Other People's Kids

Before having one’s own children, other people’s children tend to be non-entities, unless they happen to be either really annoying or else closely related (and sometimes both). Generally you will go about your life without thinking too much about them. Occasionally you might feel the urge to kick one out of the way or drop by for a slice of birthday cake, but most of the time - unless you make it your job to take care of them - your life will remain undisturbed by runny noses and pouty lips. All that changes when you start having children. Suddenly, children in general will enter your radar and you will start remembering odd things about them like their pets name, the days they attend playgroups and things like food allergies and favorite colors. You will share your biscuits with them on the playground and you will eagerly pass your cell phone to their parents when they forgot theirs. Basically, the minute you are caught up catering to your own lovely offspring you will also bend over backwards to keep their friends happy, because that makes your life a whole lot easier - or so you think. And so you will befriend parents, even when you don’t really have much in common with them and you will invite their children over and do your best to entertain them, even when you don’t particularly care for them either, because not only is it good for junior, but also, their parents might return the favor and host the next play date. I am on my fifteenth year of hosting and catering for other people’s kids. I have seen friends come and go, I had to fix my black leather three seater after one birthday party and I had to replant my hydrangea. Nothing too horrible. There were a few accidents and a couple of close calls, which I could avert in the last minute, but all in all, I have made it through the first sticky years of childhood three times over, and so have all in my care. But I wouldn’t want to do it over again. The truth is, I don’t particularly like other people’s kids usually and I have a sneaking suspicion, no one does. For the time being, however, one ends up doing it and with it how best to negotiate the tricky bits, the insurance claims, the bruises, the little things gone missing. I suppose in the end one always hopes that the good memories will outlast the rotten ones and maybe even, that the kids will in the end form some lasting friendships - real ones, good ones.

And here is for the Big White Out!

Luckily, on our blessed island it only takes four inches of that blissful white to extend the weekend by a very well deserved extra day of throwing oneself down the slopes and onto each other...

Winter Divine

Winter comes in many attires. The kids are still waiting for the smashing all white one, but so far they have been more unspectacular. Actually, that is unfair given her latest sparkling sheer getup which was nothing less than stunning. Just check out that wispy lace, the subtle hues and delicate patterns in the garment. Simply divine!

Twothousandthirteen

Admittedly, I did like twothousandtwelve much more than twothousandthirteen. Saying it out loud produced such a pretty alliteration and seeing it in writing was so easy on the eye because of the superficial symmetry of the numbers. And to top it all off, there was that awesome climax with all that “2012 shift” finale at the end. That will be hard to beat, but I am confident that there is a hidden beauty in asymmetry and interrupted patterns. In fact, isn’t that what makes up most of life? So, onto what lies ahead: the untidy reality of life and the surprises it hold!

Here is to New Beginnings...

We welcomed the new year in beautiful Lisbon, a place on earth that I will always treasure as my refuge. Since I first lived there in 1991-1992, it has grown and spilled over the edges here and there. But you can still reach the old Lisbon on a city bus from the airport (which by the way also has grown substantially) and there, very little has changed while some things, however, have changed for the better. I love the many independent bookshops, the unassuming coffee bars and ambling Lisboetas clad in black. I love the smell of roasted chestnuts that lingers in the air of the busy Baixa and the dull roar of the trams on their breathtaking rises and plunges through the narrow streets of the Chiado. Occasionally you will still see a little, wrinkled face linger behind a half closed shutter furtively surveying the ongoings outside or maybe a curved back swaddled in an apron appearing in a door frame and memories of a time past will resurface, but most of Lisbon is quite polished now with shining chic boutiques, perky hexagenarians, and a lot fewer street dwellers (both human and animal) than twenty years ago. I also must admit that having comfortable heated accommodations was a definite plus, even though the sun was very loyal to us throughout the new year. Truly, as I remembered the many cold, damp evenings, when I had laid awake under several equally cold and damp covers, unable to keep my teeth from clattering, I could not but hail the arrival of progress - even in Portugal.