Tölt as it Moves You: Swedish Lapland by Horse

At both the Stockolm and Umeå airports I'm greeted with a cordial "Hey hey (hej hej)!" like by an old friend. It's a standard hello; Swedish is immediately kinder to my ears than certain Germanic languages (ahem, Dutch). I leave Umeå behind me and point the car north. The traffic thins. The lady at a tiny supermarket doesn't mind a big bill for a small purchase and smiles easily when I tell her why I've come. Ah, horses, Ammarnäs. Yes. You won't want to go home. How this stranger knows me already.

I stop partway to sleep in a barn-turned-b&b. The roads are unpaved and the house numbers difficult to find. At first, the quiet is unnerving; it throbs like a phantom helicopter oscillating overhead. Then it becomes a comfort, something I want to bottle and later uncap in the most chaotic of moments, when the children are clinging to my legs and batting at each other, complaining in dueling pitches.

In the morning I awake to dense fog and postpone my departure by a couple hours. There is a fly in the room; its buzzing leaves a snail trail of noise in the quiet air of my room. The drive is delightfully long and uneventful, outlined by a snaking, wide river dotted with huge, smooth boulders like turtle shells to my left, blue skies overhead, and ever-yellowing birches and pines parted by the road ahead of and behind me. Autumn is in full-force by the time I reach the thin mountain air. I switch on the radio. Easy listening and 80s seem to be the thing here. I flip it off and revert to silence. The car, at high speeds, makes a noise like crickets.

Tri-State Zomer Extravaganza

Wisconsin, Indiana, Illinois, May 2014: blooming flowers, budding trees, a late spring blossoming suddenly into summer, horses, a visit to a dearly departed (NL-->US, not life-->death) friend, a day trip to Chicago with my dear not-so-little-anymore and budding photographer cousin. Shit tons of playgrounds. Happy faces. Two easy peasy snuggled-up sleepers on the almost nine-hour flight home.

Bedankt, Mericuh. Het was goed.

xxx+o,
Jess

NYC, May 2014

Pastoral catharsis, a reluctant retreat to the city

Have fun looking at the horses today, the mister said as he walked out the door of our holiday rental in northern France last week, laden with rock climbing paraphernalia. It's what you wanted to do. 

Indeed, I had told him, with dreamy eyes and arms pretzeled over a fence, that I could stand there watching the small herd of four all day. His lighthearted comment struck me swiftly and without warning. Humans are adaptable, yes, but adapted isn’t synonymous for well-placed. Each second in the countryside reminds me that I never yearned to live in a city. I'm fine and dandy in Amsterdam, but plop me in the sticks of France, and I'm nearly high on the pollen-burdened breeze. Bumblebees as big as chestnuts floating heavily from blossom to sky. A German shepherd loping past our gîte every morning next to an old man on his bike. Rolling fields of yellow rapeseed blossoms. Winding gravel roads with only the occasional tractor grinding by. Wind not overshadowed by human- or machine-generated noise. I tolerate the city's din, accept its bustling tourist season, and, most days, even take pleasure in its conveniences and constant offerings of human connection. But hunger for it when I'm away? Nope. Not once. 

Just past the garden fence of our holiday rental, horses with their swans' necks angled at the ground grazed close enough that I could hear their tail swishes and stomping and contented sighing from the kitchen. I doubted that they'd been ridden in recent history, but they were friendly and once cared for dearly; they quickly accepted my existence after a successful nose-to-pocket inquiry yielded notes of carrots, apples. With my fingers I stripped the the sweating old mare of her haggard winter coat and left it for the birds in great, dander-dusted mounds. She stood still, breathed deeply, lowered her nose into my hands when I was done. Later, I saw her gallop across the vast pasture, just for a moment, before her hollow haunches reminded her of her age. 

I went without for two weeks. Internet, that is. I had everything else by my side. Five and a half books, several restful and late mornings, an embarrassing number of baguettes, and half a sense of peace later, I am slowly reconnecting. The transition from countryside-quiet to interwebs-loud is quite intense, I tell you what. 

Be gentle.

xxx+o,

Jess

Observations From Concourse E

On the way back home from Americuh in January, I had almost two hours of airport euphoria. Sitting in our airline's lounge in Chicago with one kid snoring and the other plopped empty-eyed and cherub-faced in front of a movie, I had nothing pressing to do. At all. Usually people complain about layovers but I couldn't have been more gleeful at the prospect of having no house to clean, no dogs to walk, no phone calls to make, nothing to schedule, no one to feed, no one to need me, nothing to do at all, save for making repeated trips between the free lattes and the magazine rack.

Geographic Polyamory, Part II: The Radiant State

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While Wisconsin is a stunner in winter with all that white and home to our kids' grandparents, this girl's got my heart. The mountains in the distance were a constant companion to my daily rovings back and forth across the Front Range. I fell in love with the jagged horizon all over again and had to remind myself to keep my eyes aimed at (least in the general direction of) the road. As much as I hung out drinking chai in my pajamas at my parents' house in the previous weeks, I focused nearly every minute of every day hugging my dearest people, under a dazzling sunshiny sky that pumped out both a decent layer of pristine snow in the middle of mostly 60°F/16°C days. For me, when it comes to weather, dichotomous wins the race. Oh, and I again found it necessary to pee in a terribly public place. Twice. I've gotten so good at it, I'm thinking up a tutorial for you less talented folks. No, seriously.

Okay, enough. What I really came here to do was to show, not tell. About mountains and sunlight, not peeing stunts. Soak it up. The RAYS, peeps, not the pee. 

(This is me stopping, effective immediately.)

xxx+o,

j

p.s. In looking back at photos from this glorious week, I deeply lament how little I actually used my camera . For those of you not pictured, I was too entranced by your presence to think of anything but your face, your magnificence. 

Geographic Polyamory, Part I: The Frozen State

Our five weeks in Americuh were a 4/1 split between Wisconsin and Colorado, respectively. Since you already sat through me whining about how homesick I am, let me reassure you that I won't do it again here. Instead, I'll give you tour of the good parts, because goodness was aplenty.

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I kicked that polar vortex in its icy little crotch with a booted foot, took big bunny sledding for the first time, peed in a precariously public place, cross-country skied into kettles and over moraines, ate my weight in cheese curds and summer sausage (If you live outside the Midwestern US and have no idea what I'm talking about, please go here and order it. Eat it. Thank me later.), found a new favorite beer (multiple thumbs up for Spotted Cow), and instinctively remembered how to drive (and walk) on ice. Fearlessly.

Get ready for snow, kids in uncomfortable sleeping positions, cows, snow, and snow.

xxx+o,
Jess

WHERE WERE YOU DURING THE POLAR VORTEX OF 2014?

After a week of snow in which Kid A spent much time transfixed at the window, Wisconsin's in the middle of a cold snap the meteorological world is calling a polar vortex. Polar. Vortex. Just in case you skipped over it without imagining a cool-hued Windows '97 screensaver raging outside. 

I've never been privy to anything so ominous sounding, so I'm going with it and embracing this temperature equivalent of a Sharknado. From inside. I've dashed into the garage a few times without a coat just to feel the shock of it, but mostly I've been curled up with a kid, computer, or mug of something hot. (I really wanted to say steaming right there, but I'm still feeling queasy after Miss Teen USSR's public toilet mishap.)

Bring it on.

xxx+o,

Jess

p.s. Does anyone else think this weather phenomenon is the ice gods throwing a fit that I didn't get sent to the Arctic? They're all like, IF JESS ISN'T COMING TO THE ARCTIC, WE'LL GO ALL POLAR VORTEX ON YOUR S*** AND BLOW THE NORTH F***ING POLE DOWN TO SIXTY FIVE MILLION PEOPLE. 

You too? Okay, good. I was getting all flipped out that I was being dramatic. Kisses!

Greetings from the Icebox

The mister and I gave ourselves the best present: a little more than 24 hours away (from our darling but thoroughly exhausting children). Destination: Milwaukee, nearest city to both our childhoods. A night in the Iron Horse Hotel and two half-days spent strolling and eating and talking, or not talking. The best pastrami in town. A quiet breakfast. A movie in bed. A textile-lust party at the new Pendleton flagship store. Hat perusing. Everything by choice, everything done at a speed of our choosing.

Quickies: Barcelona

I'm taking a break from scaling Mt. Laundrypile, which has been slowly accumulating and procreating in every corner of our house, to give you some more España, this time the margin notes to our brief adventure in Barcelona. I like thinking of iPhone photos that way: complementary, not entirely necessary, but as a lens to better understand a broader experience.

1 Tsp. Barcelona

On Friday night we landed in Barcelona, and our flight out was exactly three days later. Although it was hardly any time at all in a city of almost five and a half million, we squeezed enough in to go home happy and well-fed. The main objective of the trip was to get the mister behind the wheels of some fancy shmancy cars at the F1 Circuit de Cataluya (an embarrassingly overdue 2012 Father's Day and birthday present). It's a good feeling watching your better half from a distance, knowing his biggest quandary so far in the day is having to wait a little long for his Ferrari.

Check. 

Quickies, Through Time and Space: Berlin

Following my recent turn towards a more mobile lifestyle, here are some quickly-snagged moments from our brief exploration of Berlin. If my more in-focus look at this splendidly quirky city wasn't enough to make you go airfare-hunting, I hope these do. Everyone, look BERLIN-WARD! 

Go. You'll love it. Pinky swear. 

xxx+o,

Jess

Quickies, Through Time and Space: Bazouges-sur-le-Loir

Right up until the very moment I lifted my iPhone out of its slim little package, I was anti-smartphone. Completely. Once, in 2009, I bought a Blackberry and returned it the same day; the constant access to the Interwebs was too much for me to handle. I liked being unavailable sometimes. I liked that online was a place I could get to from a computer, and nowhere else.

The (Berl)in Crowd

I know it looks like we've been traveling a lot, but, really, we took two trips in six months. I'm just starting with them to lure you back. My birthday/Mother's Day combo pressie from the mister was a four-night excursion to Berlin, with (drumroll)... built-in babysitting. We just got back on Monday, and I'm still feeling all grungy, in the best way. Berliners have heel leuk style - undercuts and leather jackets abound.

Reappearing Act + France, You Hurt So Good.

Hey, happy people. Remember me?

Hmmm. (Insert that awkward silence where no one responds.) 

Although I don't blame you for abandoning this ain't sailin' ship, I passionately bid you to COME BACK, COME BACK! We have much silence to make up for. I miss our chats.

Au Revoir to France, Bonjour to Real Life

Instead of cramming giant me into a tiny airplane seat and dealing with eight hours of in-flight toddler tantrums that could get even this guy thinking some angry thoughts, we pointed a rental car towards France. It turned out that a week in the country, baguettes, and a few days in Paris cures all (in our situation, bad cases of bitchy+whiny+pregnant and works-a-lot+stuck-with-a-pregnant-wife).

Dreaming of Vastness, Part II: Mongolia

photo credit: Carlos Barria

I've always felt a magnetic draw towards Mongolia that I can't exactly articulate; perhaps it's because much of the culture revolves around peaceful existence and horses, or that the permanently populated areas are connected by a sparse network of questionable roads and endless stretches of steppe, desert, mountain, and forest.

It's my heartland, my spirit animal, the place I go to in my mind after a dark day.

Dreaming of Vastness, Part I: Iceland

Earlier today, I discovered Andrew and Carissa Gallo, over on Wolf Eyebrows, who dredged me up out of my travel-fatigued state. Apparently, my predicament was mutable. All day since, I've been fantasizing about sweeping openness and waking up to sounds from non-human sources. Iceland has had a firm clutch on my daydreams for some time now, and seeing it recorded so exquisitely has ratified my desire to go.

An ambulatory education: Seven things I wish I'd known before traveling the world with a child

ein: Humor is universal, even when there exists an absolute language barrier. Be surprised at it, roll its sweetness around on your tongue, then pass it on.

deux: In every locale, there has been at least one kind stranger who opens a door, helps lift a stroller, offers to give up a seat on the bus, or entertains my wailing child with a silly face. It doesn't happen every time I need it but definitely more often than I expect it to.

tre: People in all the places we've been raise their children with diapers, formula, baby food, and other basic necessities, which makes forgetting a staple less upsetting, more fixable. 

neljä: Even if you're pregnant and/or nauseated, or the pickiest eater in town, don't let the local cuisine stop you from going somewhere. Get to a supermarket; most people in the world eat crackers, dried fruit, or whatever else is on your not-so-big "consumables" list. I'm a huge supporter of eating locally when in a new place, but some situations just call for crackers and seltzer water.

A Case of the Baltics, v1.3

Although it's convenient to speak of our June travels collectively as a Baltic road trip, I hesitate in doing so for two reasons. We only toured two of the three Baltic countries (Lithuania and Latvia), touching down only briefly in Estonia to change planes. It's disappointing in the same way that having Ventnor and Atlantic in your pile and never rolling the number you need for Marvin Gardens is.