Love it/Hate it

I love the fact that I live in a country where every grocery store has, right along side the full-size grown-up carts, little carts for little people. Do other countries have these? I don't know, but I have trouble picturing my little busy body wandering around in one of the massive box grocery stores that I remember from home. It kills me to watch her put the coin into her little cart and then push it around the store, sometimes getting distracted and wandering off, but most of the time, dutifully and enthusiastically, helping find the bananas, or the tomatoes. She loves the feeling of independence it gives her and it makes life a lot easier than having her squirm in the cart for the entire trip.

What I hate is that the stores have figured out that little shoppers, along with helping put things into the cart, actually like to have a say in what ultimately goes into the cart. Certainly, I've known that what you're expected to buy is at eye level, but it had never occurred to me that this would apply to adults as well as toddlers. Since my eyes have rarely wandered down to those bottom rows unless I'm really searching for something special, I've finding that up until now, I've been oblivious to a whole range of products. I'm looking at you, Bob the Builder Luncheon Meat! And don't think I haven't got a bone to pick with you, too, Disney Princesses Cupcake Mix. Since I don't actually cave to the many, many, many items that somehow find their way into our cart each week, I suppose I should be grateful for the many, many, many 'teaching opportunities' that are presented to me, but mostly, I'm just annoyed.

A different perspective

Life abroad is a strange confluence of states of being. It is at once exotic, confusing, challenging, and mundane. The longer one is away, the more the balance tilts towards the mundane. This is at once good and bad. Trepidation is replaced by confidence, you've navigated most of the red tape and come out the other side stronger for it, the customs and culture are more familiar and so you're less likely to offend, or be offended, you know where to buy your favorite toothpaste, you've made a few friends. Life becomes easier. It's unfortunate, though, that the trade off is that daily life looses a bit of sparkle. Slowly, slowly, bit by bit, so subtly that you barely notice it, the newness of it all wears off and just becomes...life. The houses on your street are no longer quaint, they're just the place where you live (and why can't the city do something about that missing cobblestone, already?), a trip to the grocery store is no longer an adventure, instead it's simply a quick errand to pick up some milk. You try very hard to remember to appreciate what you have, but sometimes, when you're running late, you're trying to herd a cranky toddler, and you realize that you have cereal in your hair and the girl at the check-out is seemingly deliberately misunderstanding you, it's tough to do.

You never fully forget, though. Every once in a while, when you least expect it, the fates hand you a gift and say 'Here! Take a look at this!' and you remember that yes, you have a gift in this incredible foreign life. Such was it yesterday.

The Dutch have a word for their obsession for skating - schaatskoorts, or skating fever. Every year, as the temperature drops, the word is on everyone's lips as they collectively wait anxiously for the ice to thicken. This year was no exception, and was perhaps even more so as it had been unseasonably warm all year and hope was almost lost. When the thermometer finally fell, fast and hard, the conditions were perfect for ice formation.

Saturday afternoon, we were able to get out and enjoy it. Although the entire city seemed to have sold out of skates, we were still able to get down onto the canals and walk around the city, admiring the beautiful bridges, the old buildings and the houseboats. Along with the rest of the city, we slowly made our way around the star-shaped canals that ring Zwolle's centre, enjoying the festive atmosphere as we stopped to chat with neighbours and for a warm Chocomel from one of the impromptu cafes that had popped up on the ice. It was magical. As we walked, I had a feeling that I haven't experienced in quite a while, a feeling that seems to have swelled from my heart, a feeling that said 'Wow!!!! I can't believe how lucky I am to live here!'