Still Passing Open Windows ....

A love for fruit

When I was in standard four, around about 12 years old, we got our first computer. It was an Apple IIe and I still remember where it was in the office and the striped apple stickers we got that were stuck up all over our big, 110 year old farmouse. My dad bought us Apple and the Kids, a spiral book with exercises for kids to do on an Apple. Even then I loved How To ... books and I remember starting it with enthusiasm, flying through the first couple of pages and then bogging down as the exercises got more complicated. I tried the last one a few times, it never worked and I abandoned the book but my enthusiasm for Apples has never waned.

We changed computers a few years later but whenever I came across snippets in the news about Apple, I often read them and I have always liked their philosophy and how they approach things. Mabe I screen out the stuff I don't like and just retain what I do - user friendly, recycling policy, give off less something waves, that sort of stuff.

H and I got horrendous, I mean truly horrendous, service from our last computer support people and we decided to head back to my first love. It's fun, I am enjoying it. It's frustrating at times as I struggle to figure out how to do something that is second nature on other systems but I am enjoying this computer for the first time in years (my computer love went through a bad period - I was dumped by a computer geek, tried to get some vaguely computer jobs and was burned and I turned my back on computers and the latest techno find.)

Now once again I find myself turning on the computer and staring at the screen, clicking icons and reading the little help menus, watching tutorials. Yes, I am channeling my inner geek, I know, it's probably a bit sad but then again we are in 2009 and if you knew the extent of my technological skills you would be cheering on that little inner geek - she's probably only about 7 years old in experience years in any case and little kids grow out of this. She looks a bit like Harriet the Spy in my mind; dark hair in a pony tail, big glasses and a very serious expression on her little face which all the adults secretly laugh at. Of course she also carries a notebook around, in which she records The Day's Important Lessons. Did Harriet the Spy wear glasses though?  

The upshot of all this is that I am hoping it will rejuvenate my blog, that I will spend more time here. Maybe I will even follow some of Niobe and Becky's tips. Who knows, maybe I will even update the header. You'll have front row seats, ladies! I can tell how excited you are.

A love for fruit

When I was in standard four, around about 12 years old, we got our first computer. It was an Apple IIe and I still remember where it was in the office and the striped apple stickers we got that were stuck up all over our big, 110 year old farmouse. My dad bought us Apple and the Kids, a spiral book with exercises for kids to do on an Apple. Even then I loved How To ... books and I remember starting it with enthusiasm, flying through the first couple of pages and then bogging in as the exercises got more complicated. I tried the last one a few times, it never worked and I abandoned the book but my enthusiasm for Apples has never waned.

We changed computers a few years later but whenever I came across snippets in the news about Apple, I often read them and I have always liked their philosophy and how they approach things. Mabe I screen out the stuff I don't like and just retain what I do - user friendly, recycling policy, give off less something waves, that sort of stuff.

H and I got horrendous, I mean truly horrendous, service from our last computer support people and we decided to head back to my first love. It's fun, I am enjoying it. It's frustrating at times as I struggle to figure out how to do something that is second nature on other systems but I am enjoying this computer for the first time in years (my computer love went through a bad period - I was dumped by a computer geek, tried to get some vaguely computer jobs and was burned and I turned my back on them.) I find myself turning on the computer and staring at the screen, clicking icons and reading the little help menus, watching tutorials. Yes, I am channeling my inner geek, I know, it's probably a bit sad but then again we are in 2009 and if you knew the extent of my technological skills you be cheering on that little inner geek - she's probably only about 7 years old in experience years in any case and little kids grow out of this. She looks a bit like Harriet the Spy in my mind; dark hair in a pony tail, big glasses and a very serious expression on her little face which all the adults secretly laugh at. Of course she also carries a notebook around, in which she records The Day's Important Lessons. Did Harriet the Spy wear glasses though?  

The upshot of all this is that I am hoping it will rejuvenate my blog, that I will spend more time here. Maybe I will even follow some of Niobe and Becky's tips. Who knows, maybe I will even update the header. You'll have front row seats, ladies! I can tell how excited you are.

A while ...

Yes, I know it's been a while. It's partly due to not having a computer at home and partly due to my general passiveness this year. I won't even tell you the amount of things I have just not done this year but I am letting most things float by. I am also reading less blogs. I was just immersed in infertility and loss and I decided I needed to back off, to find an easier equilibrium. I think I may have found it and I have gone back to checking out some old favourites, but I read a lot less than I used to.

We are preparing for another IVF with our surrogate. I have been toying with the idea of doing a joint transfer. H thinks I'm mad. Some days I think maybe I should try one more time. Other times I do wonder if I could handle that worry that lodges in your throat and escapes at 3 in the morning. Can I do another pregnancy where I'm worried all the time? Could I handle another loss? I don't think so. So I wonder if I am just trying to prove something, that I can stay pregnant, dammit! To prove to all the effortlessly fertile friends that I can do it. And why? They don't expect that from me. I think they will just be happy when I have a baby. But still there is the siren call of being pregnant, of watching the baby grow and feeling it move, of experiencing this and having it work out fine for once. But what if it doesn't? That is the question ...

I have thought of closing this blog down many times, many, many times. I just haven't done it. I like the contact with the people I have met. I have thought of changing its slant, of just writing less about infertility and loss and more about life. I know there are bloggers who do that. I might try it. Then again, I might just not blog for another few months. I like blogging, I like having a blog. I just don't end up sitting in front of the computer and actually doing what I've thought of. Story of my life actually. And maybe that's ok, maybe that is just me and I need to drop all this "but other people write fabulous blogs and post gorgeous photos". Maybe that's it - just let my blog be what it is and let my body be what it is and not force another pregnancy. But still, I think, "Maybe it will be different?"

It's about time ...

for another post. Well, it's overdue but we are still having computer hassles and I am limited to H's portable which is with him when I feel like blogging and on the table at home when I feel exhausted and slump on the couch watching American Idol. Am I the only person who thinks at least Simon gives constructive criticism and doesn't just gush on about what range the singer has and how cute that dress is and how they must pursue their dream no matter what? Um, yes, maybe I am understandably cynical about that last one. Some dreams are difficult to pursue. Some dreams don't seem to want to be pursued. And judging by some of the candidates, some dreams should not be pursued.

But, don't worry dear reader (if there is still anyone out there, anyone? anyone?), we are still pursuing the dream. That is all I can write about it. I am following a very low key approach this year. If I don't feel like doing it, unless it's absolutely necessary, I don't. Case in point: my latest alternative medicine practitioner has recommended doing a detox to cleanse the liver after which my body will respond better to treatments, leap buildings in a single bound, beat Paula Rattray in the New York marathon etc. etc. I am drinking a cleansing liquid of sorts and I'm supposed to be avoiding red meat, coffee, chocolate and alcohol. Well. Avoiding I guess is the right word. I avoid them but sometimes they leap out at me from the bushes and I am so surprised that before I realise what I am doing, I find myself drinking a cup of coffee. And on Friday night I had 2 glasses of wine. I was waiting alone in a wine bar, ok? Have you ever tried to wait for 20 minutes in a wine bar on a Friday night and look comfortable? Let me give you a word of advice, without a glass of wine it's impossible, with a glass of wine you can at least make a more believable effort. 

So, hopefully this is the end of my long break. Possibly not though. However, if anything majorly interesting happens, I will definitely tell you. 

Flying home?

We left on Friday afternoon to fly back. At check-in they upgraded us and we skipped onto the plane, happy with our almost completely reclining seats for the night flight. Our connecting flight the next morning was delayed but, thanks to H´s super flier status, we settled into the business class lounge surrounded by our books and magazines. Then the flight was delayed and delayed and delayed and slowly rumours of more than just the snow stopping flights started to drift our way. So we spent Saturday night in a hotel and arrived at the airport hopefully on Sunday to take our flight, but it was not to be. So here I am, Monday morning, still at the airport for the third consecutive morning.

I go to the bar to get a glass of water with two ice cubes and a slice of lemon and think about how hard it is going to be to return to real life. Funnily enough being stranded at the airport is not that bad. We are in the business class lounge with endless access to coffee and snacks being provided regularly. I can tell you that the tuna sandwiches are the best I have tasted, the chicken sandwiches being less delicious and I have not even attempted the mystery seafood paste. We now know the passport control people, H is best mates with the elegant girl at the front desk and there is that sense of camaraderie that seems to come about in a crisis. Everyone tells their stories. There is the young Finnish couple who were delayed in Marrakesh and having made their way this far, are now fighting to get a flight home. An Argentinian family with two children have been in the lounge since Friday morning. "I am not even going to the gate until I have a confirmed place," the mother tells me, "I'll do violence if I do." There is a Portuguese couple of my parents´age trying to get to Latin America to start their grand tour who tell us their story through the husband. The wife adds little bits and pieces but I can´t understand her until her husband repeats it in a Spanishy form of Portuguese. A young Venuzuealan couple tell of a huge queue, una cola, to get to the hotels supplied by the airline and the Portuguese wife turns to her husband, "Una cola? Una fila, si?" and he nods. People make jokes about similarities to the Tom Hanks movie and the Argentinian mother tells about her 3 year old washing with little towelettes that usually get handed to you on the aeroplane, "It´s not even hygenic!" she says laughing.

So it looks like we will get back today. I like these temporary communities that spring up. I´ll miss it. There´s something attractive about living with so little and having such a simple goal - getting home. Maybe I should set up a little bar with ice and lemon slices on the kitchen counter at home. The hotel buffet breakfast will be a bit more of a challenge though in my usual 30 minute dash out the door in the mornings. And you know what else? For the very first time ever, I have been glad we do not have 2 little children to entertain in an airport over the weekend. Still, the search for their gateway into my world continues ...

2009

A new year. The last year we will have the farm. A year to try again. Walking through the airport on my way back to work and real life, I think decisively "In February we try a double cycle with my eggs and the donor eggs, whatever it costs." It reassures me to have a strong, firm decision. It helps me to think that I can make a difference, actually achieve this dream but mostly I am just treading water, wanting to get through as much time as possible and wanting this last year of my family home to last forever while wanting the pain of saying goodbye to be over now, today, packed up and behind me, painlessly in the past.  

Coping ...

Do you ever have times when you go through all the motions but it feels like you are 3 degrees to the left of everything? I just feel off; as if I can talk or write or drive but I could just as easily find myself mouthing contradictory platitudes or writing an email to ask if I can attend a function I have no intention of going to or driving in the opposite direction to that in which I want to go because there is not gap in the right lane and it seems too difficult to create one. Fighting the stream seems exhausting and has got me nowhere. Going with the current feels like I don't exist, feels like I am giving in to everyone else's wishes but I have no idea what my own are. I just wonder why nothing seems to be working out ...

Raspberries

And this is for Sam, another use for vinaigre au framboises:

After cooking duck or foie gras, take the meat out of the pan. If there is too much fat remaining pour some of it out. Add a couple of teaspoons of sugar and stir around to mix with the meat juices in the pan. Add some splashes of the raspberry vinegar and stir some more. Taste a little and add more sugar or water as necessary.

I have never cooked foie gras. It just seems too scary considering the cost and how quickly it apparently melts into nothing. However I do want to try this glazing thing with magret de canard. I lurve duck.

Tomorrow we are going for an election breakfast. There is an all night election party culminating with the official results around 4am and then winding down to breakfast. "But do we really want to go?" I asked H, "If he loses it's going to be depressing." H feels differently, he thinks we will get a good breakfast no matter the results. It's being held at a nice hotel. I'll try and take a photo of the spread but I have my doubts, I think it might just be dried up toast and the jam no-one wanted to eat by the time we get there. The plan, you see, is to go to gym first (ha ha ha ha).         

I still haven't decided if I will sign up for the Post-a-Day-athon that takes place every November - you can see I don't even know what it's really called - but I am going to try and post every day and see how I do.

I went to gym today so I can tell some gym tales. Another goal is to try and go to gym more often so my membership is not a complete waste of money.

First tale: H and I are talking about the showers. I ask H if the men's showers are separate. "We have these little walls between each one," he tells me. "And do you have doors?" I ask. "Yes," he says, "But some guys regard them as superfluous."

Second tale and another example of how different guys are from us: I'm waiting for H next to the fruit juice bar and he comes out and says, "There is a guy in there blow drying his ass." I have to ask, "And he's totally naked?" and H says, "Oh yes. Naked in the middle of the hair dryer section."

Third tale: This is Europe so most girls go naked into the sauna. This is fine. I went to an all girls' school and I can handle this. What I hate though is when all the Scandinavian types leave and I'm sitting on my towel and in walks a girl in her bikin. Then I feel like an eccentric pevert. It''s a bit like when you tell a friend all about your infertility treatments and she sits there and smiles for 3 months and then suddenly tells you she is 12 weeks pregnant. So all that time you were there naked on your towel, she was covering up with her full piece swimming costume. I love it when that happens. 

Comparing

On this day last year H and a friend went to a local wine show. I stayed home. I can't remember what I did but I remember going downstairs afterwards to see all the boxes of wine they had bought piled up in the car. I remember walking with H as he carried the boxes from the car into our cellar. For once I didn't mind staying behind. I was pregnant with our daughter.

This year I went to the wine show. I wandered around, feeling woozy after only 4 tastings, looking for food. The wine show takes place in one of the local halls and it is just trestle tables manned (on the whole) by men in faintly grubby jeans and faded t-shirts. It is funny to think that some really good wine is being sold in this church bazaar manner. On my food hunt I bought cassoulet, moutarde au cognac, vinaigre au framboises and a little tin of foie gras. Then H and friend joined me and added 3 little tins of terrine to the bags. I decided I was going to try and learn to cook in a more French style. I have no idea what to do with moutarde au cognac but apparently it's very good with white meat and useful for deglazing a pan after cooking a side of beef (not that I have ever cooked a side of beef). Vinaigre au framboises is supposed to be good in a vinaigrette for a salad with hot chèvre chaud and that I do make. I have a very stinky goats cheese in the fridge which smells like a fart every time you open the fridge door.

The point of this all is that last year I was home pregnant, this year I went to the wine show. Neither situation is better than the other. It is just my life.

Going to the market this morning to buy a roast chicken, however, was a whole different story. Everywhere I looked there were kids and babies in prams. Everywhere I looked I saw the father's sharp nose and pinched face repeated in his son or a mother's wild black hair reproduced in each one of her three children or a beautiful little girl with her mother's colour eyes. And each child I saw was like a knife as I thought that I might very easily never share that link with my kids, if I even get there. It was good to go to the wine show where it just felt normal and I could think of last year without a twinge.