One Green Bee Designs

So nice to be here

We are so very glad to be in Carthage.

There have been risotto and lamb dinners. Artichokes. Preserved lemon pastas. Halvah, dates, and lots and lots and lots of olive oil. We are smitten by the blood orange trees (and resulting fresh juice), our hosts' espresso machine, and the gorgeous blue trimmed windows. Carthage is a beauty, and our friends are amazing. We have feasted and laughed and storied. 

We've had outings to the beach:

And we've learned to throw things:

We've sampled the local fare:

Enjoyed family evenings:

And created quite a bond with some great boys: Will be tough to leave such good dudes (who are so good to my little dude):

There's a few days left and good weather in the forecast. We've Roman ruins to cimb and more shwarma to eat. Woo hoo! 

Status Update

If I was less discerning about facebook statuses, today's would say:

-10 C is the official breaking point of my cold weather running gear. 

Make the Kaye Syrah beans. You won't regret it (and yes, I added spinach).

Something long overdue is finally in the mail:

Hallelujahing and Hiding

It's all hallelujahs and hiding spinach around here. Almost 11 months ago, I found myself unable to get out of bed or pick up my baby or hold a cup of coffee. A pesky joint disease altered life for this family. Altered it a lot. It hit when I was finally gaining a little confidence after a bucketload of bewildering newness. We'd kept the baby alive for nearly a year and survived our first months on a new continent. I was back in shape and clocking happy kilometers on long runs, and our first winter in seven years--a long and gray one--was starting to lift. It was a cruel time to find myself abruptly bed-ridden, and I let that disease knock the hope right out of me.

But I've got good peeps and Grace and This Too Shall Pass. And it did. It's not the same body; there are joints that will never quit growling but I can move. Hallelujah, I can move! Today marked a milestone of moving---18 glorious kilometers through Praha with a dear friend. It was hard, but it was beautiful, and I never ever ever thought it possible. I am one grateful girl.

Tomorrow will be Advil and ice and spinach muffins. That's right. I'll take this poor transition from what really is an awfully Big Deal to explain that I obsess over iron intake, and so we've been eating Rebar's Broccoli Soup (take the time to make a pesto to swirl in, toss in some steamed florets and you will never ever ever make any other creamed brocolli soup--or possibly any other soup at all. You'll find the bare bones of it here.), which should really be called spinach soup, and finding other creative uses for the green stuff.

The boys have no idea there is wilted spinach in these delish carrot muffins. 

And tomorrow's fruit smoothies.

Bad photography aside, you have no idea how happy this all makes me. 

Happy Birthday P

Fifteen years ago, in the Schroeder farm kitchen, I met my beloved P. Someone asked me the other day if I liked him from the moment we met. I was in a hurry and regretted my quick response. If I'd taken advantage of a moment to sing out our song, I'd have explained that before that encounter at the Schroeder farm, yeah, I had seen P. He'd been in some of my classes at University. He was outspoken and confident and always seemed surrounded by a gaggle of good looking people. At that point in my life, I was unimpressed by anyone that seemed remotely competent and thus ignored him. But when a mutual friend (thanks, SV) had us both over to make a batch of her mother's homemade raspberry hooch, it was like at first sight.

It's only been a few times that I've had the experience where you meet someone and your friend-meter starts shaking. You just know that you're in the presence of Something Good. We squashed raspberries, sang rowdy songs at the top of our lungs, and saw each other almost every day after that. The Schroeder farm (and a nip of raspberry liqueur) has a way of bringing out the humor in folks. We decided we were the funniest people the other had ever met.

I didn't know what love was for nearly ten years (fully aware that everyone around us did). I just knew that P and I were soulmates. We made lists, we laughed, we learned things, we cooked, we crafted, we ran and kayaked and stirred up a lot of silly. P has a way of making the ordinary unbelievably entertaining.

I'm so happy that we both finally figured ourselves out and so grateful that I get to celebrate his 36th year with a gorgeous Gus and a hopeful heart.

Since Gus was born, we've both felt like we are in humilty boot-camp. So, to commemorate our year of new horizons with continued hopes of self-improvement, I painted and drew P one of our favorite (and timely) verses. It's become a bit of a manifesto:

P also got his favorite cake: carrot. Gus was happy (though you'd never know it from his somber face) to help:

And happy to eat:

Happy Birthday, dearest P. You're the best Something Good I've ever met. 

A door opened this week

Gus and I have been walking Stromovka as often as we can. The ice is creeping across the lake and the ducks are huddling in the corners; frosty mornings are now the norm. We have to savor these mornings of silvered trees because they will soon end. Winter will of course linger until May, but after that it could be quite a stretch of hot, welcome years.

Yesterday, P and I accepted jobs back in Singapore. I haven't found my footing yet as to how to explain this to people. There is no short answer. We like it here. We could love it here. I'd return to Prague. There's of course the hassle of snowsuits and cold hands and lost mittens and gray days. But that's not reason to go. And that's what I try to explain to people---there's not reason to leave except that Singapore offers us something that not many other places can in the toddler years of our lives. It offers us festivals and colors and diversity. It offers us monkeys and jungle walks and 365 days a year where we can go outside (granted, often in suffocating heat). It offers us Cambodia and service and travel to places to see things that Gus isn't old enough yet to complain about. I think I better take advantage of the fact that he's too young to gripe about the tuk-tuks and the holidays to places where all we do is wander and not a tv screen is to be found. And then there are the professional gains. And the hope of medical gains. BUT. There is the loss of Prague, and that is a large loss. We chose Europe not as parents and moved here as new ones. We had no idea how parenting would impact where we wanted to work and live (I know. I know. We're the dumbest people on the planet. Believe me. I KNOW.) When Gus is old enough to let me finish my coffee in a cafe or bike beside me on a river path, I'd really like to return. He and I will rip up the trails and sample every offering in the pastry shops. I can't wait.

In the meantime, we'll savor Stromovka and snowfalls and holiday markets and hot candied almonds. We'll get cocoa at every farmer's market and laugh our way through layering up to head outside. 

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This month's sketchbook entry had to be hurried-up since G and I are off to visit the beloved grandparents soon and won't be at the drawing table. The theme of this book was "colors" and I was given black. I sketched up some nocturnal animals hidden behind inked doors. Doors seemed appropriate in this season of Advent. Man, I really love things with doors.

November is ending well

We had a lovely post-Thanksgiving weekend. I baked my first turkey, which we enjoyed with the truly wonderful Rops clan. There were Christmas markets and sunny mornings and gluhwein and chocolate bars and singalongs. Everyone was tolerant of both Gus's runny nose and his hollering. It was good.

Perhaps because of the tryptophan, the good company, Starbucks Christmas espresso blend, the German beers, or the new (and simply glorious) pottery Advent wreath P bought me at the Dejvicka market, this morning we entered the week of Decisions with lighter hearts, which I am also enjoying. 

In the afternoon, I made the Colophon Cafe's African peanut soup with our leftover turkey, which turned out to be a splendid move. It was totally unthanksgiving-dinner-like, and it used up a lot of the bird.

And tonight, I'm packaging cards to sell. 

 

Happy to have been and happy to be back

We are back from lands of chocolate, cheese, hiking trails, and really great people. A weeklong road trip to Munich and Zurich proved to be exactly what this family needed to gain a little clarity and lose a little Euro (Take note travellers, it's not just Switzerland that requires a toll sticker. The Austrian fine is hefty!).

(fondue--followed by chocolate--with the lovely Rops)

Gus was a champ, sleeping like he'd never slept before and recovering from bronchitis in unfamiliar places. He mooed at Swiss cows and marveled at German forests. Our hosts were all amazing and our weight gains evident. What a great trip.

And now we're back and sorting out some big decisions with lighter hearts and darker German beers. Life is good in Prague. Fall has settled in with freezing temperatures, and homemade soup was on last night's menu. This is a season to savor.

I got a little gutsy and posted some designs to sell, but it's mostly to avoid over or under printing. I'm still not comfortable with seeing doodles in print, but maybe this will all work out. We'll see. In the meantime, I've got a sketchbook project this week and three amazing birthdays to celebrate (Steelie Dan, Bekah, and Annika--Woop woop!). With only six weeks left in the CZ before Oscar and I take full advantage of all the love Grandma and Grampa have to offer, we're living it up!

 

Indian Summer

Despite a forecast of 75 degree weather for Monday, it feels like fall could descend at any time. And once it comes--it's frost and down jackets until April. So, Gus and I are quickly making the most of the farmer's market tomatoes. They are unreal.

(His pants, shirt, and face are filthy...not to mention the lost sock...and yet he couldn't get over the drip on the counter.)

There are cookies baked for a Sunday brunch. We've also got pumpkin roasting and black beans simmering for enchiladas that we'll take to a pumpkin-themed dinner party. It's a busy kitchen today.

September is ending with really enjoyable hustle and bustle: A post-mushroom-hunting feast (thanks, generous K family). A long bike ride with sock-tossing Gus. Impromptu dinners with neighbors. Birthday parties. Dreaming and scheming. And non-stop sunshine. 

Oh---sweet P posted my sketch to the ISP Sketchers website. People are doing good things. So happy to be sharing in that circle of art.

Onwards to October!

Humble Praha pie

We returned this weekend from an adventure in the mountains with Patrick's colleagues.

A good time was had by all.

Shortly after our return, I had a (get ready for hyperbole) bad Billa moment that I blew into a bad Prague moment that I made into a I-don't-want-to-be-here-anymore moment. Most expats I've met have some sort of traumatic grocery store abroad story (P has a fabulous one about cherry juice). While I find grocery stores in foreign countries to be one of the greatest delights while traveling, I find them to be one of the greatest challenges in a place where I'm actually living. When you depend on the items and the aisles and the cashiers on a daily basis, the grocery store becomes a microcosm for all that is unfamilar.

So. Gus and I set out for post-weekend-away-provisions. We started at the Italian bistro and ordered a pizza. No trauma. Then we entered Billa. Billa is always fraught with strangeness: The weighing of the produce, the frenetic pace at while everyone shops, the narrow aisles, the four thousand kinds of sauerkraut. Added to this foreign-to-me mix is Gus's love of bare feet. The dude just wants to see his toes. Last week, in 50 degree weather, he ripped off his shoes and socks in the stroller and gleefully shouted to tongue-clucking passerbys, "Cold toes! Cold toes!" He cannot be coerced into wearing footwear. Unlucky for us, this is a keep-your-coat-and-wool-socks-on kind of town. So of course, in Billa, he liberated his feet and the comments began. I ignored well, only minorly irritated, until one woman became loud and aggressive. She pointed. She smacked my shoulder. She yelled at those around us and rallied what I interpreted as ire. When I finally listened, I found that she was not yelling the word for shoe, but that she was yelling "ucet"---The word for receipt. She wasn't mad. She was worried. And sure enough, she had cause for alarm as a tiny scrap of paper was sticking out of Gus's mouth. He had devoured the entire pizza check and grinned ala Cheshire cat. 

I was humbled, sweaty, and flustered. And as I dodged one of the speedy shoppers through my embarrassment, Gus simutaneously bucked, and a bottle of beer flew out of the basket onto said shopper's feet. Glass and beer covered his pants and shoes (thank goodness he kept his on) and everything else nearby.

The poor ale-soaked man I'd assaulted took a deep breath, raised an angry finger, and let loose. Security rushed over to assist in the shouting. And so, I responded to the hollers of the duo and the stares of the growing crowd in the only language I knew: I sobbed (sheesh). At the sight of tears, all reeled back. I guess folks don't cry in Billa. Their English was far better than my Czech: "No problem. Go home. No problem. Go home." 

I now had the pizza to tackle. This is a rule-following kind of town. I wasn't going to get my pizza without my ucet. I had one saliva soaked scrap that had half the bistro name on it. When I presented the pathetic piece, the waiter's eyeroll was all I needed to start sobbing again. He responded in similar alarm and shooed me out with my pizza box. 

After an evening of self-pity, I woke determined to stop the negative internal rumble (mutter mutter grizzle grizzle swear word swear word). The antidote to not liking Prague is to see Prague, and so we enjoyed a four mile walk to Gus's best pal S's house. Our jaunt took us past the castle and across the Charles Bridge through Old Town. 

It didn't make me click my heels, but it did make me stop the stinking thinking (despite an initial fifteen minutes of ranting about the secondhand smoke, lethal cobblestones, and public urination). And after two cups of coffee, watching sweet S hug little G and the two of them serve each other imaginary tea, my smile was sincere. We have good sights to see and good friends to visit. In shoes or not, we are okay. We are blessed. We have much for which to be thankful.

But, we may avoid Billa.

Transition as pathetic as my self-pity:

I have inked in my sketch for P's faculty Sketchbook project (I don't know if I'm allowed to share the website yet). Every three weeks our books get traded. So exciting. Felt really good to doodle for my own sake. I haven't done that in a long time.

Momentum

Plannin' and rollin' and chuggin':

Rewrote last year's Christmas card with the correct spelling (gnashing of teeth) just in case we get our act together for holiday sales:

Submitted a few more sketches for Memory Cards:

Felt jealous of this wall paper.

Marveled at my friend bSmiley's new Etsy shop. That witty (and uber-talented) girl finds ways to weave The Dude into her toddler clothing write-ups. She's a wonder. 

Packed the suitcase for this weekend's getaway in Harrachov with P's company. Finshed Stacy Schiff's Cleopatra. Rented a car for an October road trip. Bought plane tickets. Tackled Gus's first fall fever. Hosted a potluck. And, perhaps the most noteworthy of all (but only thanks to Neighbor B's relentless patience and tolerance and overall jaw-dropping kindness), surivived a morning trip to (more gnashing of teeth) IKEA with G.

Whew.