Rowanilainen

RELOCATED

2008-02-19T18:06:00.000-08:00

And so, after a long disappearance, here I am again.

With news of a relocation.

FOREVER JANUARY

And onward we go!

The Elusive Happiness

2007-01-16T20:59:00.000-08:00

Today was supposed to be an awesome day. It was GOING to be an awesome day.

But no.

I swear, I think that in order for me to have awesome days I must avoid people AT ALL COSTS. Because there’s some sort of globally broadcasted message that when I am having a good day, someone needs to come along and ruin it.

Even if they probably didn’t intend on ruining it, they do. They burden me with problems I can’t fix and they don’t respond to any moves I make to cheer them up.

I’m not going to be vague about this. Sometimes, The Yankee makes me want to choke him. Why can’t he be happy? He has so fucking much to be thankful for and all he EVER focuses on are the things he can’t control or the things that got messed up. Yeah, things get me down A LOT—I understand perfectly how it feels. But I don’t DWELL on it! I move on! Yeah, it really sucked that I was homeless in Finland with no money for weeks and I was in the middle of a divorce. But I managed. I just remembered the things I DID have—friends that cared about me and my babies.

Just when things start looking better, he has to come in and muck it all up. Why? Does he LIKE being miserable? Is he really that incapable of seeing the positive in ANYTHING?

I really like him, but it’s days like this he just makes me sad and I feel like there’s nothing I can do for him and so I should leave. Apparently I don’t assist his happiness. I’m not saying I should make him happy, but I am saying I don’t know if I can be with someone who can’t see the good in ANYTHING—who can’t even be a small, meagre amount of happy when I’m honestly trying my damndest to cheer him up. Maybe he can, maybe he can’t. I honestly don’t know because all I ever get to see is someone who can only see the negative side of matters.

And with that thought, I’m going to bed.

Fear and Loathing in Louisiana

2007-01-15T22:17:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I just want to give in.

I can’t possibly do everything. I can’t make everyone happy. I feel so worthless sometimes. I feel like I should be the perfect person and I can’t be—it makes me feel very inadequate.

I saw a postcard once in PostSecrets that said something along the lines of, “I feel pretty until I step outside.” That’s me.

I think for years I’ve given off the aura that I’m a strong person. I’m not. I’m really, really not. I’m so fragile on the inside it’s unbelievable. It’s really the little things that break me, though. Those tiny little actions that wear away my foundation.

I always seem to let people hurt me. I brush it off, say it’s okay, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” I’m not. I hold onto things forever. I’m always going to remember that The Finn doesn’t love me anymore, that The Yankee just doesn’t think I’m quite attractive enough for him. Even if the words are taken back eventually, it’s not the same. I can’t help but think every time he looks at me or touches me, “Does he still feel that way?”

I fight demons of self-loathing every day and it makes me so tired.

Why can’t I be the person I want to be?

People ask me if I’m excited to go back to school. I say no, I say I feel indifferent.

I lied.

I’m terrified.

I’m not discontinued.

2007-01-15T09:53:00.000-08:00

It’s amazing the things I will raise hell about and the things I won’t, the things that I can ignore and the things that will ruin my day (or week) completely.

Around Thursday of last week, my favourite lipstick came up missing. When this usually happens, I heave a big sigh and just go buy another tube. But this lipstick is special: it’s discontinued. That word can strike fear into the heart of any women. It’s a word that can cause riots. But yes. My utmost favourite lipstick, Aveda’s Lip Satin lipstick in Red Ore, has been discontinued. It’s been so for a while now. Those bastards also discontinued my favourite perfume! Anyway. This tiny tube of colour is special. It matches my lips and skin tone perfectly. Just a tiny, tiny covering gives so much colour and the smell is pleasantly minty.

And it was lost. LOST!

I felt somewhat naked this entire weekend without it. I had looked everywhere for it to no avail—except the one place all women should probably THOROUGHLY search when something is lost. Yes, you know where I’m taking about … THE PURSE. I didn’t empty out my purse and so assumed it wasn’t in there, but today at work I emptied my purse ENTIRELY and there it was, at the very bottom.

It felt like being reunited with a very old friend.

I still have a good three inches of lipstick left to her. I’m hoping she’ll last me for many years to come.

In other non-lipstick related news, I start school tomorrow. I am not excited. The Yankee sent me flowers at work, which was a nice surprise and made me happy. I asked him if he had looked up the meaning of giving a woman irises and red tulips and of course he said no. Then he said he didn’t disagree with any of it and I could just chew on that. Well, I won’t. I don’t need the L-word muddying up my non-L-related relationship.

I still think he doesn’t quite know what he wants, but I don’t know how I feel about that, either. I should probably make some sort of decision of how “this is going to be”, but I don’t feel like doing that right now. It’s simply in my nature to play things by ear and pounce when no one is looking and least expects it.

The Diet, It Is A’Changing

2006-12-19T07:03:00.000-08:00

Now that I have snuggled my way down into a pant size smaller than what I’ve been wearing, I feel wholly renewed in terms of diet modification and working out. I’m ready to “kick it up a notch”.

Which is where SuperFoods comes into play. I haven’t received my books in the mail yet (SuperFoods HealthStyle: Proven Strategies for Lifelong Health and SuperFoods Rx: Fourteen Foods That Will Change Your Life) but already I have started incorporating more fruits, vegetables and whole-wheat products into my diet. No more coke has been a big change and I’ve been doing well with that. In the morning now I have green or black tea instead of coffee and I’ve reduced my sugar intake from 6 tablespoons (yes, SIX) of white, refined sugar to one small packet of Sugar in the Raw and 1 teaspoon of honey. I still maintain that all that sugar is what makes me a sweet, charming Southern belle! Honestly! But, eventually, I hope to convert fully to just 1 tsp. honey and then to no sugars at all.

Last night I bought whole-wheat noodles instead of the regular ones and tonight or tomorrow night plan on making a dish with them. We’ll see what I manage to cook up.

Most importantly, though, I don’t discuss my diet changes with my family. There are those that only want to mock it and then there are those that say, “Oh, what diet are you on? I might want to do it with you.” In which case I tell them to get off their ass, TRULY assess what they are putting into their bodies and CHANGE it. That’s what I’m doing. They, like most Americans, want a “quick fix”, a ‘get skinny in 2 weeks’ kind of diet. But it just doesn’t work that way and they’re forever going to be fat because they won’t change their way of thinking.

Lunch for today consists of organic peanut butter and jelly sandwich on light honey wheat bread with an orange.

I get a feeling this might turn into a weight loss blog, hehe!

I’m also going to take a moment to mention that Justin Timberlake’s new song “Sexy Back” is going to be forever permanently stuck in my head. It’s a true travesty and it is driving me insane (“I’m bringin’ sexy baaaaaack”). I WILL refrain from dancing in the office. Honest, I will.

I’ll just sit on my feet.

More Detailed Update

2006-12-18T12:22:00.000-08:00

So I said I was going to update eons ago and I didn’t. Sorry! Things have just been so hectic lately.

The Return of Seamus

Nov. 29^th I flew back to Finland to get Seamus, landing on the 30^th. I get off the plane, meet my friend and then go back to his place to unload my luggage. After resting for about an hour, we head off to Riihimäki. I message The Finn that I’m coming and, like always, he’s not cooperating. Still, I persevere. I get there and head to the house we used to share. Strangely, all the lights are on. I peek around the corner and there’s a woman painting on the computer room! I message The Finn to tell him someone’s here and I’m about to knock on the door. He sends another message back to say that it’s just his girlfriend, there’s no need to talk to her and that he’ll bring Seamus to me. I say that’s not good enough because he’s not very trustworthy. So, after more threatening to speak to his new girlfriend, he agrees to come pick me up and bring me to Seamus. After waiting several more hours and then a long drive into the country, Seamus and I are reunited!

The woman that was keeping him only spoke Finnish but from what I understood, she’s had Seamus for a very long time—probably starting about a month after I left Finland if that.

Anyway. Seamus is now back in the USA with his mama and I just couldn’t be happier to have my baby dog here with me again.

On Being Single

So I’m single again. And as I said before, I’m okay with that. The Yankee, whom I had been dating for about 6-7 months, told me the day before I left for Finland in more words or less that he didn’t find me attractive and I should get all my stuff from his apartment and give him back his key.

Well, I got my stuff from his apartment but he’s been out of town working in Texas so I hadn’t seen him to give him back his key. Then, this previous Thursday, he messages me to say that he’ll be in town this weekend if I’d like to talk. At any rate I need to give him his key back so I say fine, I’ll see if I have the time for it.

I meet up with him Friday evening and we take a ride where he apologies to me for the things he’s said and asks if he can have my permission to try and win my forgiveness and possibly start seeing me again. I suppose since he did ask and I’m just a nice person that doesn’t want to be angry with people (I also believe people deserve a second chance sometimes), I say fine, that he can try. We’ll see if he follows through.

At any rate, I’ve started dating again and he’s aware that he does have competition. My date on the 8^th of this month was a charming cameraman who I enjoyed the company of immensely but our schedules haven’t allowed for a second date just yet. Just have to see!

Continuing Education

The university is giving me the run around. I suppose this is the Rite of Passage for my patience/acceptance/tolerance levels. I don’t have much to say about it just yet—only that they’ll be getting calls from me every two days until something is resolved about my application.

I swear they only get the dumbest students available to work in the Office of Admissions.

My office Christmas party was this past Saturday and I had a really good time. I was slightly tipsy and I threw all my introverted insecurities to the wind and got out on the dance floor and danced.

You know what? It felt really good. I’m glad I did it instead of being a wallflower all night.

Just a quick one.

2006-12-12T12:48:00.000-08:00

This will have to be a very short entry since I am at work and about to leave.

I would just like everyone to know the following updates:

Seamus is safely back home with me.
I’m single again, and I’m okay with that.
Still haven’t heard from the university, but my college application has been sent in. Still too soon to tell, though.

I’ll write a better entry after I get home, with pictures and everything!

Kids Say the Darndest Things

2006-11-13T12:54:00.000-08:00

As I was putting my shoes on this morning before going to work, out of the blue my youngest half-brother, age 7, said to me, “You look pretty today.” Wow. Amazing who a compliment can come from when you least expect it.

Later on today, I get a call from my grandmother telling me that Alex said to her, “Rowan’s so pretty. She’s much prettier than my mama.” Someone give the kid $100 bucks! Man! I’ve wanted to hear something like that all my life! For those that don’t know, my biological mother and I DO NOT get along and I do my darndest to not look like her. It’s really not that hard—I’m an inch taller than her now (not saying a lot since I’m only 5’1”, but every inch counts!) and my hair is curly and my figure is more hourglass instead of box. Usually, I feel like Laetitia Casta when I’m next to her.

Still, his words couldn’t have come at a better time when I’ve been struggling with weight and a boyfriend who stated he doesn’t find me attractive at my current weight. It’s a lot to swallow.

I might just have to be nice to the little snot for some time now since he made me feel so much better today without even trying.

Kids say the darndest things!

“And if I’m wastin’ all your time …”

2006-11-10T10:03:00.000-08:00

I don’t know if I like it when a relationship reaches that introspective point where one person (or both) feel the need to assess where they are going and if they should stay with the person they’re with.

Tori Amos lyrics run through my head all the time, but the one that is sticking today is, “And if I’m wastin’ all your time this time …”

I have many things that must get done. I will be in Finland in 19 days. I need to get some vaccinations so that I can apply for college (apparently, I am very much so behind). I want to send my application in by next week.

I simply wish this period of introspection would have come at a different time. But, I cannot plan everything. I cannot have as much control as I would like over everything. Life simply doesn’t work that way.

And whatever happens, I’ll live. That’s a given: I’ll live. Stubborn and strong—that’s me.

I just don’t like thinking that I’ll be lonely. Loneliness is a killer.

Finnish Meatballs

2006-11-02T07:50:00.000-08:00

I have been on a Finnish food kick lately, oddly enough. I find it ironic because when I was living in Finland, I HATED Finnish food. Couldn’t stand it. Now I’m in my kitchen cooking it.

Life, you have a sick sense of humour!

SUOMALAISEN LIHAPULLAT

Finnish Meatballs

Meatballs:

500 g (about 1 lb.) ground beef or substitute part of the beef with ground pork (I use ground beef mixed with Jimmy Dean’s Sage-flavoured ground sausage)
50 ml (about 3-4 Tbsp) dry breadcrumbs (I used much more than this—if you find the meat mixture is too soft, add until it firms up)
150 - 200 ml (a little less than 1 c.) heavy cream
1 small egg
1 small onion
1 tsp salt
¼ tsp white pepper
¹/₈ tsp allspice

For Gravy:

2 - 3 Tbsp flour
1 - 2 Tbsp butter
about ½ l beef stock
50 - 100 ml sour cream
salt and pepper to taste

Grate or chop the onion extremely fine. Mix the cream and the breadcrumbs and let the mixture stand for a few minutes until the cream is absorbed in the breadcrumbs, making them thoroughly soft. Add the egg, meat and seasonings.

Knead the mixture thoroughly by hand until it is smooth and firm. Form the mixture into small balls (2½ - 3 cm) with clean, moistened hands.

Melt some butter in a medium-sized hot skillet. Add meatballs—about 20 or less at a time—and lower the heat to medium-high. Using a wooden spatula or cooking tongs, gently keep turning the meatballs over until they are lightly browned from all over and hold their round shape.

Continue cooking by shaking the skillet every now and then so that the meatballs roll around and brown evenly. They will be further baked in oven, so they do not have to be cooked through at this stage. Pour the meatballs in a deep oven casserole (with a lid) to wait for the sauce.

Preparing the gravy:

Bring the stock to the boil and keep it hot. Pour the flour in a medium-hot, dry skillet. Using a wooden spatula, keep stirring the flour without a break until it turns golden brown in colour and starts to develop a nutty aroma. Make sure not to burn the flour.

Add the butter to the flour and mix quickly, so that it will be absorbed in the flour. You may need some extra butter—all of the flour should be mixed with it. Immediately start pouring the boiling hot stock in the skillet a little at a time, using a whisk to constantly stir it in. Watch out for the hot steam. You may not need to use all of the stock. Mix well, whisking until no lumps remain. You can also transfer the gravy back into the pot you used to boil the stock if it makes whisking easier.

Add sour cream to taste, whisking until thoroughly mixed. Bring to a boil and then pour over meatballs.

Cover casserole dish with lid and put into the oven at 200°C/390°F until meatballs are cooked through and sauce has thickened.

Serve with potatoes (boiled or mashed) with lingonberry jam.

Lihamakaronilaatikko

2006-11-02T07:37:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned in the above entry, I’ve been on a Finnish food kick.

For Sunday, I made lihamakaronilaatikko. It’s not quite the national food of Finland, but I think it’s damn close.

Recipe isn't posted because I’m still tweaking it. But, if anyone really wants it, send me a comment and I’ll get off my butt and tweak faster!

Even chickens have more brains...

2006-10-30T18:12:00.000-08:00

I believe the perfect way to sum up my day is this: when I arrived at work this morning, I found out that I had put my underwear on inside out. Classic, no?

I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Actually, it’s so bad that Saturday I ran into the corner of a wall and almost knocked myself out cold. Yes, you read that right. Ran into a wall. I am continually amazed by how many muscles are attached to my brow bone and how often I lift my eyebrows at people. Not lately though, of course, because it hurts like hell to do so. I still have a bit of a bump there. Amazingly, my eyebrow isn’t VISIBLY bruised. It just hurts like hell.

I’m scared about going to Finland, about all the things that could go wrong. I suppose it’s because I have a very obvious lack of control over many factors and this is causing me to worry excessively. I want things to be perfect and when they’re not, I get upset and worried.

My work hired a new girl who started today. I’m a little sad that I wasn’t offered to be promoted into her position. It’s a little disconcerting. I’ll get over it, though. I guess they figured they are going to keep me where I’m at (which is the bottom of the barrel) since they know I’ll probably be cutting back heavily on hours when/if I start up college again.

Speaking of college ... Debt scares the living daylights out of me. I have managed for a good while to live debt-free and man-oh-man I wish I could keep it that way. But, I’ve pretty much capped out in terms of career-growth and I need to go back to school if I want to go anywhere higher in my life. Still ... thoughts of thousands of dollars of debt and no new car make me pout and sigh at night. I hope my little clunker can hold out that long.

This Calls For War

2006-10-26T13:34:00.000-07:00

You know, I never wanted to become the “ex from hell,” but it seems lately as if I have little choice.

My now-ex-husband has ceased all contact with me in regards to my dog, Seamus, and has ceased all correspondence with my Finnish friend as well (he was trying to get Seamus for me so that I will have easy access to him when I go to Finland in November).

At this point, it doesn’t matter if it takes me years—unless a court rules that I cannot have Seamus, I am going to do EVERYTHING in my power to get my baby dog back. That’s just how it is. I have some people supporting my determination, others shaking their heads and calling me insane (“It’s just a dog”) and yet others telling me I should just “forget Seamus” all together, that he is probably just fine where he is.

Opinions are like rectums—everyone has one and I probably don’t want to see or hear yours. I don’t tell people in the midst of a bitter custody battle over their children to “just forget the kids” and I find it insulting that some of these people would say as much to me over my dog! I do not have human children and therefore my animals are my children. I understand that you may not be able to comprehend this and that’s okay. But it still gives you no right to call me names and insult me over my decision to FIGHT to get my dog back. I know there are millions of pet owners out there who probably applaud my decision and it may even give them hope if the same thing ever happens to them.

Seamus is my dog, not The Finn’s. He belongs with me, beside me and in my arms.

I sense a brewing storm on the horizon.

Dirge for Opportunities Past

2006-10-18T09:53:00.000-07:00

I know many people go through periods of, “If I knew then what I know now…” moments and they are a normal part of this grand experience human beings have labeled “life” (in whatever language you say it in). Still, even with this rational bit of logic in my head, I still can’t help but feel alone in the matter.

Yes, I’m in the process of going back to college. Yes, it’s scary and daunting and I feel like I’m just setting myself up for failure. If I knew then what I know now, I would have taken my standardized test with everyone else instead of being a rebel with the attitude of, “You can’t make me!” I would have done it when I still knew how to figure out 7y = 2 x – 5, when things like cos and tan still had some meaning in my head.

And yet, I think of stories of people in their 40s and 50s going back to college. They always say roughly the same thing: it’s never too late to go back to school. This, too, is rational. However, while it may never be too late, no one said is was going to be easy!

For the record, if I even manage to get myself into college (and believe me, I feel pretty stupid right now and am NOT looking forward to spending time with immature twits fresh out of high school), I don’t know how far I’'ll make it. I suppose it’s time to update my work-related wardrobe. I’m sure my youthful appearance will mean I blend in with the twits fairly well. As a side note, I want to become an R.N. Get my degree in nursing. Will I make it that far? I suppose only time will tell.

I have my test coming up on the 28^th. Everyone wish me well! I have actually been studying for it which is something I’ve never done for a test in the past!

Trudging Along

2006-10-06T07:34:00.000-07:00

Life is going as it always does, but it seems things are moving so slowly that I have little to nothing of interest to write about.

I’m working on going back to university—which isn’t interesting so much as it is stressful. Working on getting Seamus back, which honestly all seems very fragile now and liable to fall apart at any given moment, especially if my now-ex-husband doesn’t get Seamus vaccinated against rabies in time (US Customs requires that dogs be vaccinated against rabies 30 days to 1 year before departure).

I’ve met a guy. He’s a Yankee. We’re something of an item now. So, see, even back in the States I’m dating “foreigners”, even if only in a mild sense. It’s a nice relationship; much slower and milder than previous relationships I’ve had in the past. For now, though, I feel this is good for my life to have a relationship that isn’t all lust and passion and a tornado of emotions.

I suppose the saddest thing about coming back is that this place no longer feels like home. I feel alienated from the general population. I was different before I left, but now that I’ve returned I feel like a saltwater fish trying to survive in freshwater. I feel like a complete alien and it makes me feel very jaded that few people around me can even begin to comprehend what it’s like to live somewhere foreign. It’s taxing and maddening and there are days I just want to go back to Finland where I knew I was a foreigner so it was okay to feel like one.

For now, though, I am homeless in the sense that I do not feel grounded or attached to any one place. And The Yankee, ironically enough, feels the same. Perhaps that’s why we’re together right now. It’s a nice feeling to be with another nomad that feels the same as you.

Things aren’t moving fast enough for my liking and certain things are not changing as quickly as I would like.

But I’ll deal with it. 2006 and all the painful memories and heartaches that came with it are now winding to an end. I hope this is a good light at the end of the tunnel that I see and not a freight train coming to plough me over.

HOROSCOPE FOR GEMINI, 10/6/06:
Everything seems to come at you quickly now and there may be no way to prepare for what unfolds throughout the day. You may as well give up the notion of finishing your workweek quietly, for you are in a particularly playful mood. It's crucial for you to find something productive to do with your overactive imagination.

I also added a new quote and song of the moment.

'Just Keep Swimming...'

2006-08-31T07:43:00.000-07:00

I have contended for the longest time that sometimes ignorance is bliss. Sometimes, it is simply better to just not know. While I always had my suspicions that my former husband had found someone else, I never really knew. Not until now.

And it hurts. My stomach is in knots and I feel like I want to just break down where I stand and cry my eyes out. I won’t, of course. I’m too stoic a person for such antics. I lick my wounds in private. But it doesn’t lessen the pain.

I haven’t seen that man in months. And aside from asking him about Seamus and the cats here and there, I have had little to no contact with him.

This whole ordeal makes me feel inadequate and worthless. I know I’ll bounce back—I always do—but for now I feel like I’m at the bottom of the barrel again.

I just have to breathe and think that by the end of this year, it’ll be over. I’m going to go get Seamus and then it will be over. He won’t have my baby dog anymore and I won’t have to have any contact with him if I don’t want to.

“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming …”

'So Tell Me What You Want...'

2006-08-28T11:50:00.000-07:00

For months while dating I’ve wrestled with the question of, “What do I want?” I could never really answer it, either. So often do I ignore my own wants for the needs of others and it’s time I stop that. This is supposed to be a new era in my life and I should make it that way.

That said, I want this: to be courted. I do not want to have to pursue a man. I want, for a change, to be pursued. I want old school romance and chivalry with flowers and chocolates and casual words of flattery (“You have gorgeous hair”) and actual dates. Actual dates. Not, “Hey, want to go meet up for a cup of coffee?”

But how does one even go about achieving this in a modern world where courtship is a dying trend and everyone wants immediate gratification? This is the world of one-night stands and speed dating. Romance and roses seem lost somewhere in the dust of yesteryear.

Men—and women—do not seem to want to put forth the effort that courting involves. It’s kind of saddening in a way.

I do know that I find myself feeling more and more sad the more people I have casual coffee “dates” with. This isn’t what I want and it doesn’t make me feel special. Along with wanting to be courted, I want to feel special. I want to feel like I’m worth someone’s time, because I think I am.

For once, I’d just like someone to agree with me and show it.

Eggplant Pizza

2006-07-11T19:08:00.000-07:00

I decided this week I was going to do good, eat healthy and all that. So, tonight I made eggplant pizzas. I think the turn-out was pretty good. It was simple to make and—more importantly—it was cheap. I made some modifications to the recipe here and there and next time I think I’ll salt the eggplant ahead of time and really dry it out before browning it in the oven so it will be more crisp. Still, for those that like eggplant, I think you’ll enjoy this dish.

Eggplant Pizza

1 eggplant, 3” in diameter, peeled and cut into 4 ½”-thick slices (I used a larger eggplant—I don’t think it makes much a difference)

4 tsp. Olive oil

½ tsp. Salt

1/8 tsp. Ground black pepper

¼ cup pasta sauce (I used no sugar added)

4 oz. Canadian bacon (I used turkey bacon)

½ cup shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese (I used Sargento’s mozzarella with sun-dried tomatoes and basil)
Preheat oven to 425°F. Brush both sides of eggplant slices with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Arrange on a baking sheet and bake until browned and almost tender, 6 to 8 minutes, turning once.

Spread one tablespoon of pasta sauce on each eggplant slice. Top, if desired, with the Canadian bacon and shredded cheese. Bake until the cheese melts, 3-5 minutes.

I cooked my bacon ahead of time so that it would be very crispy and easy to crumble (I like crispy bacon, at any rate).

Farewell.

2006-06-29T23:15:00.000-07:00

Her funeral was today. Yesterday at her wake, around 350 people showed up. Today, for her funeral we had around 150 people. The crowd was so large that we had to have 5 police escorts and what normally is a 10-15 minute drive to the cemetery took 40 minutes.

I had been doing good with not crying too much, but when I saw her brothers break down and start crying I broke down myself. Shit, just writing about it makes me start crying again.

Someone asked about the flags on her casket. Those were the two flags she had attached to her scooter. It wasn’t planned for them to be on the casket spray, but when her husband put them there they just fit so perfectly and we left them there.

My heart feels so heavy. I know it’s better for her to die now than later. One of her greatest fears was that she would become bed-ridden and be a burden to people. Our family is so independent that being an invalid to many of us is worse than death. And she was in so much pain.

Still, I miss her. I miss her so much.

I know I should probably go to work tomorrow, but at this current point in time I’m not really feeling up to it. I know my aunt is going (I work where she works), but that doesn’t do much to reassure me into going. If I do go, I’ll probably come in later and work half a day or something.

Oh, and while off topic, it was nice to hear some people say they noticed I’ve lost some weight. I’ve been trying and it’s been coming off slowly. It’s nice that someone noticed, though. If I could lose some boobage, I’d be in good shape, hehe!

In Loving Memory

2006-06-28T21:11:00.000-07:00

This post is dedicated in loving memory to my Aunt Susan, who passed away Tuesday morning after a long battle with cancer. She was 56 years old. May she forever rest easy now.

We love you and will miss you always, Aunt Susie.

Mother's Day Crawfish Boil

2006-06-25T13:12:00.000-07:00

Here’s some pictures from our Mother’s Day get-together that was at one of my aunt’s house.

Yum!

My youngest half-brother, Alex—Age 7.

Other half-brother, Christopher—Age 15 on August 13^th.

My grandfather.

Together.

Proper Crawfish Holding Technique.

Life Like Lemonade

2006-06-25T12:38:00.000-07:00

Today one of my aunts called me and woke me up asking me if I could run to the store real quick and get my Aunt Susie some bed pads and bring them to her house before she and the rest of my great-aunts get there. So, I throw on my clothes and run to the nearest CVS to pick them up.

I don’t think I’ve posted about my Aunt Susie here before, so here’s a little background. She is my great-aunt, firstly—my grandmother’s sister. Anyway. She’s been battling cancer for 7-8 years now. It started as breast cancer (yes, I’m one of those now that totes around a pink ribbon) and after 3 years went into remission. Then, a few years back, when she went in for a check up the doctors discovered it had spread to her liver. Recently (close to Memorial Day and my birthday), she went in for another check-up and was complaining of headaches. They admitted her to the hospital immediately and several tests later, they find she has 8 tumors in her brain.

Since then, she has gone downhill very rapidly. They did some radiation treatments for the brain tumors, but the cancer in her liver has spread so much that her liver is now starting to shut down.

Most of the time I push these thoughts from my mind and I feel rather hollow. But today, when I saw her being pushed into the house in her wheelchair, hair falling out, barely able to move or speak ... I felt myself wanting to break down. I bit my tongue and held it in, since we’re a strong family and we don’t want to cry in front of her. But stars, it was so hard ... So hard. Even as I type this now I feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes. It’s becoming painfully obvious she doesn’t have much longer.

Different topic ...

Last month I bought a skirt that I just fell in love with. Now, really, I’m not much of a skirt girl, but there was just a certain je ne sais quoi about this certain skirt that I adored. And of course, since I bought the skirt, I had to buy matching shoes. They’re lovely as well. It seems when I put this skirt on, some hidden alter ego of Rowan comes to surface. Sassy and flirtatious and girly. And I like it! Honestly, I need to find more excuses to wear my skirt. I feel silly wearing it to work or running to the local Wal-Mart. So, what does this mean? I need to go on more dates! Haha!

After I get Seamus back to the US, I will certainly be doing more travelling. My best friend is moving to California (San Francisco to be exact) to go to grad school at Berkeley, so I predict I will be making flights to the west coast here and there. And I have some friends in PA I’d like to visit. Ah yes, and a plethora of friends in Europe I need to see as well.

My life right now is like lemonade with only a little sugar. Bitter sweet. It’s all right, though. All things in moderation.

Up, Up, Up!

2006-06-24T20:31:00.000-07:00

I’ve been spending most of my days working, it seems. Really, it’s good, because I can certainly use the money! I can say I feel happier now than I have felt in a long time—it’s certainly a great feeling. Things aren’t perfect by any means, but they’re getting better. The future holds limitless possibilities.

I’m saving money so that in November or so I can go back to Finland and bring Seamus home. After that, I don’t think I will be going to Finland much anymore. Next year, however, I hope to travel to at least one new country, maybe even two—finances and job willing. I’m just working on enjoying things as much as possible these days!

Things are really starting to look up!

How have all of you been doing?

Back To An American Life

2006-05-04T19:31:00.000-07:00

Well, I’m am now back in Louisiana and have been here since the 21st. On the 25th I went back to work at my old job and that’s what has been taking up almost all of my time since then. Work and then going home.

I can’t say I’m really happy to be back, but I don’t regret leaving Finland, either. More often than not I am usually just tired. Working to get some order back into my life is certainly tiring.

I haven’t had any time to check what’s been going on with the ladies at FWC, and for that I am sorry. Hopefully in a few weeks things will settle even more and I will have some time to myself.

I’m living with my grandparents at the moment–just Galina and me–and I can’t say I’m super-thrilled about it. But it’s better I live here for the time being and create some sort of savings account before moving out and getting a place of my own. That, and rentals in Baton Rouge are entirely too expensive right now and I do not want a roommate.

So, that’s my life thus far. Just work and trying to re-adjust to life in Louisiana.

I’ve been exercising (just brisk walking at an incline on the treadmill) 3-4 times a week not so much to lose weight but just to maintain some order of fitness about me. Weight loss will come in time, I’m sure, if I build up some muscle mass. Right now I’m just a blob of flab!

I hope everyone is doing great still! I promise I’ll try to write more!

No Rest For the Weary

2006-04-15T06:46:00.000-07:00

I figured I should add something here as an update so everyone knows how I’m doing and what’s going on.

As I was moving, I realised I hate Finland (or rather, I hate living in Finland) and really don’t want to live here. I wanted to go home. I miss my family, my friends, Louisiana food, warm weather, rain storms, hurricanes … I feel like Sam wishing to return to The Shire.

So, here I am, trying to get back as soon as possible. I am meeting resistance every step I take, too. I am very tired and weary, yes, but I want to go home and nothing is going to stop me.

There is nothing more for me here in Finland but misery, heartache and a sense of not belonging.

The Belle is going back to the South.

Perhaps one day I should even write my own There and Back Again: A Rowan’s Tale. Ha, ha, ha.

For the Anonymous commenter on my SAHWNK post, I will reply my thoughts to your comment in time.

I hope everyone else is doing well. I read all of your posts when I get the chance so that I don’t stay too far behind.

As my entertainment, I have been reading. I haven’t read in a long time and I had forgotten how much stress is takes off of my mind to delve into some fictional character’s problems.

My current read of the moment is The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan, the first book in The Wheel of Time series. I came across this quote in it, and it struck a sore chord within me, so I’m posting it here.

“Hope is like a piece of string when you’re drowning; it just isn’t enough to get you out by itself.”
— Robert Jordan, The Eye of the World

Ramblings of a SAHWNK

2006-03-25T07:56:00.000-08:00

When I moved to Finland to be with The Finn, I gave up a lot in Louisiana. I quit my job, sold my car, cleaned out my bank account and left the only world I’d ever known to fly across the Atlantic to be with him.

Granted, my world in Louisiana was not peaches and cream. I had been working three jobs just to make ends meet. The place I was living in was a shack and when my mother decided to go on one of her crazy sprees and tear the place apart, I found myself homeless and living out of my car for about a month. But I managed. My self and my two cats, we managed.

I suppose to some it seems obvious why I moved to Finland, why I gave all that up. But things are seldom as simple as they seem. Sure, I was right miserable in Louisiana during that time and things were not easy, but I was independent. I didn’t have to rely on anyone. So for me to give all that up and put my trust and faith in The Finn and move to his country, well, it was a huge thing and was not an easy decision to make.

In Finland, I became a SAHWNK. Stay At Home Wife with No Kids. And I never heard the end of it. American family and friends constantly asked me, “What do you do there? Why don’t you get a job?” Nevermind I was working myself into an early grave in Louisiana—in their eyes I was doing something. What is so wrong about being a SAHWNK? I didn’t miss work in Finland. Work was the last thing on my mind. What I really missed was having a car and being able to meet up with my good friend Goober once or twice a month to have some coffee, go out to dinner and see a movie. But work? Hell no. The Finn didn’t insist I work so I didn’t. I kept house instead.

Of course, now that I am in the divorce process with The Finn, he feels it necessary to spit in my face about being a SAHWNK. Suddenly, I have no more worth. Suddenly, because I didn’t kill myself in Finland like I was killing myself in Louisiana so we could have 150€ extra each month, I’m worthless.

I haven’t met many other SAHWNKs, but those that I have met I don’t think, “Why don’t they get a job? What do they do with themselves all day?” No, that isn’t what goes through my mind. I wonder, “Are they happy? I hope they’re happy.”

I didn’t mind playing house-wife. Honest, I didn’t. I love cooking and while washing dishes isn’t my forte, I can vacuum and scrub toilets like no one else. These things didn’t bother me. But what did bother me was the lack of respect I, as a SAHWNK, received.

I read this and I don’t know where I’m trying to go with this. My emotions feel a bit conflicted. In today’s workaholic society, the SAHW loses respect when pitted against women who put their jobs first and work all the time. At least, this is how it is in my family. My aunt, who went back to work just two weeks after giving birth to my cousin and even today NEVER takes off of work to attend any school function involving my cousin, has more family respect than I do as a SAHWNK. Oh, “B. works. She makes her own money.” Yes, indeed. She also has a daughter that feels unloved and looked over. But that’s diverging from SAHW to SAHM, which is another topic in itself.

Maybe after I move I should get knocked up by some dashing Nordic man and be a SAHM. I guess the fact I have cats who are like toddlers isn’t enough to qualify me as a SAHM, is it? No, I must be content with being a SAHWNK.

And this post was just one long babble. But I’ll end it with this thought: why should a person have to be miserable in order to garnish respect from their peers? Why isn’t the pursuit of happiness something to be respected, regardless of whether or not you work?

The Power of Words

2006-03-22T11:38:00.000-08:00

I receive a word of the day every day. Most of the time, the words that are selected enhance my vocabulary but they are not words that I connect with or find utterly beautiful. I am a geek. I love words. They hold so much power. They can portray grace, kindness, forgiveness, they can build or destroy, they are the tools to which pictures are painted in the mind. But most importantly, words inspire thought and breathe life into your imagination.

Yesterday’s word of the day was aubade. It was the first beautiful word I’ve encountered in a long time. Aubade. It rolls off the tongue so gently.

aubade \oh-BAHD\, noun:
A song or poem greeting the dawn; also, a composition suggestive of morning.
Aubade comes from the French, from aube, dawn + the noun suffix -ade: aube ultimately derives from Latin albus, white, pale, as in "alba lux," the "pale light" of dawn.

To greet the dawn.

I feel like my life is in a period of night, a period of darkness. I can’t see anything and I’m unsure of where I’m going. To see this word made me thing of the inevitable day when I would have a period of dawn again—a period of spring. Because nothing stays the same forever. Things change, people, the world, nature … Everything changes.

One day, sooner or later, I will be composing my own aubade to welcome the dawn, a new springtime in my life.

One day.

I Don't Need Yo’ Thought Control

2006-03-22T10:11:00.000-08:00

I’ve long known I’m a magnet for the perverted and the weird. I accept this and take it all in stride. Really, it takes a lot these days to get me worked up. Coping a feel of my boob in a crowded French metro just won’t work. Yes, it’s happened. I guess when you got jugs like these those old French men just can’t help but try and get a feel (Hey, monsieur, these nénés are not for the touching)! I’ve also been mooned while driving down the interstate in Louisiana and been flashed numerous times. Really, I don’t get phased anymore—especially after I moved to Finland and it was nothing to see men with nothing but a towel wrapped around their behind drinking a beer outside their apartment building in the middle of the day. I don’t get mad if someone speeds past me, flipping me off and cursing at me because I drive like a maw-maw without her glasses on. I don’t even get mad anymore when I’m served bad food. I simply sigh and say, “C’est la vie.” But my gripe isn't with being groped or being served bad food, it's about something else entirely ...

It's about thought control and religion. Someone trying to throw their religion in my face. I don’t get upset about politics that much anymore—I guess it’s because I moved out of the US and now I hardly ever watch TV. But someone trying to convert me to their religion, their way-of-thinking just irks me.

So, what brought this on?

Well, I know someone who got into Scientology. He’s been into it for a number of years and I never really cared about it. I don’t agree with it, but hey! It’s none of my business what he chooses to do with his spare time. I suppose recently he’s decided, “Hey! Rowan’s divorcing and she’s full of mistakes. Scientology can help her!” Maybe his intentions were good, but enough! Quit trying to throw your beliefs in my face and convert me!

I’m going to quit writing about this now before I get into a real tizzy and have a conniption. I’ve been thinking about L’s post on weight gain and marriage for over a day now. I keep wanting to write about it, but am not so certain what words to use or where my thoughts really lie. Enh, maybe tomorrow I’ll spit something out.

Then again, maybe I’ll write more about boobies. I don’t mind talking about bathrooms and boobies! Granny, three photos of a faucet is about right. You need one of every angle, of course!

My Little Helper

2006-03-19T03:57:00.000-08:00

Today I broke down and said, “Self, you are really going to try hard to get some packing done today.” And my Self replied, “Oh yeah? Who’s going to make me? Monk is on TV, it’s snowing outside and I feel lazy.”

So, for the whole morning, Self and I fought about our laziness as we watched Monk and large snowflakes plummeted down outside. Then I decided it’s the least we could do if I started packing some books. So, off we go, gathering my books and magazines and putting them into boxes.

It was at this time that Galina awoke from her nap and realised I was getting out BOXES. This is a cat’s dream come true. Loads of boxes everywhere, all for her. And I suppose she had a good nap, because she decided she would help me pack by making sure everything was packed down as flat as possible. After a box was filled, she would go to it and squish everything down as far as it would go—all 5 pounds of her.

Now see, where would I be without such splendid kitty assistance? Why, I simply just couldn’t live without it (so my cats tell me)! I still haven’t gotten much packing done. I think deep down I like cutting things to the wire. I like that surge of adrenaline one gets when they are rushed, a deadline is near and you must GO-GO-GO! I also hate boxing up my life. It is absolutely amazing how much stuff I have at my grandmother’s that I haven’t managed to ship to Finland yet. It’s all packed away in my room, waiting. And it’s been waiting for over two years now. I leave so much stuff behind every time I move (except for when I moved from the apartment in Espoo to the house in Riihimäki—I hated that place in Espoo).

You know, Freud (or someone like him) once said that when people leave stuff behind at a location, it means subconsciously that they want to return. I am inclined to believe this is true.

I loved having a home of my own, a yard to garden in, a kitchen to cook in. I loved home ownership. When we bought this house, I was raring to go, tear down, remodel and build! The Finn, on the other hand, wasn’t. He was never nearly as enthusiastic about home ownership as I was, and that is why hardly anything got done around here. I couldn’t do everything by myself and he never wanted to do anything. I remember it taking me a MONTH before I could convince him to put up some shelves for me. It’s not that it was hard work for him or that he was incapable—he simply didn’t want to do it. I guess this baffled me, since I come from a family of hardworking do-it-yourself’ers. My grandmother and grandfather spent two years building their house on their own, I have an uncle who is excellent at wood crafting, another who is excellent at welding, one who is a plumber … The list goes on! So when The Finn didn’t want to do anything with our house, I was baffled and felt … dejected. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it: dejected.

Ironically enough, The Swede went to carpentry school. I always liked a man who could build … Hehe!

Liver Hauntings

2006-03-18T08:17:00.000-08:00

I had my first liver encounter when I was around 5 or 6 years of age. I ate it ONCE and I remember that moment as if it happened 30 minutes ago. My great-grandmother told me to come taste some chicken she just fried up in the skillet (because I love chicken). I tasted it and immediately ran to the trash bin to spit it out. I told her, “Granny, that's bad chicken! It will make you sick if you eat it.” It was calf's liver. Tricksy woman! Since that day, I swore I’d never eat anything but chicken breast because it’s kind of hard to pass liver off as a white, juicy chicken breast.

Fast forward many, many years later. I’m in Finland and I’m always getting served stuff I don’t know what in the world it could possibly be. Most of the time ignorance is bliss, so I don’t ask, I just eat and hope my iron stomach holds strong. One day I was served a dish they called “maksalaatikko”. This was when I first came to Finland and my Finnish skills were very poor, so I hadn't a clue as to what I was eating and couldn’t figure it out from the title. I just knew it had brown sugar, rice and raisins in it. Fast forward one year later and I'm still eating the stuff because it tastes decent—much better than most Finnish fare. I decided one day to look up what this “maksalaatikko” is in the dictionary and it says ... Liver Casserole. The liver hath returneth.

I guess it took grinding the liver up, coating it with rice, brown sugar and raisins for me to eat it, but I’m eating it. I bet my Granny is smiling down on me every time I have a plate of the stuff. I bet she arranged that herself. Tricksy woman.

Springtime Shuffle

2006-03-17T00:42:00.000-08:00

It’s that time of year again. Time to do what I call the “Springtime Shuffle.” When the weather warms just enough for the snow to melt, it turns into slush and then freezes into solid ice on the sidewalk. Seeing as how I’m a Southern Belle, I do not have the Finnish expertise on how to properly walk on solid ice. So, I shuffle. It probably looks like I’m trying to ice skate my way down the sidewalk. On my way to and from the grocery store, I keep myself entertained by singing a song in my head revolving around the Springtime Shuffle. I guess my silliness knows no bounds.

My good news for the week is that I will be having a “Finn-Free” weekend. The Finn told me he was spending the weekend at his mother’s. Yeah, okay. I only partially believe him, but in all honestly I don’t care where he goes. And my good news continues in that the week after next I will be moving. Mooooooo-ving. Doing the Springtime Shuffle and mooooooving.

I will certainly have to post pictures of my new apartment. Every time I look at the place, that Eiffel 65 song “Blue (Da Ba De)” plays in my head because it seems like the place is just totally decked out in blue. Kind of sucks, since I’m more of a red girl, but I’ll manage.

Yo, listen up, here's a story
About a little guy (girl? Heh) that lives in a blue world
And all day and all night and everything he sees
Is just blue like him, inside and outside
Blue his house with a blue little window
And a blue corvette
And everything is blue for him and hisself

Got it all except the blue corvette. If anyone wants to pay for the gas, I won’t mind having the blue corvette either!

On French Fries, Hush Puppies and Food Culture

2006-03-14T18:56:00.000-08:00

I was reading Granny’s blog on French fry allotments for her grandkids and unhealthy foods, on having fast food as a treat or every day and decided I’d post some of my (albeit scattered) thoughts on it here.

I grew up in Louisiana, which is probably famous (or infamous, depending on how you look at it) for its food. Yeah, all that fried seafood and crawfish étoufée probably clogs arteries like nothing else, but it sure does make for a happy stomach! These are the sorts of things I ate growing up: hush puppies, fried shrimp, gumbo, jambalaya, crawfish étoufée, crab au gratin, candied yams, sweet potato pie, sweet potato casserole, pecan pie … Oh lord, the list just goes on and on. And not a whit of it would fall under “healthy”. But very rarely did we ever eat at a place like McDonald’s. Why bother when the food at home was so much tastier? So, to say the least, I was not a “Fast Food” kid. A ‘snack’ for me growing up was a slice of last night’s cornbread or an orange or some Louisiana strawberries. I really liked fruit and still do. I also ate a lot of salads to go with my fried fare.

I don’t have children (yet), but I don’t want any future child of mine to be a “Fast Food” kid. But for me, it’s not so much because McDonald’s and similar chains are unhealthy, but because I feel they destroy the food culture I come from. My cousin is a “Fast Food” kid and finds things like shrimp, crawfish and andouille “yucky”. It really makes me a bit sad, because these used to be staples in Louisiana food. For me, it’s about food culture. I don’t want my kids to shy away from things like okra, andouille, crawfish and the like because it’s not the sort of nosh they get at McDonald’s. Is that making any sense?

Some French fries every once in a while isn’t bad. Shoot, I like my fries from Wendy’s, even, along side a Mandarin Chicken Salad. And a chicken nugget or two every now and then surely isn’t going to kill me. But it kills my heart to see kids wanting ONLY these things and refusing to eat the really good, delicious home-cooked meals that to me will always taste LOADS better than anything a fast food chain could serve me.

All this talk of food culture got me to thinking of the time I was in Finnish language courses and how, when asked what my favourite Finnish food was by my teacher, I said I didn’t have one. She then asked me what my favourite food was and I said “louisianalaisen ruoka”: Louisianian Food. She immediately assumed that I missed McDonald’s, Pizza Hut and the like. Her view was that all Americans ever eat is French fries, hamburgers, pizza and hot dogs. Maybe that’s what you Yanks eat (haha—kidding!), but I know that’s not the usual fare in Louisiana! Our food culture is much deeper and richer than that! Sadly, though, it seems too many kids are growing up to where their food culture does only consist of French fries, hamburgers, pizza and hot dogs. I think it’s something America really needs to remedy.

As it goes, I’ll take my hush puppies over a fry any day, and I hope my future kids feel the same.

A Recipe in Progress

2006-03-13T12:58:00.000-08:00

I must confess: I love food. Really, I do. And while I am not a picky eater, I’m picky about certain ingredients, how things are cooked, appearance, etc. Okay … I guess that sounds like I am a picky eater after all. But, to save face, I will try just about anything at least once. Honest. I even ate mämmi my first Easter in Finland, which looks like something than came from the rear-end of a sick dog.

Anyway! I came across this recipe the other day and I am darned and determined to bake it. I have forgotten nearly all of my French since moving to Finland because of trying to learn Finnish, but I REALLY want to make these! I swear they are calling out my name. And the practice will do me good (both for my cooking skills and my French skills). I hope when I move I can resume cooking again. I don’t cook much these days because I don’t want The Finn to think I’m being nice to him by making great dishes that he can eat. He’s an unappreciative louse and I don’t cook for unappreciative lice.

I lament that when I move, I am going to have to work on buying new cooking utensils, pots, pans and all that other good stuff. Most of the stuff we have The Finn bought or it was given to him as a Christmas present from his family (okay, they said it was for “us”, but I know they meant all of it for him because that’s how they are). Of course, the bright side to all of this is that I can get what I, Rowan, WANT. Not what The Finn or his family wants. And believe me, we certainly have some differences of opinion! I am also going to cry when I have to leave my oven behind. Oh lord, I love this oven. I bought it with my own money, too. It’s a Rosenlew convection oven and she cooks like a dream. As long as you remember to reduce the temperature and cooking time, anything you put in her comes out beautifully. I can only imagine what crummy 70s or 80s-esque oven awaits me at the apartment I procured in Pori. Makes me shudder to even think about it. I know what I got when we bought this house, and that oven was a disgrace to oven-kind everywhere. I called her the Ol’ Shitty, and if she were a geyser she’d be Ol’ Faithful’s alter ego. It didn’t matter what you did, she was GOING to burn whatever you put into that black, gaping mouth of hers. I could just imagine her saying to me, “You just thought you could cook, missy! I’ll show you, Cajun-girl! I’ll make you wish you’d never bake another cake for as long as you live!”

But I showed her. One year after we moved in, a starved and very depressed Rowan finally got some money and went out and bought a snazzy Rosenlew. Ha! And it was love since first baking.

Anyway, I have every intention to resume my baking once I move. I do have a suitor to impress, you know!

Ah yes, and I know the kitchen looks kind of enh. Our little house was a work-in-progress “fixer-upper” and sadly the previous owners had no taste when it came to anything. So, of course, the kitchen looked mighty depressing (and dirty)! I’m kind of sad I never got to remodel it.

Supplemental Prelude

2006-03-13T01:26:00.000-08:00

And here it is: a little more intimate glimpse into my world and the people (or critters) that my world revolves around.

Rowan
That’s me. I was born in New Orleans, Louisiana and lived some of my years there with my great-grandmother and my great-aunt in a house that was so close to the Audubon Zoo that you could hear the lions roaring in the morning. I don’t remember a whole lot about that house in New Orleans, except that I fell down a spiral staircase and broke my collar bone and that my great-aunt had a nickel slot machine that I thought was just the greatest thing ever. I would spend many hours sitting on the bar stool and playing on it. I guess one could say I started ‘gambling’ early in life, if they really wanted to. The rest of my childhood was lived out in a small town called Walker, Louisiana, which is near Baton Rouge.

“Rowanilainen” would be somewhat hard to explain to someone who doesn’t know any Finnish, but here goes (but do keep in mind I am not a native speaker, and if any Finn would like to give their input, it’s welcomed). The suffix –lainen/läinen in Finnish is given to describe an inhabitant of something/somewhere and adjectives. So “English” in Finnish is “englantilainen”. So, “Rowanilainen” would be “Rowan-ish” in English, or something along those lines. This blog contains all rights rowanilainen or Rowan-ish, etc.

The Finn
The Finn is my soon-to-be ex-husband. I won’t speak too poorly of him here, since even snakes need to keep some dignity about them and he is not here to defend himself, but I will say that after almost 5 years of being together—two of which we were married—things simply didn’t work out. That is life.

Seamus
Seamus is my Shetland Sheepdog. Who knows how much of a role he’ll play in my blog? He tends to stay behind the scenes. Seamus only has two nicknames and they are “Turd” and “Turdie-bird”.

Gerona and Galina
My two girls. I raised them from one-week-old kittens in Louisiana and they moved to Finland with me in 2004. Galina is my baby girl and loves me to bits and pieces, whereas Gerona couldn’t give a whit about me and adores The Finn instead.

Nicknames for them include:

Gerona

Schmoo
Moby Schmoo
Don Schmoo
Schmoolie

Galina

Baby Tuff
Tuffus
Grump
Grumpling
Grumpus

Henry
My gentleman kitty. Henry was adopted from an animal shelter in Lahti, Finland in 2005.

His nicknames include:

Henry-boy
Henny-penny
Monsieur Henri
Hen

A Childhood Memory

2006-03-13T00:22:00.000-08:00

I find it amazing how the most peculiar of things can spark in one childhood memories long forgotten...

Today for the first time in many years I recalled a time when I was young and my comrade in all things mischievous was Ashley B. Ashley was shorter than me (though I was never really tall) and she carried about her a fiery-aura that made you want to laugh and dance with her.

My summers were spent at her house making mud pies and chasing frogs in the ditches. On days that were hot and dry, we would catch green anole lizards sunning themselves and attach them to the ears of her sleeping father, a funny and slightly eccentric Vietnam veteran, so that he could have some “lizard earrings”. Of course, then we would run and hide and wait for him to wake up and yell, “AHSLEEEEEEY!” Then, like typical little girls, we zipped past him giggling our heads off. He never admitted it, but I think he thought it was as funny as we did since he never scolded us for it (and he was the one who taught us the trick in the first place).

And then there was also our secret place, our land of all things mystical and sacred: Wolf Creek. Wolf Creek was really just a large ditch built in the very late 1800s to help prevent flooding on the main roads and over the years had become more like a large stream, the water cutting deep into the earth. We named it “Wolf Creek” ourselves, since sometimes you could find large paw prints there that we swore to ourselves were prints of Red Wolves, which once roamed Louisiana freely. It was our special place, and many hot summer days were spent there.

Sometimes, when the rains poured (as they often tend to do in Louisiana), we would dress in the finest of bathing suits and spend hours blowing up the old raft we found in her grandfather’s shed. Then, grabbing two oars, we would amble barefooted down the hill to the flooded creek, giggling, snickering, and splashing water on one another, loving life for what is was and not for what it could be. Once at the creek, I would always hold the raft—the water trying valiantly to snatch the raft away—and Ashley would climb in, taking the oars from the bank. Then, seeing her nod, I would leap into the raft, the water plunging us violently forward.

Many times our small raft would turn over or get caught on some old oak tree’s exposed root and we would find ourselves swimming back to the bank in water that was usually over our small heads. Perhaps it was the excitement and sense of danger that always made us come back when the rains fell once more.

There were other times we rushed to the creek, handmade fishing poles in one hand and a box of wriggling worms in another, our hopes set on catching a fish or two. We never did—the fish always got away.

Some days were spent catching mussels and putting them in Ashley’s rusty, old red wagon, pulling them around her front yard in a boastful manner, showing our pride in having caught them.

The trees at Wolf Creek always seemed greener than other trees, and the sunlight filtered through them in the most magical of ways. To this day, I still remain convinced that fairies reside there, hiding behind some wise old oak tree’s leaves, smiling.

I have not been to that sacred place in over a decade now, but today I was reminded once more of the cold water rushing around my toes, the pristine innocence of childhood, and the imagination of two little girls—now grown—who could find adventures anywhere they looked.

I bet the light still glimmers there, waiting for some other star-lost children to bathe in the magic therein...

Needy, Needy

2006-03-12T12:03:00.000-08:00

Galina has been very needy and clingy lately—even more than usual. I think it could be because she senses some sort of change coming—finally. I believe Henry has been aware of it for some time because he’s started using the bathroom in the kitchen again, which is NOT fun on my behalf because The Finn does not help in cleaning any of it up. Henry does this every time he gets stressed or when it’s The Finn’s turn to change the litter box and he puts it off for a week and a half before I either have to threaten to do him bodily harm or change it myself. The litter box is not bad yet, so I’m chalking this up to stress. I hope it doesn’t continue when we move to the new apartment. But, if it does, there isn’t much I can do except get out the vinegar, baking soda, lemon juice and water. I adopted Henry to give him a “forever home” with me for the rest of his life, so I’m stuck with him (or he’s stuck with me, however you want to look at it) and that’s that—poo in the kitchen or no poo in the kitchen.

I really should make a post with a “cast of characters”, if you will. It would probably help. And throw in some background information, too. But lately I’ve been feeling … vague. Not because I am super uptight, rather because I fear that if I spill out too much, the things I’m hoping and dreaming for won’t come true. Yes, I’m being a bit suspicious. I had so many hopes and dreams with The Finn and look where that landed me. I’m not sad about it, but I’m at a point where I am cautious to hope and dream for too much because I don’t want to get hurt like this again.

Then again, who knows? Come next month, I could be my old self again. Somewhat on my own and hoping and dreaming like there’s no tomorrow.

We’ll just have to see.

Previous Quotes of the Moment

2006-03-12T08:10:00.000-08:00

Because I like collecting quotes and because maybe one day someone will stumble across this niche in the web who is bored enough to want to read various quotes, I am saving all previous “Quote of the Moment” quotes here.

Enjoy.

“We cannot become what we need to be by remaining what we are.”
—Max DePree

“Every defeat, every heartbreak, every loss, contains its own seed, its own lesson on how to improve your performance the next time.”
—Og Mandino

“Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence.”
—Henry David Thoreau

“At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies.”
—PG Wodehouse

“It is not length of life, but depth of life.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson

“I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumours, but I think that god's got a sick sense of humour and when I die, I expect to find him laughing.”
—Depeche Mode

I Thought They Were Mine

2006-03-12T03:30:00.000-08:00

... but apparently I was wrong. My boobs must belong to Galina, because she’s mighty possessive of them.

When she’s in the mood for what I call “Tuff Time” (based off one of her many nicknames, Baby Tuff), her favourite thing to do is come crawl in my lap and wrap her paws around one boob—one paw on each side—and cling to me like a monkey. The best time do to this, of course, is when I am busy doing something on the computer that, in her opinion, I probably should not be doing. And the second best time to do this was when, back in the days of Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice, The Finn and I would be cuddling on the couch. Since that doesn’t happen anymore, she settles for when I’m on the computer.

Galina never liked The Finn. She tolerated him, to some extent, but never liked him. And when she decided it was “Tuff Time”, my boobs became her property and she would growl and bite at him as she clung to my boob to get him to go away.

A friend of mine did not believe that a little kitten such as Galina would lower her cat-like ways and cling like a monkey, so, to show my friend otherwise, I tried to take a picture of it. This was easier said than done because Galina hates cameras and promptly either runs away when she sees me get it out or flattens her ears and tries to bite at the lens. She’s such a feisty kitty!

Still, I got something of an example.

Oh no! Camera sighted ...

Now she tries hiding under my boob.

And now she resorts to trying to catch my camera strap and pull the lens in closer to get a good bite out of it!

I pity the romantic interest that comes into my life next—mostly because Galina is probably more “high-maintenance” than I will ever be, and to be with me, one must be with my cats as well! I will insist they love her, too—grumpiness and all. And stars have mercy on that said romantic interest, and I hope he’s not too much a “boob man”, because Galina does not know the meaning of the word ‘share’ and she has claws and sharp little teeth which I think would bring down even the biggest of Nordic men!

Such is life with my baby girl.

How Do You Box Up a Life?

2006-03-10T21:40:00.000-08:00

I wish I knew. I know I should start packing. I’m moving to Pori probably this month. Moving.

I am starting to hate that word. I have moved more in the past three years than what I would have liked. I’m tired of moving.

Granted, I do have a measure of wanderlust in me, a desire and need to go and see and do. But I like having a place to come back to. I like having a stable home and roots. I enjoy feeling grounded.

And I think that’s why I don’t want to pack. This house was my home. My home. It was the first place that was ever truly mine. Granted, I only lived in it for about a year before The Finn decided he wanted to divorce, but still. This was my home.

How do you box up a life? I haven’t mastered this art yet--I wonder if I ever will? Actually, secretly, I’m hoping I won’t have to. I keep hoping that sooner rather than later, I’ll get a home that’s mine and that I can live in and grow old in. Such a domestic wish, indeed.

Soon ...

2006-03-10T17:30:00.000-08:00

Soon, this will be fleshed out and have life breathed into it. I will be moving again, be trying to live and love and be happy again. It feels so long since I’ve had a really good reason to smile. I suppose it doesn’t help that I am an eternal pessimist.

I’ve always wanted to just drop everything in my life and start over new, but every time I get the chance, I find myself clinging on ferociously to the past. I cannot let go of some things. Some things I never forget--I won’t allow myself to forget. I won’t allow myself to let go, drop my baggage and move on.

Of course, this tendency is not as bad as it once was. Over the past two years, I’ve learned to forgive to some extent, to let go of some worries. I’ve learned I can be patient when I want to be--if I really try. But I’ve also learned how to harden my heart. I just find I cannot feel the same way for people as I once did, I cannot love as freely and innocently. I’m not naïve anymore, and it hurts. Ignorance, to some extent, truly is bliss. With knowledge comes a certain kind of pain.

The world is not the star-laden, glittering dream world I made it up to be when I was a child. Some days this doesn’t bother me, but there are other days when I would do anything to get that fantasy world of mine back. Just for a day.

Spring is on her way. Soon, I’ll be forging a new path again. There are so many things I want to do differently this time. I’ll take my mistakes and learn from them. I’ll learn from them ...

Soon.