Second Generation Passey Blog

Hey everyone......Sarah has her own BLOG! I highly recommend that you click on over and check it out:

http://www.sarahepassey.blogspot.com/

Reading her posts makes me want to take a little time travel back to BYU. But definitely not during mid-terms.

A Little Martha Stewart

The last few weeks have been gray. And cold. And a bit misty. In other words, typically Belgian. At the football game on friday night, the ball kept shooting off in odd directions as the poor players slogged their way toward the end zone in a most persistent and determined drizzle. The rain looked somewhat whistful and romantic if you peered straight up into the lights, but that is about all I can say on it's behalf. It was cold...and wet. However, yesterday, when I pulled back the thick curtains in our bedroom, the most beautiful morning was hiding out there. I have become a firm believer in contrasts. If the last few weeks had been beautiful, then yesterday would have been nothing special. But it was spectacularly special. The light glided through the fall leaves and infused the air with energy. I felt the need to beautify. So I grabbed my kitchen shears, a charming basket, and took off down the street to the vacant lot--always ready to share it's bounty--and came home with a few fall offerings. I have to confess to reading a few design blogs and magazines lately, so it just seemed appropriate to photograph my gleanings in a want-to-be artistic fashion.

I grabbed a few flea market containers and started my very own kitchen renewal project. I really like photograpy because just looking at this picture, you would never know that there were ramen bits and dirty dishes and crumbs just inches away from this idealized creation. Aaaahhhh. I think Martha Stewart would approve. Not that I care for her approval. Is she even cool anymore? It is amazing what some sunshine and a few berries can do for the spirits.

P.S. Benjamin informed me approximately 30 minutes after this picture was taken that there were caterpillars crawling across my windowsill. Hhhhmmmm.

Smell Memory

I decided to boil some yarn tonight. Don’t ask. Or if you do, make sure you really want to hear the answer. I tend to do strange things when David travels. Anyway, I was boiling this beautiful peacock blue wool yarn and I happened to lean over the pan and sniff. I was immediately transported to Aunt Naomi’s cabin the Pennsylvania mountains. The wool smelled exactly like waking up on a chilly morning on the ancient brown fold down couch which Dave once described as more of a bun than a bed, partially smothered in musty down pillows and threadbare quilts. It smelled like the creaky floor and the wood burning stove and the pump out back and 17 cousins sitting around big table trying to figure out how to work the 1930’s electric toaster. It smelled just like my childhood, and for a minute—just a minute-- I was there. I was eight years old pulling daddy long legs off the screens and playing jacks on that creaky floor.
There is something about a smell memory that transports me like no other. Not pictures, not movies, not sitting around at family reunions confessing long guarded secrets. I don’t know why. It doesn’t happen very often, but it is the closest thing to time travel that I have ever experienced. Like the time I took my kids to Cabin John Park, the most fabulous playground of my childhood. I loved that the metal slide still looked 50 feet tall, that the little blue passenger train dutifully made its loop around the woods, and that Porky the Trash Eating Pig was still going strong, inviting children in that same chesty voice to feed him lots of paper and wrappers and even scraps, but please, no glass—it gives him a tummy ache. But it wasn’t until I pushed open the door of the little shop and breathed in the magical combination of snow cone and popcorn and cotton candy and old chewing gum and the anticipation of 30 years worth of children that I felt the time shift and I was a kid again, experiencing that smell for the very first time.
I wish it happened more often. There are lots of things I would love to live again. I guess I will just have to wait for the perfect scent to waft my way and carry me back in time. And I hope one day that I will be walking down some street in America, or trying a new recipe in my Texas kitchen and will somehow find the perfect smell that will transport me back to a misty fall morning, waiting for the fresh, hot waffles to be passed over the counter to warm my hands and make me glad for the years spent in Belgium.

Special Olympics

Way, way back, before vacations of all sorts, I had three kids in the Special Olympics. My kids are incredibly fortunate to have wonderful friends in the special education program at ISB. They really love these kids. Matthew, in fact, loves his friend Max so much that he was willing to set aside his sworn hatred of any movement brisker than a plod and actually run. I will interject here that Max hates to run too, so they made a pretty good team. Benjamin doesn't really love running, but he is darn good at it, and it is a good thing too because so is Creig.
Benjamin partnered Creig in the 1600 meter and they tore it up, coming in second place behind their team mates and friends.

The medals ceremony is a hoot, with lots of loud music, innovative outfits, and a rousing hip, hip, hip, hip, horray! in a rousing dutch accent.

Matthew and Max lined up on a grey, wet, Belgian Saturday morning...

with their team mates Anna and Mathilde...

And made great time on their race. So great in fact, that they each ran a personal best and surpassed their practice times by more than 3 minutes!

More hip, Hip, HIp, HIP, HORRAY! Way to go ISB!

Life doesn't get much better than this-

Fall

We're Back!

August is vacation month in Europe. People disappear and businesses, resturants, and even roads close down for the entire month. The first year we were here I walked happily to my favorite bakery anticipating a delicious citron tart only to find that said tart was not to be had for three whole weeks. As Americans, we can't fathom the concept that a thriving business would shut its doors for a whole month during prime shopping season just so the owners can zoom off to the South of France for a little sun and wine and rest. But every year my little bakery closes down for the month of August and I do without my tarts and I can't wait for September to come so that a multitude of pleasures and options are restored.

In keeping with that tradition, I took the month of August off. Well, and part of September too. Sorry for the lack of excitement around here. I should have posted a sign:

CLOSED FOR THE MONTH OF AUGUST

ANECDOTES AND PHOTOS TO RESUME IN SEPTEMBER

We have now re-opened for business. Hope you enjoyed the rest. Stay tuned...

How Much Cute?

Matthew, Julia, and I are taking a mini-vacation in the Alsace region of France. Dispite the look on Matthew's face, we are enjoying the concentration of cute that saturates the Vosges Mountains and villages. Albert Sweitzer was born in this little village. I think that is why he was so smart, and good. He grew up in a fairy tale.

You would have to be smart and good if you played in this street--and there were no video games to keep you indoors eating corn based food product and running dangerously low on vitamin D.

And this street: Petite Venise in Colmar. I love all those colors. And the fact that the buildings lean charmingly into each other.

M & J shared a sausage roll shaped like a pig from the corner Charcuterie in Eguisheim.

And ate it gazing on this square. Notice the Stork nest? They are everywhere in this region. Who knew? And I don't know that squares get much better than this.

Which makes me wonder...how much cute can one day hold? Quite a bit, I think.