A Southern Polish Twang

Evenings at Perth Street are filled with English lessons and elocution lessons and conversational English classes. And along the way, Ted has picked up a bit of an American accent, I'm proud to say. You should hear him say 'thanks'.

Although it has been quite a challenge teaching him the 'th' sound. Apparently it doesn't live in Poland.

And then I spoke to my sister who gave me a run-down on the baptism weekend extravaganza featuring family and friends. Apparently during the baptism service, the Pastor gave a sermon that featured the phrase "shut up Jesus". My sister said Aila's eyes got huge and she turned to my sister and said, "unkind words." Maria says she has a feeling that when she picks Aila up from daycare today, there will be a report of the phrase "shut up Jesus" having been slipped into casual daycare conversation.

Homesickness

Yesterday I spoke to the family who are gathered at my sister's house for the baptism of Annais. I spoke to my uncle and aunt, and cousin-in-law Gary and cousin Tina and cousin's daughter Holly and my sister and my mom and my dad. All in 25 minutes. And this is what they told me:

"It's too hot here." Kalevi (uncle)

"Aila says 'mine'." Ritva (aunt)

"How is your English?" Cousin-in-law Gary (master grammarian / expert board-game-player)

"I slept on an air mattress in Aila's room." Holly (age 8)

"Yesterday we went to go get two Honeybaked hams." Irma (age 65)

"I miss you." Super-kind cousin Tina

"Do you want to come home to go to Aunt Winona's 90th birthday party?" Peter (65,000,000 frequent flier miles, and counting / the-man-who-thinks-its-reasonable-to-fly-someone-from-Scotland-to-attend-a-champagne-brunch-in-Northern-California)

"Tomorrow the Finns and the Mexicans will be here." Maria (mother of two nordic aztecs)

So talking to them made me homesick. So today I'm listening to Willy Nelson. And dammit, I feel better.

English Society

Ted's English has come on in leaps and bounds since his accident, as he's been off work and has been surrounded by English speakers all day. We have had a whole lotta guests lately at 12 Perth Street, so Ted has had mucho English practice. Irish-Belgian Gemma was here, and then Norette and Robbie and Dougie were in town from Dingwall, followed by Callum this past Friday, and Paul G. from Elgin last night. Maybe I should turn this into a society page, where I can track the goings-on of the up-and-coming. Although I wouldn't want to be friends with people who market themselves as 'up-and-coming.'

So imagine that right here is a photo of Gemma arriving in Edinburgh, with a caption about EU correspondents, or erstwhile publishing students, or some such nonesense.

And here is a photo of Norette and Robbie and Dougie, sipping wine at our flat with a caption about Robbie's success in the music industry, and a plug for his gig.

And then Callum would need no caption, because EVERYBODY knows who he is.

And then Paul Gibson could be featured standing at a jaunty angle next to his beautiful photographs.

And that's the latest from Edinburgh.

Gray/Grey

I'm going grey. And by 'grey' I mean I have one grey hair that has reared its ugly folicle. It's curly. And by 'grey', I actually mean 'white'. My dad went 'grey and bald at 19', so things could be worse for me.

Le Update

Site neglected due to the fact that I am at the computer all day at work and then when I get home I really don't want to sit down at the computer, even if it is to type super funny stuff to keep my readers and fans happy.

But I will try.

Quote for the day:

"I talk to myself and I always agree with me."

Who said it?

A. My dad (Pete Sandstrum)
B. A geek who was giving us a software demo
C. Me

Hint: If you guessed A or C you are incorrect.

A Mother's Love

8:42 this morning, telephone rings.

A-L: "hello"

Mrs Rollo: "Oh, good morning, this is Ruth, Paul's mother, how are you?"

A-L: "I am well, thank you. You'll never believe it, but Paul is up! Would you like to speak to him?"

Mrs R: "Oh good. He's up then. What time is his exam?" (Criminal Law exam)

A-L: "I believe it's at 9:30. Would you like to speak to him?"

Mrs R: "No, no, I just phoned to say 'Good Luck'."

A-L: "Oh, that's sweet. I'll pass on the message."

-----

In the kitchen:

A-L: "Your mother is so sweet, she phoned just to say good luck on your exam."

Paul: "No she didn't, she phoned to make sure I was awake."

A-L: "Did you ask her to?"

Paul: "No, in fact, she was asked NOT to phone."

Quotable

"Well, you didn't tell me it was a tabby!"
Gemma (friend from Brussels), upon seeing the kitten that will be staying with us for 5 weeks

"You have to eat it with a knife and fork."
The lady at the cafe in answer to my question about what some vegetable covered bread thing was.

Missing Pole

So much to report.

The headline of course is that last week our Pole (Ted) didn't come home for two nights in a row. One night, not so odd. Two nights, very odd. So on Thursday morning I phoned his work to make sure he had been showing up. Here's how the conversation went:

9:45 a.m.

Erika: "Hello Zizzi, Erika speaking, how can I help you?"

A-L: "Hi. I have kind of an odd question. My 30-year-old flatmate, Ted, hasn't been home in two days and I just wanted to make sure he's been at work. Because his mother is in Poland, so I'm pretending to be his mother."

Erika: "Oh, actually, he fell at work two days ago and he's in the hospital. Is there anything else I can help you with? Do you want to know our lunch special?"

A-L: "umm, what? He fell? He's in the hospital? Does his wife know? Is he badly hurt? Is he ok? What hospital is he in?"

Erika: "I don't know. Sorry, that's all the information I have. Our special is spinach and chicken pizza. Would you like to book a table?"

A-L: "You don't know what hospital he's in?? Who does know? Where can I find out??"

Erika: "One of the Polish chefs might know. Can you call back at 10?"

A-L: "I suppose."

----------
At 10 I phoned back.

Erika: "Hello Zizzi, this is Erika speaking, how can I help you?"

A-L: "Hi, this is Ted's flatmate again. Do you have any more information?"

Erika: "Yes, apparently he had an operation yesterday."

A-L: "Where? What operation?"

Erika: "I'm sorry, that's all the information I have. We have lovely views from our restaurant of the water."

A-L: "WELL WHO DOES KNOW WHAT HOSPITAL HE'S IN? CAN I HAVE THE NUMBER TO YOUR HEAD OFFICE?"

Erika: "I'll speak to our operations manager and phone you back."

Turns out Ted fell down the staircase at Zizzi while carrying plates, and his arm landed on the broken crockery, which severed something blood-filled in his arm. So he had an operation on Wednesday, and didn't come home because he couldn't remember our phone number, and it was too far to walk. Bless.

He's home now, recovering. And doing well. In fact, he went to the hospital this morning to have the stitches removed.

Overheard

Last week someone at work described a book as being covered in (or with) "the patina of academia." I wrote it down. And I just Googled that phrase, and got 61 hits. For heaven's sake, who are these rhetoricians? (Incidentally, "rhetoricians" when Googled returns 62,200 hits.)

Edinburgh Festival Explained

Yes, as you may know, Edinburgh is sometimes called the Festival City. Why, you ask, well because this city plays host to:

The Edinburgh Jazz and Blues Festival
The Edinburgh International Festival
The Fringe Festival
The Edinburgh International Book Festival
and the
The Edinburgh International Film Festival

. . . all during the month of August. So why aren't you in Edinburgh, Judy??

Update

1. Last week I went to London and back in one day for a meeting and made it back safely.
2. The boyfriend and I are kitten sitting for seven weeks while the cat's mother and father are in China. Stuart is definitely in love. With the kitten.
3. Edinburgh Festival has begun. The best place to enjoy the Edinburgh Festival is in Edinburgh.
4. Niece Aila has added the word "never" to her vocabulary, and is reported to have responded to Grandpa's request for her to get a book for him to read to her with, "no, never."
5. Maria has promised that every time her girls say "I'm bored", she'll tell them "go sweep the patio."
6. No, never.
7. Irish-Belgian-erstwhile-publishing-student-current-EU-affairs-reporter Gemma will arrive in Edinburgh next Friday, I believe, for Festival fun and excitement.
8. Norette to follow.
9. Norette.
10. Why haven't you visited Edinburgh? Book tickets now to avoid disappointment.

Letter from Paul, to the Corinthians, I mean Edinburgians

An excerpt from the e-mail I received from flatmate Paul today:

hey A-L

i had very peculiar dreams last night including one in which you got electrocuted (but were ultimately OK you'll be glad to know) and another in which Stu sent me an email saying we couldn't be friends anymore.

Busyness

Dear Readers, Fans, and Friends,

I have been tres busy as of late and have much neglected this site. But your outpouring of support has inspired me to post this update:

I am busy.

The end.

More later.

File Systems

If you were filing something for Ice-T, the rap musician, would you file it under "T, Ice" or "Ice T"?

Today I saw him filed as "T, Ice".

Censor

My mom's sister, Ritva, reads this blog, which totally affects the content posted on this site. For example, I have a friend, Paul, who lives in Portland and is hilarious, but I can't post links to his two blogs on here because his blogs are blasphemous, and I wouldn't want Ritva tati, who is also my sister's godmother, to know that I associate with someone who calls himself the Mormon Pope, and has a web site dedicated to tasteless cartoons. And I also can't mention that my sister, who baptized the *first* baby Catholic, and is baptizing the *second* baby Lutheran, jokingly promised the Mormon Pope that if she has a *third* baby, she will baptize it Mormon, in his honor.

Whistle-Stop Tour

So Paul was in town last night for, like, a couple hours. He drove down from Elgin to pick up Gerry and Judy at the airport, Prestwick Airport, the airport of false economy.

Anna-Lisa: "You know, flights into Prestwick are alwaaaaaaaaays cheaper."

Paul: "Yes."

Anna-Lisa: "You know why?"

Paul: "Because they're into Prestwick."

Anna-Lisa: "Where's Prestwick?"

Paul: "Exactly. That's the point."

Anna-Lisa: "Indeed, false economy."

Paul: "And Judy said I promised to pick them up at the airport. Although I don't remember saying that."

Anna-Lisa: "Where are they flying in from?"

Paul: "Rome. They were at the wedding of Gerry's friend."

Anna-Lisa: "Is he Romanian?"

Paul: "Yes."

Edinburgh Update

Dear Paul,

As per your e-mail of some hours ago, I shall indeed give you an update of all things recent in Edinburgh.

Last week, as you may have heard, there was a bomb scare on the number 12 bus, and Princes Street was shut down. It was Thursday, so all the shoppers had their Thursday-evening shopping interrupted. Stu, Stu, Katie and I whiled away the evening hours in a pub. We felt safe. We were underground and in a bunker-like compartment. Eva Braun was there. Just kidding.

Ted, our Pole, ate your ice cream and thought it was mine so he bought me a replacement ice cream, which is really yours, which I have been eating.

On Saturday Stu and I took the Pole for a walk. We visited the swan pond, and then headed for the Royal Botanic Gardens, again, and then Ted said, "I feel 20."

Work is going very well. I live in a room at work with 5 others, and they are kind and good.

The frickin' Lothian Bus drivers decided to strike today, which left many, many morning commuters mourning the fact that they had forsaken the last First Bus that passed, including me. I was never so happy to see a First Bus.

And no Edinburgh report would be complete without wondering where the heck that Martin Little has gone? Where are you, Martin Little?

I am expecting an update on Elgin.

My Neighbor, Sort of

So John Knox apparently lives across the street from where I work. Well, lived, I suppose, but I'm not one for splitting hares. The John Knox House is literally, a stone's throw away. But I'm not about to go throwing anything at the home of the "Scotch Protestant leader", being a Protestant myself. And I often get a hearty chuckle out of folks when I pronounce it as "protest"ant, as it should be. Why is that funny? That's what we are (the Protestant "we", not the royal "we".) Which brings me to Princess Anne's horrible grammar. Excuse me, I mean "the Princess Royal's" atrocious grammar. She was on the telly last week congratulating the city of London on being awarded the 2012 Olympic Games, and she said something to this effect: "the team have worked hard for this", or something like that. Basically, the Princess used the word "team" in concert with a plural verb. Actually, I think she said "the team are." I flipped! So my dear flatmate, Paul, who I haven't seen since that very evening, was appalled that I, a peasant from the colonies, dare to question the grammar one of the Royals. I was so astounded I almost called my sister right then and there, and risk waking up two under two, just so that Maria could calmly explain that "team" is singular. Unfortunately I don't have Princess Anne's mobile number, so having grammar-Maria "on the horn" would not have done much good. So I decided to do the diplomatic thing and say that is must just be a difference between British and American English, and headed to bed, to pray that Mrs. Bettencourt, my high school English teacher, will know that I am forever grateful that she taught this peasant from the colonies that team ain't no plural word. And then I cried myself to sleep. And the next day, one of the very talented editors at work confirmed the singularity of the word "team", and I rejoiced that all of the money my parents spent on my Catholic education was not in vain. Oh, back to the Protestants, my sister had her *first* baby baptized Catholic, and the *second* baby is going to be a Lutheran, a "Protest"ant. I can't wait til the little one is nailing theses on the older one's door. Now that would make a fabulous interdenominational Christmas card.

The Sequel

So when we were at the wedding in Ireland, Stuart's granda casually mentioned that the week before he had been to four funerals, which led to talk of a sequel to that silly movie with Hugh Grant, but maybe one aimed at the "silver" generation: Four Funerals and A Wedding.

Chicken Portraiture

My friend John takes a mean chicken portrait. Non? Above are Scout and Scratch, his chicken-son and chicken-daughter. (You might recognise them from his blog: My Life With Chickens. (Note: not MY life, but HIS life, but "His Life With Chickens" was taken.)

Forget law school, and the summer work at the Attorney General's office, you have a future in farm animal portraiture. A big future. Attorney General, Shmattorney General.

Book of Scottish Poems

Every Scottish, and Scots language-loving, person should own this funny book of poems: Blethertoun Braes.

Sorrento Cheese Italian Festival of Buffalo

I think I know where my friend Craig B. will be July 14 - 17 . . . am I right, or am I a Buffalo Italian??

Texans in Edinburgh

This morning there were Texans on the bus. The first one to board was a man, who asked the bus driver - in a voice 16 times louder than anyone over here as EVER spoken - for a "DAY PASS." It's called a Day Saver. Duh.

So these two 60ish couples sat behind me, and talked of pressed ham and cheese sandwiches. Why "pressed" ham? Because the guy almost leaned back in his backpack against the sandwiches.

So I turned to the lady behind me and asked where they were from.

"Texas, in the United States."

And her husband had the most fantastic Texas drawl, and he spoke without moving his mouth.

Where in Texas?

"Deep in the heart of Texas. Brownwood."

"Too close to George Bush," added his wife.

And then the man said that their plan for the day was, "to get on the train and get off somewhere."

And then Stuart gave them the name of a town they MUST visit. And we exited, leaving the Texans, and a bus full of stunned Edinburghers who COULD NOT believe that people were actually talking to each other, out loud. And without moving their mouths.

My Sister On Artificial Sweeteners

Maria: "Have you heard of that new fake sweetener, Splenda?"

Anna-Lisa: "Yeah, I have. Fake sugar is gross."

Maria: "Sooo gross. I had a piece of cake made with Splenda, and it totally tasted weird."

Anna-Lisa: "Gross."

Maria: "Yeah, after I ate the cake I had a really weird taste in my mouth, and then I burped and it tasted like chlorine."

Anna-Lisa: "Totally gross."

Maria: "Totally. So I asked Tina (cousin Tina who is also a Registered Dietician) what Splenda is. And she said that they (read: the evil scientists of the world) took a sugar molecule and removed something and added three chlorine atoms."

Anna-Lisa: "Gross."

Maria: "Totally gross."

Turns out Cousin Tina was right: read more. Gross.

Dora and Aila

It's been more than 3 days since I posted photos of Aila, so here she is. And her little friend Dora the Explorer with her monkey companion Boots.

My Sister on World Politics

Maria: "Have you been to Estonia?"

A-L: "No, have you?"

Maria: "Yes, it's beautiful. It looks like Finland except f***** up by the Russians."

There you have it folks, my sister on communism.

Anna-Lisas of the World

Believe it or not, there are other Anna-Lisas. It takes a while to comprehend. There are people trading on my good name.

Shall we meet them?

There's a lady in Sweden who calls herself by my name. She sounds boring. And another one posing as me, although not very convincingly, in Syndney. And a really fun looking Anna-Lisa, also in Sweden.

Well, now that you've met all of us, the tour is over.

The Pauls' Holidays

So one Paul went to Brussels, and the other Paul reported this from a recent holiday adventure:

And beyond that, the Godhead IIskimmed the outer borders of the Scientology System, a bright and horrible place with gravity which targets money and sucks it down its white-toothed maw, where it's channeled into the heart of Hubbard VII, a crimson gas giant, alive with operating thetans who use the money to purchase materiel [sic] for the long-waged Psychiatry Wars.

Thanks for those reports, Pauls.

Good Food

There's an "inter-denominational" church across the street from my new place of employment that runs a cafe. Not a soup kitchen, although they do serve soup. Today I had a salami, pesto, sun dried tomato sandwich and dutch apple cake. More breaking news later.

Spike Lee

Spike Lee's telephone number is in my Microsoft Outlook contacts file at my new job. Haven't had reason to phone him, yet. And if I ever do, I can't tell you about it because that's confidential information. So mind your own business.

Finnish Food

Jacques Chirac is sooooo totally not invited to the next Finnish Festival.

Funny Things That Happened in Ireland (cont.)

4. When the 9-year-old boy whose parents run Barnabrow Country House, where we stayed told us: "I get free drinks."

Oh the perks.

Funny Things That Happened in Ireland

3. Catherine (the bride) made envelopes for all the people she had to pay at the wedding (the band, the church, the singer) and there was one that said "Piper". Yes, you must pay him.

RSVP

Anna-Lisa: "Ted, tomorrow I am going to Ireland." And then I said it with a Polish accent: "Irlandia"

Ted: "Irlandia? Tomorrow?"

A-L: "Stuart's brother is getting married. We are going to his wedding." And then I marched across the kitchen humming "The Wedding March".

Ted: "Stuart's brother? Finlandia?"

A-L: "Yes, but no. Yes, Stuart's brother, Andrew, but not Finlandia, Irlandia", which now I've decided is the name of a country.

Ted: "How many people?"

A-L: "I think about 150."

Ted: "Big wedding. My wedding, 180."

A-L: "118?"

Ted: "No, 180. We say to 210 people, but 30 say 'no thank you'."

There you have it, folks, the most polite RSVP: 'no thank you', and it must be said in a Polish accent.

Migraine Relief

Stuart had his hand over his eye.

Anna-Lisa: "Do you have a headache?"

Stuart: "No."

A-L: "Do you want one?"

Stuart: "No, but I'd take yours for a while to give you a break, if I could."

And on his birthday he said this. And meant it. What a nice person. Happy Birthday.

Auster-Doyle Syndrome

So the second time that Gemma, of EU political writing fame, e-mailed friends a photo of herself with a famous author, Paul thought there might be something, well, medically awry with her. We briefly discussed the fact that Gemma had forwarded us photos of herself with Paul Auster and Roddy Doyle. Who would be next?

Paul: "Maybe it's like a syndrome, some bizarre illness whereby you function normally in all other aspects of your daily life, but then you are compelled to attend book signings and author talks, have someone photograph you with the author and then boast of the encounter to others. Auster-Doyle Syndrome, maybe."

I've never laughed so hard in my life.

Anna-Lisa: "Yes, it's very sinister indeed. And Paul Auster looked spooky. But I don't know the Doyle man. Do you think there are other Auster-Doyle sufferers 'on the circuit', if you will?"

Paul: "I will. And yes, perhaps thousands. But they each target authors from different genres."

Anna-Lisa: "What's a 'genre'?"

Paul: "It's French for 'province'."

Anna-Lisa: "Do you think Auster-Doyle Syndrome is hereditary?"

Paul: "No. Quit asking stupid questions."

Anna-Lisa: "I don't think we should tell Gemma that we've diagnosed her. I think her feelings will be hurt. And then we can't study her behaviour undetected."

Paul: "But I've never seen you laugh that hard. You can't take the high road now and pretend you weren't a part of this."

Anna-Lisa: "Yes I can, I'm passive aggressive. I was diagnosed by my friend Greg Swartz. He confronted me one day and said, 'Anna-Lisa, you're passive aggressive', to which I replied, 'that's a very passive aggressive tactic, to publicly diagnose another as passive aggressive.' And you are too, Paul. Extremely passive aggressive. I heard Callum diagnose you. I would add to that a Messiah Complex."

Paul: "That's totally incorrect. A Messiah Complex is when someone wants to find a messiah. What you're thinking of is Auto-Messiah Complex, that's when someone thinks that they are the messiah."

Anna-Lisa: "Cite your source."

Paul: "Jesus told me. He works with my dad."

Anna-Lisa: "Cool. Can you ask your dad to ask Jesus where I left my silver earring, please?"

Paul Maria Gemma Hannah

Aila's First Job

It looks like she's ready to go to work at Hot Dog On a Stick.

Niece-O-Rama, Part IX

Let me tell you what happens when you're Annais Katarina, Baby #2: a. Your parents don't take the camera into the delivery room, so there are no photos of your first moments of life, and b. when the baby gifts start rolling in, they put them on Aila. (see super niece sequence at left: Aila in outfit sized 0-3 mos!)

Peter & the Mexicans

Peter is a kid magnet. They are drawn to sit on his lap, and then they close their eyes, in adoration. The Mexican on the right is dear Aila, and on the left is her cousin Aaron (Hector's sister's son). The white man in the middle is Peter. Sometimes called Paappa.

White Space

I don't know how to rid my blog of the silly space between the title and the photo collage of the fabulously chubby and sweet Annais, so you'll just have to bear with it. White space is the new 20. I meant to do it. And that pesky Paul Rollo who might be able to help me delete aforementioned space is gallavanting around Elgin. So Annais will just have to hover in cyberwhitespace for now. Ain't she darlin'? More Warhol-type super-uber art to follow. It's raining, so what else can I do here in Edinburgh?

New job starts Tuesday, July 5th. Fabulous new job. In publishing. In Edinburgh. More to follow.

(White space appears to have disappeared. Please disregard. Note: Paul still pesky, even in absence.)

Quintuplets (oops, I mean Quadruplets)

Annais Katarina x 4

Dora the Explorer

So Aila (the *first* niece) has a special place in her heart for all things Dora the Explorer. She watches the show at daycare, and has two Dora books, a small Dora doll (who she looks for by calling out "Dora, Dora"), Dora slippers, and one of Aila's first words was "packpack", her version of "Backpack", a character from the show.

A couple weeks ago, Aila went to a birthday party for a friend from daycare. A Dora-themed party, no less, and Aila got to take home one of the centre pieces, a Dora the Explorer piggy bank, about a foot tall. So Aila was proudly carrying Dora around the house and Maria was trying to explain that "you can put money in it", which perplexed Aila.

A few minutes later Maria hears the sound of cheap ceramic hitting linoleum, and Aila walks out of the bathroom holding Dora's head.

Now I'm not so sure why I decided to tell this story... oh yeah, because I liked my line.

So a few days later, when we had developed photos and there was one of Aila proudly holding Dora (pre-decapitation), Maria tells Hector about the incident and how Aila walked into the room holding Dora's head, "which had a totally Jagged Edge." And then, for attention, I said that Glenn Close could play Dora the Explorer. And they totally ignored me.

Herr Pope

My very funny friend (funny ‘ha ha’, not funny ‘peculiar’) told me that her very funny (‘ha ha’) father calls the *new* Pope ‘the German Shepherd’. (They’re Catholic, so they can make jokes about the German Shepherd.) So I told this to my mom, who likes a little word play, and very uncharacteristically she seemed to miss the pun (and the fun) when she replied, ‘yes, he does kind of look like a German Shepherd.’ And then she added, ‘the Pope, not her dad.’ Thanks Irma for playing along.

30

Since I'm in L.A., last week I had lunch with Drew (Barrymore), Angelina (Jolie) and Nikki (Taylor). We talked about work, and the pressures of fame, and turning 30. Can you believe we're 30? Nikki wanted to invite Tiger (Woods), also 30, but Drew and Angie were totally against it. I haven't seen him in ages, so I was up for it, but . . . whatever.

So, yeah, it was a nice lunch. Your 30th birthday is kinda like New Year's Eve, because it makes you look back on the past. I did at least. Angie confessed she slept through her 30th because she was on her way to Cambodia to buy another son, or clear some landmines, or something. So she didn't use the day to examine the past 30 years. But I did. I now remember events that happened 25, 26, and even 27 years ago. And it hit me that when my *new* niece is 30, I'll be 60. Hmmm.

So on my birthday I went to see friends Hannah and J.D. at their new house in Venice. Beforehand I stopped at the store to buy a bottle of wine. The cashier looked at me, hesitated, and then unhesitated and said, "I was gonna ask for your I.D., but you look 30." I wish she had re-hesitated. And then Hannah's friend came over for dinner and said "I'll be 30 in September." And before I could say another word, she said, "I know, I don't look 30!" And I do???

And three days later I found a gray hair.

Annual FREE Credit Report

Did you know that we (the American readers) are entitled to one free credit report a year? I didn't. You can get yours at www.AnnualCreditReport.com.

Hospitality

I've read that "Hospitality is the art of making someone feel at home when you wish they really were."

I think Aila wished we were all "at home" when the *new* baby, and me, and numerous cousins and aunts and uncles, and her grandparents, invaded her peaceful life. There were people sleeping in the guest room, on her bedroom floor, on the futon in the living room. And messy boy cousins were messing up her orderly pink bedroom. Aaron and Andy (three and two) had made themselves at home in her bedroom, which meant pulling out ALL the toys and books. Aila walked in and, after surveying the damage, she said only two words: "Uh oh."

And then, when I had been making myself at home in their guest room for about a week, Aila entered to retrieve a red belt of mine (which she calls a "jump rope"). The bed was unmade, there were clothes and shoes here and there, and Aila announced her verdict to us at the kitchen table: "Messy."

Reverse Psychology

My sister has become an expert in reverse psychology since having kids. Two weeks ago when her three-year-old nephew was visiting, Maria pulled an amazing stunt: she confused him with politeness. Aaron had been kicking the ball inside the house, and it was confiscated. He wanted it back. Read on...

Aaron: "Tia Maria, can you get me that ball because I want to play with it and I won't kick it, I just want to roll it? Can you get if for me, please?"

Maria: "No thank you." And walked away.

End of conversation.

Dinner Conversation

(In case you're a new reader, Pete and Irma are my parents.)

Irma: "What would you like to drink?"

Anna-Lisa: "7-UP, please."

Pete: "You can use plastic 7-UP bottles to catch snails."

Anna-Lisa: "Really?"

Pete: "Yeah, it works the same way as a fly catcher. You make an opening that they can crawl into, but one they can't get out of. Farmers will put them near the chicken coop."

Anna-Lisa: "Really?"

Pete: "Actually, a two-liter 7-UP bottle works best." (see here)

Irma: "But I won't buy two liters of anything."

Pete: "Beer is good bait."

Irma: "That's a waste of good beer."

Anna-Lisa: "Can I have another sausage?"

Irma: "We have a creature in our yard that is eating all the snails and leaving empty shells in the planter. I think it's a tree rat."

Pete: "I think it's an opossum because I don't think rats eat snails. Maybe we could raise them for escargot. Remember when Pinky (the cat) caught a rat in the neighbor's yard when we lived in Somis? The neighbors who owned the carnival rides?"

Anna-Lisa: "The O'Connor's? You've got your timeline wrong because they didn't move in until about 1987, and Pinky died when we lived in Germany. Kidney failure."

Irma: "No, it was the neighbors who were from New York and the wife worked as a nurse at Pleasant Valley Hospital."

Anna-Lisa: "The ones whose car rolled down into our yard because they didn't put the hand brake on?"

Pete: "Yes, and when Pinky caught the rat in their yard they told us they only had one rat."

Irma: "Yes, and she was a nurse. I couldn't believe that she would say that. She was a nurse after all."

Anna-Lisa: "Pinky died in 1980. It was Mirri who caught the rat."

Pete: "Well it was one of our cats."

Irma: "That reminds me of the time I was walking Muffin at night and I almost pet an opossum."

Anna-Lisa: "Can I have more 7-UP?"

I wrote a song

Maria's *new* baby cries just like a little lamb. So I wrote a song. Please sing to the tune of "Mary had a little lamb":

Maria had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb,
Maria had a little lamb who looked just like a baby.

Poolside Interview

Americans are friendly, or something. I went down to the pool last night for a quick swim. Already in the pool were two girls, a boy, and their father. Then their mother arrived poolside. And one of the girls swam near me and said, "hi." And my first reaction was, "what's wrong with you? Don't you know that people don't talk to each other, unless they're drunk?"

Then I heard, "are you here for the weekend?" from the mother.

"Who, me??" I asked. Maybe she's drunk. Or maybe she was asking her 11-year-old son.

Twenty minutes later, this is what I had learned:
Patrick is 2 years and three months older than the twins, Kelly and Krysta, so she had three kids in diapers, and her husband works night shifts, and they're in Palm Springs for the long weekend with two other families, but they got here first, and she wakes up at six every morning, and the kids go to bed at 9pm, and from then until midnight is the only time she has to herself. And then she demonstrated how she was able to bottle feed the twins at the same time when they were newborns.

Was I annoyed that my swim was interrupted? Was she drunk? Is she crazy? Does she like people, and does she like to talk? No, no, no, yes and yes.

Then her cell phone rang and she started speaking in Spanish, and actually interrupted the phone call to explain to me that her mother's dog Bailey had run away, but her mother found the dog on Montgomery Avenue, and was so relieved that she couldn't be mad at the dog any more. Turns out her mother is Mexican, but her father is of German descent, so she burns easily, but the twins, who are 8, turn a beautiful golden brown. Fraternal twins. In fact, they're special twins: Krysta was born at 10:00 pm on August 2nd and Kelly was born at 2:00 am on August 3rd. And Patrick just turned 11 on May 21st. "Happy Birthday." "Thank you."

"Have a good night. See you around. Nice to meet you. Bye."

And then I realised she never introduced herself. Whatever.

Reporting from California

Yes, your California correspondent here.

It's 143 degrees* outside and I'm freezing because my dad, Pete "iceberg" Sandstrum, likes to keep the air conditioner at 59 degrees*. We are at the Courtyard Marriott because, well, because we are of no use at my sister's house. Nurse Irma is rocking the *new* baby, and folding her in blankets, and using other nursing witchcraft.

The journey from Edinburgh to Palm Springs included the following highlights:
1. A 6'5" tall man feinting on the plane from Edinburgh to Paris. He was met by an ambulance. Perhaps an attention-seeker. Perhaps a diabetic. We'll never know.
2. Seeing a bumper sticker on the L.A. freeway that said: "Catholic, the Original Christian." What??
3. Meeting baby Anaise Katarina, who has my hands. Seeing Aila Maria again!
4. Hearing Spanish, and being called "hon" by the waitress.
5. Seeing the sun.

More later.

*Please note, all measurements are in Californian for the time being.

Finally!

Anaise Katarina has finally arrived.
May 23, 2005
10:40 PM
8lbs 4oz
20 inches

more to follow

That Famous Camp Song

There's a camp song that goes:

You're late!
You're late!
You're late, you're late, you're late, and you're uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggly.

It is to be sung to kids or counsellors who arrive LATE to a meeting. I will have to hesitate to sing that to Peter Marie when she FINALLY arrives. The update from Maria is that she is having light contracts, 40 or so minutes apart, and is nesting. She's cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. Maria has a doctor's appointment tomorrow.

When Maria told my mom that she was having light contractions, the Irma was pleased and said, "she's getting ready to come out!"

"She's been getting ready to come out for a f*#%*n month," Maria told me. "My would-be Taurus is a Gemini now."

Interview Tomorrow

Paul: Are you nervous about your interview tomorrow?

A-L: No, I bought a pair of pink trousers today. I'm not wearing them to the interview, but they've calmed my nerves. Do you want to ask me some practice interview questions?

Paul: Hello. Thank you for coming to our offices today. Tell me a little bit about yourself.

A-L: I bought pink trousers yesterday.

Paul: Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

A-L: Sitting in your chair.

Paul: Thank you for coming.

A-L: When do I start?

Paul: When it's acceptable to wear light pink trousers to an interview.

The Hunger Site

Visit the Hunger Site and click to donate food.

The Real Masterminds

The other night "Junior Mastermind" was on T.V. Oh, the perfect opportunity for Paul and me to feel smart . . . Beating an 11-year-old at trivia is quite satisfying.

So, there was a boy in "the hot seat" and the question posed to him was:

"What U.S. windy city has a downtown area called "The Loop"?"

Kid answers: "Italy."

Yes, Italy, that famous U.S. windy city.

And then we watched the next contestant, a girl named Emily, and Paul actually sang these words:

"Ha, ha, Emily, I got one more right than you."

So we turned the television off and spent the rest of the evening changing the maps in our flat and moving Italy to the Mid West.

40 Weeks and Goin' Strong

Maria is 40 weeks along. Actually, earlier she reminded me that today is the beginning of her 41st week of pregnancay. Officially, Peter-Marie is late. My dad would say that's a familiar trait in Sandstrum women. My father always said that his father always said that his mother would be late getting ready if the house was burning down. Maria might argue that Peter-Marie is not a Sandstrum, but a Romero. But genes travel well through different last names.

Maria said she is at the "comedy of errors" stage of her pregnancy. She said the other day she was chopping onions, dropped half of it on the floor, and it took her 20 minutes to pick up the onion and wipe the floor. "It's like carrying a medicine ball around, and every time you sit down you feel like you're sitting on the baby's head."

And she reports that the contractions she was having intermittently a day and a half ago, have ended. More later.

Guess Their Major

Last night Paul and I took a stroll along to Edinburgh Uni's student union to meet Stu and Su for some games of pool. (I was watching, they were cueing. And when Paul asked me why I don't ever play pool, I said that it was because my dad once told me, "if someon'e good at pool, it tells you only one thing: they've spent too much time in bars.")

By the time Su, Stu and Paul had played about 50 games between them, I had devised a few ways of entertaining myself. After I horrified and offended the freaky goth kid at the next table by smiling at him (after he kept staring at us), I turned to the table to our right, which was occupied by seven early-20's young ladies. They weren't particularly stylish, or unstylish, but they were dressed neatly, not at all revealingly, and most were without makeup. The next logical question was: "Paul, what do you think they major in? To me they look like Biology or Nursing majors."

Paul: "I think they're medics."

A-L: "Paramedics."

Paul: "No, studying medicine."

A-L: "That's what I thought, Nursing majors."

Paul: "No, not Nursing. Proper medicine."

A-L: "Oh, I see. I'll be sure to tell my mom, who has delivered hundreds of babies, that you think she's an imposter. By the way, what's the difference between God and a doctor?"

Paul: "What??"

A-L: "God doesn't think he's a doctor. Anyway, they look like Biology majors."

Paul: "Wouldn't that be ironic: Survival of the Ugliest!"

A-L: "What??"

Paul: "Those girls are definitely not Maths or Physics majors. Especially not that one with the curly hair. Doesn't she know perms are out of style?"

A-L: "I don't think she had her hair permed like that. No one would. I think it's natural. And I've decided they're biology majors. They look practical."

Paul: "That would make sense. Darwin went to Edinburgh Uni."

A-L: "Charles? To Edinburgh Uni?"

Paul: "Yes, all the greats did."

A-L: "Like Ronald Reagan?"

Paul: "Yes, Adam Smith, Charles Darwin, David Hume and Ronald Reagan."

A-L: "My mom loves Reagan."

Paul: "I thought they might be English Lit majors, but they're not funky enough. Maybe they're Language majors. Those people always dress plainly."

A-L: "I'm pretty sure Adam Smith was Economics. They could be French majors."

(Giggling and laughing from table of Biology/Nursing/Languages majors next to us, as the "white ball" totally misses its target.)

Paul: "Well, they're definitely not majoring in Geometry."

A-L: "Or Physics."

Paul: "Don't quote me on this, but I think they go to Napier."

The Gym

Paul is a member at Escape, a local gym (although it does sound like the name of a suspicious massage parlor), and invited me along to sample the delights of running machines, free weights, stair climbers, the pool and the sauna. Did I mention the pool and the sauna?

Well, I used to run a bit when I lived in a place that was closer to the sun, a land called California where it's not 4 degrees in May, a land where water falls out of the tap, not out of the sky. Long story short, these legs haven't run in a while. So I ran for about eight minutes. Which brings me to the sauna and pool. They were lovely.

In the sauna I poured so much water on the rocks in an attempt to show off my half Finnishness that I ended up driving myself out of there, leaving a Welshman as the sauna champion. And then I made the faux pas of jumping straight from the sauna into the swimming pool without rinsing off, which in terms of Finnish hygiene protocal Chapter 3, Verse 1, means I can have my Finnish passport revoked. In fact, they might even summon me to Helsinki just so they could deport me.

But the best part about Escape, which could make it worth the 35 GBP monthly fee, is that you get to use AS MUCH free shampoo and conditioner and body wash as you want. I washed my hair twice.

Monday Afternoon Entertainment

Happy Monday afternoon to America. Are you bored? Well, I'll entertain you.

What's more entertaining than a blog with photos of German animals, in German, in Germany? I won't even try to answer that question.

How about my cousin Minna's web site featuring photos of her twin girls?? In Finnish, in Finland.

What else can I offer you?

A site about musicals (for Stuart and Paul, especially.)

The Old Man

My father has been balding and greying since he was 19. Inside, he's still 19, much to my mother's dismay. His white hair and shiny dome lead many to misoverestimate his age. Add to that the fact that he sometimes talks to himself, and one might get the totally wrong image of him, as he wanders the airports of the western world. (In reality, he's the kind of guy who tells the waitress, when she asks if he wants a glass for his beer, "it already comes in a glass!", not some frail old man.)

My mom recently related that well-meaning strangers have approached him at the airport, as he navigates the crowds with a large suitcase and toolbox, and have offered to help him carry his luggage. He smiles, accepts their kind offer, and then laughs when they can't lift his heavy toolbox.

Newsflash - Sun Hovers Over Scotland

The sun was out and about here in Edinburgh Friday, Saturday AND Sunday and has now retreated back away from Scotland. And it's freezing again. But faces have seen the sun and are now slightly brownish and not so greyish. Read more about Scotland's peculiar weather.

The Oracle of Camarillo

I think my mom, who left Finland for the US at the age of 27, feels a kinship with Ted (my Polish flatmate) who is living far away from his family and struggling to learn English. She always asks about him, and wants to know how he is doing. Well, when she heard that Ted is in awe of Teflon pans and wanted to send some to his wife in Poland, my mom stepped in and said she wanted to send them. So, Ted gave me Magosha's address in Poland. There was a letter or two in the address I couldn't decipher, and asking Ted if it was an L, R, J, C or K led to nothing. So I just mailed my mom the scrap of paper he had written on. She phoned the other day to enquire about the mystery letter and ended up speaking to Paul. Talk of Teflon pans and Polish addresses led to a political discussion. And apparently she managed to slip this into the conversation, "but it didn't matter, because Roosevelt was a socialist anyway."

A Lecturer By Any Other Name

The students have handed in their first assignment. They have to put my name on the cover page. These are some of the ways my name was spelled:

A. Lindstrom
Anne,elise,Sandstrom? (complete with commas and question mark)
Lisa-Ann Sandstrum
Anne-Lisa Sandrum

Too bad Maria and Hector have already chosen a name for the baby (Peter-Marie, or Anaise Katarina). They could have farmed some names from this list. I'm particularly fond of Anne,elise,Sandstrom?. It's very post-modern.

Dear Peter-Marie,

Your due date is not until May 19th but I am anxious to meet you. Let me know when you're on your way.

Elgin

Guess where I went this weekend? Yes, I went to Elgin. And let me tell you, it was both Magical AND Mythical. (see previous posts)

Paul, Stuart and I took the Megabus up on Friday, from Edinburgh to Inverness, a route which takes you through some of the most Magical AND Mythical scenery in Scotland. Maybe even the world. The bus ride cost 5 GBP.

Some weekend highlights included:

• Elgin's broken cathedral
• a scenic drive to visit Stuart's Granda near Inverurie
• seeing a "Jesus is coming. Look busy." magnet on the refrigerator at the home of the Reverend and Mrs Rollo
  

Photographic Evidence

Granted you can't see his feet, but this is what Sandstrum-Jackson does with his arms when he's moonwalking.

The Moonwalk

The other night the subject of "the moonwalk" came up and I felt obliged to mention that my dad is an excellent moonwalker. I'd say it's his signature move.

Someone asked when my dad started moonwalking, and where he learned it.

I don't think he knows he's doing the moonwalk, per se, and I think he's probably been dancing it since the 50s, and come to think of it, he might have invented it.

"Does your dad know Michael Jackson?" someone asked.

No. I don't think so. And I'm not sure when MJ stole my dad's move.

Snooker News

The World Snooker Championship Final is on now. Why aren't you watching??

Jewellery Designers (read: drug smugglers)

Tonight at Kebab Mahal two Argentinian gentleman came and sat down next to us. So I turned to them and asked them where they were from, how long they had been in Edinburgh, and why they were here.

Argentina. A year and a half. To work.

What do you do?

Design jewellery.

Neither had a piece of jewellery on. And they didn't look like the designery type. So I continued the interrogation. What other languages do you speak?

Spanish, Turkish and Albanian.

What were you doing in Turkey?

Designing jewellery.

What were you doing in Albania?

Designing jewellery.

By then I had decided they were hit men, or baby thieves, or drug smugglers.

So I said to them in Spanish: "My sister Maria's husband is Mexican." Which sounds like a line out of a 9th grade Spanish textbook.

And then I pulled out the other phrase I know in Spanish: "The cowboy mouse drew his two pistols."

And then for some reason they moved tables???

Weirdos.

Plumbing Mysteries

Last Saturday morning, there's a knock at the door. I open the door to see a strange woman.

Strange Woman: I live downstairs and there's water streaming down the wall in my kitchen can you check if you have a leak?

A-L: Sure. (Thinking: how could there be a leak, we haven't washed dishes or done laundry in days??)

I check under the sink to find nothing, besides 72 almost empty bottles of laundry detergent. So I return to the lady who I left standing in the stairwell.

A-L: No, our sink isn't leaking.

S W: Maybe it's your wash machine because it's on the back wall.

Should I let her in so she can see for herself? But our house is "in a bad way".

A-L: Would you like to come in and show me where the water is coming from? I'm sorry, our flat is such a mess, so please don't look around.

S W, looking around: Oh, I'm not even allowed in my son's flat!

S W checks out the washer, and says: Yes, that's where it's coming down the wall. Can you call your landlord and get it fixed?

A-L: Sure, I'll take care of it right away. (Too bad I can't remember our landlord's name or number and Paul is in Elgin, where they have no phones, so I'll have to send a carrier pigeon.) Are you the one with the kittens?

S W: No. They belong to the people in the building next door whose children have their own yard but always play in ours.

She exits.

I quickly fashion a sign that says "Kaput/Broken" (so that both Paul and Ted will understand) and fasten it to the wash machine.

Two days pass. Laundry piles up.

Monday morning, knock at the door.

S W: There is now a huge bulge in the ceiling and it's about to collapse. Have you been using the wash machine? You know you can't use it! Have you called the landlord?

A-L: I'll call right now.

S W: You haven't called yet? My husband is going to go ballistic when he sees this.

A-L, to herself: Don't threaten me with the wrath of your husband. I'm American, I'll sue you for distressing me. Out loud: OK.

I shut the door.

Call Paul for the number, then call the landlord who explains that water damage is considered an Act of God and we are not liable for it unless, unless, they can prove negligence on our part.

A-L, meekly: What do you mean, "negligence"?

Landlord: Well, like if they told you about it a week ago and you did nothing about it.

I see in my mind's eye time-lapse photography of water droplets slowly destroying the downstair's neighbor's ceiling as I gallavant about St Andrews all day Sunday. And then I see myself dragged to prison by the insurance company because I can't pay for the water damage. So I call the plumber who says: Don't use the wash machine.

Really??? Because I've been pouring water onto the floorboards since I heard of the problem downstairs. And I've been running a laundry business and washing heavy loads just so I can be to blame for the water damage.

Tuesday morning a note is put through our mail slot:

"Can you please give me your landlord's number for insurance purposes?"

So on Tuesday the appliance guy determines there's nothing wrong with the washer, besides the fact that it doesn't collect, dry and fold laundry, and says the water must be coming from somewhere else. Which brings us to today's visit from the plumber.

Buzzer rings, plumber comes upstairs. I summon Paul to enter stage right.

A-L to plumber: Are you Mike? I mean Michael? Hi, I'm Anna-Lisa. We cleaned up for you, can you tell?

Wry smile from plumber.

Plumber Michael: Are they home downstairs? I think I'll go take a look at the damage.

Plumber Michael returns and starts examining under the sink and the washer: Have you been using the sink?

A-L: Huh, no, can't you tell?? (Pointing to pile of dishes, and thinking I'm hilarious...)

Plumber Michael: Did you use the wash machine after she reported the leak?

I ignore the question.

Paul: Do you think the lady downstairs made it up?

Wry smile from plumber.

A-L: Maybe it was coming from the flat above ours, because the washer repair guy was here yesterday and said there's nothing wrong with the washer, so I can't be sued for negli..., I mean, so there's no logical explanation.

Plumber Michael: They have just a slight stain on the ceiling downstairs, but it would be along this wall here, so I'm not sure where it was coming from.

A-L to herself: So I'm not going to prison for being a lazy, inconsiderate neighbor. Out loud: She made it sound like their whole ceiling was caving in.

Wry smile from plumber.

A-L: Maybe the flat downstairs is haunted.

Wry smile from plumber.

Plumber Michael: Well, I don't see anything wrong. I really don't know where it was coming from. I'm going to go back downstairs. I told they guy I'd stop back in and tell him what I found.

Paul: That his wife is pathalogical??

A-L: Yes, that we've diagnosed his wife as a crazy??

Plumber exits, quickly.

My Brussels Correspondent

Gemma Lougheed, erstwhile Napier University publishing student and now EU politial expert, writes here about a surprise best seller in France.

Cutenessness Squared

Aila and "Paappa"

Dear Reader

Do not be alarmed. It's a whole new look, but the same niece-centric content. And my thanks to Paul for showing me how to upload photos. Now I can post a picture of Aila every day.

Cutenessness

Niece Aila Maria

English Lessons

We had an English lesson today and Ted learned "this/here" and "that/there". It was a bit of a struggle and we had to call in reinforcements and translators (his sister-in-law, not "sister-in-love" as Ted used to say).

I now know to preface grammatical concepts with the Polish word "Gramatyka" as a warning. Ted has a small travel phrasebook which is known to us as the "English/Polish, Polish/English small book." When I say that, he knows it's time for "Gramatyka".

The book is only somewhat helpful. Today Ted asked about the difference between "work" and "job" and I decided it was time to introduce nouns and verbs, but I couldn't find those terms in the "English/Polish, Polish/English small book." Someone decided that non-English speaking Polish travellers do not need to know "verb" or "noun" but they do need to know:

fritter - roztrwonić

gherkin - korniszon

Harvey Wallbanger - wódka z sokiem pomarańczowym

plimsolls (!) - tenisówki

Ted speaks Polish at work all day which does hinder his progress, but his English is improving. He has now replaced his home-grown phrase "new week" with the correct phrase "next week" and the above-mentioned "sister-in-love" is gone, which is kind of a shame...

Finnish-Japanese

I'm not quite sure what's happenin' here - I'll have to spend about six hours deciphering it with a Finnish-English dictionary - but at first sight it looks as if three Finnish men travelled to Japan to find Japanese brides. I'm sure that's not what's going on, but you never know. I'll have to get Irma on the case. But it's just lovely to see the beautiful vowel-laden Finnish language in full effect.

Footnotes to Magical, Mythical Elgin

1 "She actually produced it [West Side Story]," said Paul, "same shit though."

2 "Yeah, 750 or so tickets sold every night of the show. Every year they make about 6,000-7,000 GBP and they donate it to Christian Aid."

Magical, Mythical Elgin

Flatmate Paul returned safely from Elgin with reports of having attended a production of "West Side Story" directed by his mother. The show was on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Paul said he attended the Saturday show "because my mom had an extra ticket for that night."

"It was sold out?" I asked, trying to imagine this special little town where the minster's wife directs an annual sell-out musical.

"Yeah, it always sells out."

As Sara would say, "Can you even??"

No Sara, I can't.

Animal Instinct

This afternoon I made Ted (the Polish flatmate) leave his dark room and join me for a walk through Edinburgh's lovely Royal Botanic Garden. It's a brisk 10-minute walk from our flat. Well, it was a lovely sunny afternoon and we were joined by squirrels aplenty and busied ourselves reading all the plant names and trying to guess where they were from. China, mostly. But Ted did see a few trees that also live in Poland.

Just as we were leaving the RBG we saw a group of people gathered around the base of a large tree. The attraction? A cat who was perched in the tree comically swiping at all the birds that passed, and scaring the bejeesus out of a treed squirrel. The sideshow was a frantic lady who was of the opinion that house cats should not be allowed in the RBG. Why not? "That cat's scaring the squirrel and he's trying to chase it and I don't want him to hurt it and why is that cat in the Garden?? Who does he belong to?" she asked, looking at me, as if I'm the guardian of all Edinburgh cats. Let me just check my Edinburgh cat rota. "Where does he live?" Again looking at me, and Ted. "I don't want him to hurt that squirrel," she said to Ted whose saving grace was that he only understood the word "I". Now addressing the cat directly, she said: "Go home and eat your Whiskas and leave that poor squirrel alone." Now me addressing the lady as if I were the cat: "Look lady, I'm just following my instincts." It was clearly time to leave the RBG.

Lunch mit Wilhelm

Yesterday Patrick (Stuart's German friend) and I drove to St Andrews. The "reason de reise" was three-fold: 1. so Patrick could see the town and decide if he will attend university there next autumn, 2. so I could hijack someone into speaking German with me for more than 10 minutes, and 3. lunch with Prince William, of course.

You can't help but look for Prince William when in St Andrews. Try it. Impossible. Everywhere are tall, light-brown haired fancy looking 20-somethings wearing collared shirts. We even looked for the Prince in the library. Much neck craning, and a few false sightings, but no William. Oder Wilhelm.

Good News

Paris Hilton says the next season of her T.V. show will be "funner." That's good news for everybody!

Hold Tight

Dear Readers,

Thursday update:

1. The 'r' on my keyboard is broken now so I have to cut and paste it every time I need to type 'r'. Otherwise the 'r' acts as a 'home' key and returns me up to the start. "It took me 15 minutes to type 'horror'," the b/f told me.

2. The b/f's dissertation is due April 29. He's living at the computer lab now.

3. Paul has escaped to Elgin for the weekend.

4. The Polish one is up to his old shenanigans of working all hours and spilling cooking oil on the kitchen floor late at night and cleaning it up in the fashion of a six-year-old (ie: smearing it around with a cloth). So I left the mop out.

5. The b/f referred to me as his g/f in an e-mail, so from now on he's the b/f.

6. Lecture tomorrow. Gotta run.

Jury Selection

RE: "Contempt of Court" posted April 15, 2005

Irma was not selected for the jury.

Wrong German Guy

Dear Paul, (not flatmate-Elgin Paul, but Salzburg-Portland Paul)

In the event that some dear readers don't make it to the comments realm, and therefore might be deprived of some needed hilarity, I'll address you here. RE your latest comment: Information about the *new* Pope, Joseph Ratzinger, cannot be found, as you assert, by following this link.

The *real* *new* Pope has a fan club, formed in his mere Cardinal days. (At www.ratzingerfanclub.com. Wasn't working when I tried it. No doubt besieged by membership enquiries.)

Tony McBlair

Is Tony Blair Scottish because he was born in Scotland? (Edinburgh, actually.) I think he would give his nationality as British. Read more on the difference between being English, Scottish, Welsh and British.

Germany Wins

So I hear that the Germans have won the Papacy. Mr Ratzinger, as I have always known him, is the *new* Pope. Some say he might be a "devisive" Pope. I hope he's "indevisive".

Whaddya Know

As if you needed another reason to visit Scotland . . . but here it is: The gentleman who penned 'Wee Willie Winkie', William Miller, is buried in Glasgow, at the Glasgow Necropolis. There you have it. As I like to say, what time does your flight land??

Roving Reporter

Yesterday I spoke with my correspondent in Coachella, CA, who gave reports of a cousin's birthday party and barking dogs. Yes, Aila had much to report. My sister had to confiscate the phone from Aila because she was walking towards her room with it to show me something. Bless.

Contempt of Court

My mom gets called for jury duty and spends a long, boring day at the Ventura County Courthouse hoping she doesn't get chosen for a three-week long construction lawsuit. The other jurors are dropping like flies. Irma is still standing, and it's too late to pull the "I no speak much English" trick. So some "young guy who's a manager at two restaurants" is sitting next to her, and a lady in a rainbow shirt, "really bright, almost shiny", comes into the courtroom and my mom turns to "the young guy" and says, "I wonder if her shirt glows in the dark?" My mom's excuse for cracking-wise in the courtroom is "well, you have to entertain yourself somehow". So the next person called up to the stand is the lady in the glow-in-the-dark rainbow shirt, and she walks right in front of my mom and "the young guy" who "almost start laughing". Troublemaker.

Dear Paul,

You're being anti-social by using the computer in your room. It's much more fun when we both sit in the living room using our laptops. So come through to the living room. Oh, Norette just phoned, she and Robbie are staying over tonight. They're driving down from Dingwall, and should be here around 11. We're going to The Bongo Club.

Anna-Lisa

Where's Emma?

Yesterday evening, from the No. 23 bus, I spotted my friend Emma walking up The Mound, towards the Royal Mile. I swear it was her. "It was the spit of her," as my Irish friends would say. So, I turned to Paul and said, "I hope that wasn't my friend Emma because I would be more than a little upset if she travelled all the way to Edinburgh from Portland, Oregon and didn't visit me." So, Paul, ever the consoling friend, said to me, "that would be hilarious if it was her." So I told him that his entire family was here last weekend, stayed at the Balmoral Hotel, and invited Stuart and me to brunch and made us promise not to tell Paul.

P.S.
Brunch was delicious!

Baby #2

When Maria was pregnant with Aila, we knew all the stats. Aila was, after all, the first baby to grace our family since me - back in the summer of '75. So, when Maria "fell pregnant" as the Irish would say, we were delighted and uber attentive. (Please excuse the missing umlauts.)

We knew Aila's due date: Maria's doctor had calculated it as September 4, and my mom (have I mentioned she's a witch doctor, I mean midwife?) said September 2 (or was it the other way around??) so Aila, ever the diplomat, arrived on September 3. My mom was available 24 hours a day to provide up-to-the-minute reports on Aila's blood pressure and heart rate, in utero.

With baby #2, who y'all know has been christened Peter Marie, we know nothing.

I asked my mom the other day, "When is Peter Marie's due date?"

"Sometime in May, I think."

Great. Guess there's no need to bring a camera, or buy a baby book.

Dear Readers,

I know there are thousands of you, and in lieu of writing each of you a letter, I'll update you here on the goings on of this broad abroad:

1. The 'g' on my keyboard is 'on the fritz' again, as they say. So excuse any missing gs

2. It's winter again in Edinburgh, although yesterday it was summer. Who knows what tomorrow brings? (Who sang that song? I think it was a duet, in fact I know it was. Answers accepted until 3pm PST. Caroline, I'm counting on you...)

3. As we speak, so to speak, I am preparing tomorrow's Publishing Mangement lecture on the stages of a publishing project, and the different tools (ie documents) available for project evaluation.

4. Two days ago, on my way to meet some friends for lunch, I was held hostage (in conversation) by a gentleman who kept using the phrase, "If you know your history . . ." followed by some obscure historical fact that he knew. It turned into a festival of one-upmanship which traveled from his knowledge of Italy and the Italian language, side stepped over to my knowledge of Finnish and Finland's glorious history, and then ended when he said: "I have that problem when I speak Ukrainian." And then the number 13 bus arrived, before I was able to pull out the trump card of speaking German. Damn.

5. The Polish flatmate has stopped doing dishes altogether, and yesterday, as I stood at the sink washing his dishes, he told me, 'I don't have time to wash dishes.' So I told him that I am going to charge him 5GBP every day that I wash his dishes. Why didn't I think of this earlier? I'd be a hundredaire.

6. My friend Erin, and her husband Keith, welcomed Ella Elisabeth Matlock into the world, and beautiful Southern California, on April 8, 2005. Congratulations. Erin's mom told my mom who told me that Keith was "walking on air." Isn't that sweet? Yes, it is.

7. I'll be stateside May 25 to June 20 which means you should be bracing yourself for American-centric news reports.

8. More later.

Fair Weather Friends

My dad wants me to move to Spain because he's scared of cold weather. He once traveled to Chicago, mid-winter, with no socks. That was the last time he and my mom packed his suitcase 'together'.

My parents were going to come to Scotland, last November, for my graduation, but then they realised it was November, and Scotland. My mom said something about bringing a raincoat 'in case it rains'. It's November, and Scotland. So they ended up not coming because they 'couldn't get the flights'. All booked up, I suppose. November is the best time to come visit Edinburgh, for the Festival of the Grayness.

But now it's spring, which is why it was freezing this past weekend. Mother Winter made one last show, just for kicks. Someone has installed solar panels on the south-facing side of one of Napier University's buildings. April fool's joke, maybe. Stuart pointed them out to me. (I never look up, because then your neck gets cold.) I believe these solar panels would be equally effective if they were installed underneath the building. Fancy a visit?

This is NOT a Hoax

ALL day yesterday I was fending off questions from readers of my blog (there are thousands) about my ties to the D.C.-based author Amanda Hill. Are you really friends with her? Have you known her since you were 16? Did you used to go clubbing in L.A. together? Are you in her book, Love Like That?

Yes, yes, yes and you'll have to buy it to find out.

Books

So I've strayed away a bit from the book theme that was the initial purpose of this blog. As we know, The Ferocious Reader has turned into a site where Sister Maria, Cousin Amy and I make comments about how cute my niece is. Oh well. So back to the books. I've found one that we ALL can read.

It so happens that my friend Amanda Hill, who I have known since we were 16-year-olds driving around Ventura in Kelli Sampson's candy-apple red BMW, has written a romance novel Love Like That. It's out now. I think we should all buy three copies. Read reviews here.

LATE BREAKING NEWS:

My dad, Pete, reports that he got a hold of an advance copy of Love Like That and says he "can totally relate" to the "quick-witted, impulsive, aggressively unambitious" main character, Dalton Moss, who is "a halfhearted assistant to a Hollywood events planner" and spends her days "haggling over the price of chicken Florentine and waiting for the workday to end". Thanks Pete!

P.S.
Today just happens to be Kelli Sampson's 30th Birthday. Mandy, will you pass on Birthday wishes to Kelli?

Collect All Six

So, this morning, at about 11:24 when I walked into the kitchen and saw Paul washing dishes, I knew somthing was amiss. Pleasantries exchanged, and Paul pipes up, "Judy's coming over for coffee." This is Judy Rollo. THE Judy Rollo. Paul's older sister, and the ONLY one of the six Rollos I haven't met.

A-L: "Really! Great. When??"

Paul: "Oh, 11:30 or so."

A-L: "What?? You're kidding. I have 6 minutes to make our flat presentable to the eldest Rollo sibling? Our kitchen looks like a gypsy encampment."

Paul: "It's ok, Judy Rollo is always late..."

A-L: "This calls for a toilet scrubbing!! Judy Rollo can't see a dirty bathroom. And hide the Polish flatmate, he hasn't showered yet."

Four minutes later the buzzer goes. There was no time to distract her in the stairwell. No chance to put beer bottles away . . . And then she appeared: Judy Rollo. (With fiancee Gerry, who is kind and funny.) Nice to finally meet you Judy. Come over any time.

Well, Is She Still a Girl?

My sister had another ultrasound on Tuesday to see if Peter-Marie is still a girl. I haven't heard a word. Feel free to add comments. (they're fixed now, so anyone can post)