impressed the troops Easter weekend with his masterful fire-making and grilling skills and was expected (as far as I was concerned) to repeat his performance.  The first weekend, while Mark carefully and meticulously crafted a pile of wood of varying shapes and sizes, I commented to Daniel that Mark was an Eagle Scout.  “What is an Eagle Scout?”  Daniel asked.  I was obliged and pleased to gush and boast about what a big deal it is*.

(* okay, so I may have exaggerated when I told everyone that in order to get his badge, he was dropped off in the middle of the woods at sundown, hundreds of miles away from the  nearest town, with only an orange, some twine and his Swiss Army knife as survival gear and had to get home in 24 hours…I may have said that he was barefoot too – I’m not sure …)

 There were 2 amazing hawks circling v. close to us on the deck both visits and I suggested that perhaps we create a new ’scout’ especially for those who visit Mythenhaus (the name of the camp) and are up for a challenge – I also told Daniel that it would be a great way to get his guests to do chores and feel like they were earning badges toward becoming a FALCON scout … “Like what?” he asked.  “Like the getting firewood badge or the stripping the beds badge, the teaching a new dance step badge, the  emptying the dishwasher badge, the making a gourmet meal badge, the playing ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ on the piano badge, the reading every book in any one of the bedrooms badge, the possibilities are endles”, I smugly replied.

Brilliant – now I  just have to make the badges and sashes to sew them onto - I guess I should design some sort of uniform too .. or maybe it’s better to just joke about it.  Yeah.  That’s funnier.  (And less work for me…)

Mark and Daniel grilled again this time … and the resulting steak was just what the baby and I wanted.  (Unfortunately, I had to have my steak over cooked instead of the medium rare I so love …grrr … see, I’m already such a good mother)

Falcon Scouts in action

 On our Easter weekend visit, we decided to bring Mark’s mom, Diane’s ‘famous’ apple tart for desert.  It was a huge hit, especially with our host, who later emailed saying that he had searched the kitchen in vain for rogue crumbs after it was gone… I wrote back promising to teach him how to make the tart and told him it would be a good thing to make for the ladies… 

So this time we brought him his very own tart pan and his own recipe in grams and liters and the like – not so easy to translate a recipe even with a computer’s help – or maybe I am just clueless at all things involving math – that is more likely the answer – because, after all – one needs to know what to punch into the computer in order to get the right answers ….

Based upon an earlier conversation we had had about drinking during pregnancy and the story of someone we know saying that it was fine to drink (she had said as much as you wanted, but we all know that is not terribly wise) wine as long as it was organic, Daniel found a bottle of ‘organic’ wine and opened it so that I could feel confident having a taste with dinner … 

After the fabulous steak and my mom’s potato salad – sooo good - (the baby especially requested this summer favorite – thank you, baby) - we headed back to the kitchen to have a tart-making lesson.  I stood back and watched as the boys whipped up the simple and delicious treat -

After eating 1/2 the tart, the boys decided upon the next activity of the evening:  drinking scotch and smoking cigars.  Thanks, guys.  Not only is scotch my favorite drink, but I do love a cigar on occasion … sigh …. I am such a good mother – I only smelled the scotch and stayed away from the cigar smoke.  (she typed while patting herself on the back)

There was one glitch – because Daniel is not at the house every weekend, the humidor does not always get filled with water and therefore the lovely Cuban cigars can get a bit dry … enter the Eagle/Falcon scout. 

how to steam a cigar back into freshness

Simple solution – steam the cigars.  Apparently it worked wonders as I went to bed with my book and left the boys on the deck, under the stars smoking themselves into a haze.  Just as it should be.

Yes. You heard right. I did indeed venture back into the pool where the ‘incident’ happened not so many months ago …

Donning a new non-polka-dot suit (the loveliest shade of aqua in a flattering 1940’s, Esther Williams style given to me by my fabulous mother) I fearlessly walked into the pool area with my swim cap in place and goggles ready for use.

There was just one small problem: there was a class going on. I looked at the pool schedule – free the entire week – hours and hours and hours of free pool time and I decide to show up during the 45 minutes of aqua aerobics.

Not wanting to look the fool, and realizing that the class would be over in less than 10 minutes, I proceeded to stretch. With conviction – as though I knew there was a class going on, and I had planned on getting there 10 minutes before I could actually get into the pool so that I could get in my proper 10 minutes of stretching.

Mission accomplished. The old ones began to wade out of the pool as I waded in. Many of them stuck around and enjoyed the whirlpool, overhead streams of water and foot jets that I had so inadvertently turned on at my last visit.

So that’s how you turn them off, I noted … but didn’t I try to push the same button that turned them on when I was in trouble not so long ago?  Oh well – that was the past and I was now moving forward – an anonymous swimmer trying to get her exercise and not cause any alarm. Ha. Alarm.  And it was wonderful.  10 laps, and 1o more walk/running laps, which I have convinced myself is much akin to ‘real’ running, only better for my joints.

If only I had noticed on the bulletin board that the locker room was closed for cleaning every day from 2- 2:30… I left the pool feeling refreshed and ready for anything and looking forward to a nice hot shower and taking some time to dry my hair and maybe even put on some makeup … at 1:55. 

I was naked when the cleaning woman came in and said in German what I quickly understood to be, “you gotta get dressed and get outta here, lady – the guy who cleans up after all of you pigs is right outside and he don’t wanna see that”. 

Thank goodness I had been wearing a sweater with a sort of drape that is wide enough to put over one’s head when I came to the gym, so I didn’t look like a total idiot leaving the gym with wet hair in (barely but still) Winter.  That being said, when I did look in the mirror as I was scurrying out of the locker room, what I saw was a woman with smudged mascara wearing a burka.  Nice.

Hoping I wouldn’t run into any of Mark’s colleagues (or even Mark), I popped on my sunglasses while still inside the building and skulked out.  It felt like a v. long trip home, but when I got there, I enjoyed a lovely, relaxing, non-rushed shower and took my time putting myself back together yet again.

Thursdays 12:30 – 1:15 aqua aerobics.  Everyday 2 – 2:30 locker room closed for cleaning.  Got it.

I almost forgot to tell you all about this … I actually got the call over 2 weeks ago and am just now sharing … what a jerk …

I auditioned for the Zurich Comedy Club’s production of Nunsense a few weeks back.  (I would go into the back story but it’s pretty long and tedious and in the end, it’s not all that interesting …) Suffice it to say, I had something to do with bringing this play to the club, though unintentionally … I just thought it would be a fun reading to do for a Monday night, that’s all.  And it snowballed from there – pretty much thanks to the guidance and momentum from one of the women I originally cast, Claudia Wicki, who is also on the committee and a singer/dancer/actor and more …

So – the club had nothing on the books for the Spring production and Claudia the suggested that we might do Nunsense – depending on how well the reading went and how well it was received.  Well, it was a huge crowd in attendance for the reading (many of whom, I imagine were mainly curious – especially as the club just  doesn’t ‘do’ musicals …) and the feedback after the reading was almost unanimously positive, so after the committee deliberated for a few days – the decision was made – Nunsense would be the club’s Spring production (okay, so I guess I didn’t really spare you the details as promised, but I could have made it much longer, really…)

We still had no director, which was also a problem, but solved rather quickly when Valery Nigli, a former dancer and director with the club for years, stepped forward and agreed to help us out.

3 out of the 5 of us who were in the reading were cast, which made/makes  it fun and practical, as we knew/know the show a bit, though the 2 newer cast members are already kicking ass (in a v. nun-like way)

I find it v. funny that I am playing the Reverend Mother.  I’m not even 40 yet, for God sakes … but hey, it’s a great part and Valery assured me that she knew some Rev. Mo.s in her day who were not the eldest in the Convent.  Apparently, sometimes the Reverend Mother is just the most driven and focused, so I am taking that an making it part of the character …

I am also attempting to channel my dear friend, Lisa Lovett, who played Reverend Mother at the Winni Playhouse right before we moved to Switzerland – she even won Best NH Actress in a Musical!  I was/am sooo proud and thrilled I got a chance to see he do the part. 

Of course she did a fabulous Irish brougue and we are pretty much discouraged from using accents other than our own and though I’d love to try, it would be extra challenging as Valery is Irish and would likely not want me to do it unless perfect … so …. I’ll focus on the character and making people believe that I could be the old broad running the joint.

We’ve had a few weeks of rehearsals and so far so good – though we don’t have the score yet … which makes things a bit challenging – but everyone is learning their parts and we’re using the music from the book of musical selections from the show.

I’ll update as we move forward.  I have to say that I am just happy that I don’t have to diet to get into any slinky costume or anything – a nun’s habit is quite forgiving!