4/23/11
4/21/11
3 Soucies/2 Korats/1 Binks
Starting Saturday, two of these people are visiting for a week. To do what? Sunday Brunch at Cafe Atlantico with all of us, plus Sarah Minor, Easter egg colouring with my friend Barbara and her children and grandson, coffee at Dean & Deluca, outdoor cooking demos, Foggy Bottom Farmer's Market, cooking on our cool gas stove, a road trip to Baltimore, sitting in cafes, going to Amsterdam Falafel, playing blocks, pushing the stroller.
This will be Elspeth's inaugural induction into the Soucie sibling bonding process. Lucky girl!
This will be Elspeth's inaugural induction into the Soucie sibling bonding process. Lucky girl!
IN the computer?
Adam likes to make fun of my status (or non-status) as what Malcolm Gladwell called a 'laggard' in The Tipping Point. (When imagining my interest in adopting new technologies, think about the hilarious scene in Zoolander when Matilda informs Hansel that the files are IN the computer).
But I finally figured out how to get the photos off my iPhone and onto my Mac, so now I can show you the photos I've been snapping around town.
---
4/18/11
Brain in a Vat
Most of you have a vague idea that I once trained to be a natural nutritionist...or that I used to do yoga three times a week, meditate, cook dinner from scratch, do crafts, use the public library.
But the fun times had to end, I believed. Grown-ups need to make money, build a safety net, start a trust fund.
So, I took a large scholarship to do a degree I knew I didn't want, to help land a job in an industry I no longer believed in. I got trained to do quasi-scientific research and write long documents that are hard to read. Perfect skills for a future public servant! ;-) So, I took a position for the federal government, where there is less pressure to produce, but the writing is equally obtuse.
I often used to feel just like a brain in a vat. Typing, tapping, thinking, thinking.
But lately, I've have the space to stretch, read, eat a mostly vegetarian diet, hike, bike, tell stories, take pictures. Less pressure on myself to get published, get a promotion, have a baby, build a house. It feels good to get back to the basics.
But the fun times had to end, I believed. Grown-ups need to make money, build a safety net, start a trust fund.
So, I took a large scholarship to do a degree I knew I didn't want, to help land a job in an industry I no longer believed in. I got trained to do quasi-scientific research and write long documents that are hard to read. Perfect skills for a future public servant! ;-) So, I took a position for the federal government, where there is less pressure to produce, but the writing is equally obtuse.
I often used to feel just like a brain in a vat. Typing, tapping, thinking, thinking.
But lately, I've have the space to stretch, read, eat a mostly vegetarian diet, hike, bike, tell stories, take pictures. Less pressure on myself to get published, get a promotion, have a baby, build a house. It feels good to get back to the basics.
Portrait of my psychotherapist in her office at 7:59 am.
4/14/11
4/10/11
Poparazzi
It was really too cold for popsicles though, so we wound up going to Julia and Steve's to meet Nora, their sweet kitty cat. We had brought her some toys from our cats' large store of personal belongings and she humored us by chasing them around.
It was fun. Kinda felt normal. Which is kinda good.
4/8/11
Maoz
Last time I ate at a Maoz was August 22, 2005. I turned 25 that day in London, took a two-hour flight to Barcelona and then a short cab side to a busy pedestrian courtyard, the driver going straight into the middle of the crowd and dropping us off with a vague gesture in the direction of the street we had mentioned. We eventually found our little apartment and then went in search of cheap birthday food. We quickly found Maoz, a stylish Dutch falafel chain with all-you-can-stuff vegetarian toppings.
Turns out there is a Maoz a couple blocks from our condo and the toppings are as good as we remembered them.
Turns out there is a Maoz a couple blocks from our condo and the toppings are as good as we remembered them.
4/7/11
Cut Off
I think I had this idea, when I moved here, that I would ideally cut myself off from most of my old life and totally immerse myself in American culture and a new existence. I guess I was thinking that I moved here for a new experience, so I should take advantage and not rely on the old comforts of home. I also had it in my head that living in the US is not that much different from Canada, it's not India, so I shouldn't really be missing much.
I'm pretty sure this is a form of torture used in actual prison camps. Leave it to me!
So yesterday, I made the ultimate comfort food, Vietnamese noodle bowls, which Adam and I used to make once a month or so in Ottawa. They're a lot of work, but the ritual is incredibly familiar, slicing the cucumbers into delicate sticks, frying little slabs of tofu, flipping the omelet and slicing it into long, thin strips, putting it all out on the counter: the chopped herbs, basil and mint, the jar of hot sauce, and two bowls of steaming vermicelli.
While I was doing it, I listened to CBC Radio comedy show about what makes Canadians Canadian. Not at all funny. But nice to hear the familiar sounds of the station: the opening music, the droning host. When I was a kid, my father had CBC on every morning for the snow report; in the afternoon, the talk programs prattled on, keeping him company as he tinkered in his workshop, Postum going cold in the cup.
Familiar tastes and sounds and movements aren't simply comforts. They don't just help us identify with a country or a city or another time. They help us identify with ourselves.
Okay, I get it.
I'm pretty sure this is a form of torture used in actual prison camps. Leave it to me!
So yesterday, I made the ultimate comfort food, Vietnamese noodle bowls, which Adam and I used to make once a month or so in Ottawa. They're a lot of work, but the ritual is incredibly familiar, slicing the cucumbers into delicate sticks, frying little slabs of tofu, flipping the omelet and slicing it into long, thin strips, putting it all out on the counter: the chopped herbs, basil and mint, the jar of hot sauce, and two bowls of steaming vermicelli.
While I was doing it, I listened to CBC Radio comedy show about what makes Canadians Canadian. Not at all funny. But nice to hear the familiar sounds of the station: the opening music, the droning host. When I was a kid, my father had CBC on every morning for the snow report; in the afternoon, the talk programs prattled on, keeping him company as he tinkered in his workshop, Postum going cold in the cup.
Familiar tastes and sounds and movements aren't simply comforts. They don't just help us identify with a country or a city or another time. They help us identify with ourselves.
Okay, I get it.
4/4/11
Existential Migrants
"It's a thin line between a groove and a rut," Adam mused, as we walk along the narrow sidewalks on Georgetown's historic M Street.
"Exactly," I agreed. "That's why we felt like we had to move. Because the deeper a groove gets, the less you are challenged, the less you grow and the further you move away from creativity."
I've been reading a lot about home and belonging these days, as I work (frantically? earnestly?) on the first complete draft of my thesis.
Last week, I came across the work of Greg Madison, a Canadian psychologist who defected to England. There, he interviewed hundreds of voluntary migrants--people who moved to London by choice--to find out what common threads existed among them.
What he figured out is that they are all engaging in ‘existential migration,’ which he describes as a chosen attempt to express something fundamental about existence by leaving one’s homeland and becoming a foreigner.
The concept resonates with Adam and I deeply.
We couldn't stay in New Brunswick. And eventually, we started to realize that we couldn't stay in Ottawa, at least not continuously. We both felt the need to relocate in search of a space in which 'the self could unfold more freely' (Madison's words).
Indeed, strangeness is inspiring. My friend Christina tells me this all the time. She and her boyfriend got married a few years ago, so they could move to the US together, where Tyler had a nursing job lined up. Their goal? The wide, blue Pacific Ocean. Surfing, in particular. So, down they went. Down, deep through the United States, in a U-Haul with their little dog and all their belongings. The result has been a years-long odyssey through loneliness and connection, adaptation and reflection along miles of sand and salty water.
---
So, here we are. In an unfamiliar place, uncomfortable with our now imperfect lives, yet able to relate to ourselves in a new way.
--
It's really nice. But we still miss all of you, of course.
"Exactly," I agreed. "That's why we felt like we had to move. Because the deeper a groove gets, the less you are challenged, the less you grow and the further you move away from creativity."
I've been reading a lot about home and belonging these days, as I work (frantically? earnestly?) on the first complete draft of my thesis.
Last week, I came across the work of Greg Madison, a Canadian psychologist who defected to England. There, he interviewed hundreds of voluntary migrants--people who moved to London by choice--to find out what common threads existed among them.
What he figured out is that they are all engaging in ‘existential migration,’ which he describes as a chosen attempt to express something fundamental about existence by leaving one’s homeland and becoming a foreigner.
The concept resonates with Adam and I deeply.
We couldn't stay in New Brunswick. And eventually, we started to realize that we couldn't stay in Ottawa, at least not continuously. We both felt the need to relocate in search of a space in which 'the self could unfold more freely' (Madison's words).
Indeed, strangeness is inspiring. My friend Christina tells me this all the time. She and her boyfriend got married a few years ago, so they could move to the US together, where Tyler had a nursing job lined up. Their goal? The wide, blue Pacific Ocean. Surfing, in particular. So, down they went. Down, deep through the United States, in a U-Haul with their little dog and all their belongings. The result has been a years-long odyssey through loneliness and connection, adaptation and reflection along miles of sand and salty water.
---
So, here we are. In an unfamiliar place, uncomfortable with our now imperfect lives, yet able to relate to ourselves in a new way.
--
It's really nice. But we still miss all of you, of course.
4/3/11
Newseum
Almost all galleries and museums in DC are, as I'm sure I mentioned incessantly before we moved, 100% FREE. This has caused me no end of joy, since I am my parents' daughter and thus, extremely frugal. The Newseum is far from free, however, so I had basically written it off, scoffing about the subject matter and the steep admission fee.
But I traveled down that way the other day to drop off my EI papers at the Embassy and saw that the museum has a show on the last fifty years of sports photography. Naturally, I wanted to take my man because I knew he would love it. So, I dug up two coupons for 25% off admission and we spent an hour or so looking at gorgeous, full-colour photos of Michael Jordan, Carmello Anthony, Babe Ruth, Ali and Magic and debating the importance of sports heros to contemporary males and the popular imagination.
And, it turns out that the Newseum has a lot of other pieces going for it, including sections of the Berlin Wall in an incredibly poignant exhibit.
It's good. It's worth seeing. Go if you come. We can't wait to see you.
A Grown-Up Thing
A lot of the participants in my thesis research talked about how a big step toward making a home for themselves was gradually acquiring more 'grown-things.' They didn't mean big-ticket items, like a new car or their first house. They meant basic stuff like matching hangers or a couch that cost more than $60 and a case of beer.
Adam and I are always slow on the draw when it comes to growing up. In the traditional ways, anyway.
But here it is. Finally, our first queen mattress to fit the perfect, solid-wood frame we waited years to find. The cats are psyched to have even more space to steal away from us while we sleep.
Adam and I are always slow on the draw when it comes to growing up. In the traditional ways, anyway.
But here it is. Finally, our first queen mattress to fit the perfect, solid-wood frame we waited years to find. The cats are psyched to have even more space to steal away from us while we sleep.
3/30/11
Nothing You Haven't Seen Before
Not like I haven't already posted a billion photos of the cats, but now they have a new job to do. Keeping me company while I write, write, write. Making my argument, staying consistent, staying the course. One hundred fifty pages worth. Not really my style. The length, the tone of the prose, the audience. Not my thing, churning out this dusty old document for some fusty academics.
Good thing I have those two cats. Working at home in a strange city is lonely business.
3/26/11
Breakfast at 2425 L St NW
We have a wheat-sensitive person in our household, so I'm always thinking up new alternatives to our favorite comfort food. This morning, we woke up to all-rye overnight French toast with cardamom and nutmeg. Topped with blackberry, banana, pure Irish butter and dark, delicious maple syrup. This first attempt at doing FT with dense sliced rye turned out beautifully, but the tangy flavour and chewy texture is not for the faint of mouth.
3/25/11
Why we moved? Why we moved!
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But, gradually that 'honeymoon phase' fades and the reality of everyday life begins to take over. In this second phase, people begin to experience frustration and annoyance with everyday differences. Ugh, we can't let the cats out into the hall outside our unit. Our neighbours aren't nearly as amazing as Liz and Ziad. Trader Joe's doesn't sell vermicelli or fish sauce or dried lentils. The dry cleaner across the street isn't as nice as Fong. No credit history. No Piggy Market. No pay-by-weight vegetarian restaurant on our corner.
So, it's not surprising that we've started asking ourselves why we left our perfect little lives in Ottawa where we had fine-tuned everything--our condo, our closets, grocery-shopping, commute times, bill-paying, social networks--to our exact preferences.
Fortunately, when these feelings threaten to take over, we're always confronted with something new and exciting...reminding us that we left Ottawa to avoid getting into the deep rut that a city so safe and lovely can encourage.
Today, my new and exciting was to visit Sabor'a, a Latin American food truck parked only a few blocks from our condo. Food truck culture is really ramping up here in DC and I'll write more about it later, but suffice to say, we're grateful to Amy and JP for introducing us to the Portland version of this delicious, ground-level phenomenon last summer. Very grateful!
Strangeness is inspiring, my friend Christina likes to say. Yes, it is. And that's why we pulled up stakes and moved the mass of our family and household to another country. It's been a shell-shocking, challenging, exciting, delicious and fascinating ride so far. And on we go!
3/23/11
March On
The last couple weeks have been a blur of up and down emotions. Meeting Steve and Julia for Latin American food; visiting the Hyperbolic Crochet Coral Reef exhibition at the National Museum of Natural History, trying to get my Mac fixed (success!), planning (then canceling) a trip to NYC with Sarah and Chad, drinking iced coffee at Dean & Deluca on Sundays and visiting the Canadian Embassy to drop off my EI stuff.
The highlight for Adam (and even for me) was attending two March Madness games last weekend! We took the metro (packed with other NCAA fans) to the Verizon Centre and even before the escalator to ground level reached the top, we heard the sounds of a New Orleans-style six-piece black male street band, pumping away to a huge, grinning crowd of bad dancers, drunk ticket holders, scalpers, stoners, little kids, rough guys in U of Pitt sweatshirts and a couple of really excited Canadian ex-pats.
Oh yeah, the games were fun too. The first was a big upset with an incredible finish (email Adam if you want a detailed play-by-play), and we cheerfully tucked into the driest, most inedible pretzel I've ever encountered, washed down with a bottle of cold Diet Coke. Yeah, we brought our own snacks too -- peanut butter granola bars, Babybelle cheese, dried cherries and Marcona almonds.
We also visited a Dutch farmer's market, which I'm writing about for Enroute online. What a crazy place! Tucked away in a suburban Maryland strip mall, the market draws a surprisingly eclectic mix of people, considering the incredible segregation we've witnessed in most of DC so far. Too much delicious food to mention it all. Just dream about pumpkin roll with cream cheese filling; flaky buttery pretzel rods stuffed with sausage, egg and American cheese; hot and sweet pickles; and home soured kraut. And yeah, the Amish guys running the stalls wore straight-up bowl cuts and long beards.
Weekend of major fun coming up! But in the meantime, I have work to do!
3/11/11
To My Attention
It has come to my attention that some of you want more updates, more photos, more, more, more. To that end, my report today is that we have been, as you'd expect, slogging and slipping through the busy, fitful and strange work of setting up shop in a new city.
In the 70s, the 'West End' (where we live) was filled with tenement and low-income housing, which the city decided to move, close down or otherwise dismantle. By the time the 90s rolled around, this vision was really starting to materialize and today, there are very few reminders of the former residents, save for some little row houses all mashed together on an occasional side street. They look quite pretty, actually. Much better than the mirrored high rise buildings and hotels that throw shadows over the sidewalks. But our building used to be a women's hospital, so it looks kind of stately. And I've sussed out the cooler parts of the area, a hang-out coffee shop, the little library across the street, an independent movie theatre, my cheap Asian nail salon and a handful of small restos along P Street.
The neighborhood is in a bit of a 'nowhere' zone, I guess b/c it was basically manufactured by the city. B/c of that though, it's situated at the nexus of Dupont (full of boutique beer bars, girls wearing yoga pants, and overpriced lofts) and Georgetown (a bit high-end, a bit overrated, but also packed with beautiful old stone buildings, brightly-coloured storefronts, a Dean and Deluca, bookstores and open, alleyway patios). We're a 2 minute walk from a mid-week farmer's market, 10 minutes from the biggest market in the city and 3 minutes to the metro.
Don't you want to come visit?
In the 70s, the 'West End' (where we live) was filled with tenement and low-income housing, which the city decided to move, close down or otherwise dismantle. By the time the 90s rolled around, this vision was really starting to materialize and today, there are very few reminders of the former residents, save for some little row houses all mashed together on an occasional side street. They look quite pretty, actually. Much better than the mirrored high rise buildings and hotels that throw shadows over the sidewalks. But our building used to be a women's hospital, so it looks kind of stately. And I've sussed out the cooler parts of the area, a hang-out coffee shop, the little library across the street, an independent movie theatre, my cheap Asian nail salon and a handful of small restos along P Street.
The neighborhood is in a bit of a 'nowhere' zone, I guess b/c it was basically manufactured by the city. B/c of that though, it's situated at the nexus of Dupont (full of boutique beer bars, girls wearing yoga pants, and overpriced lofts) and Georgetown (a bit high-end, a bit overrated, but also packed with beautiful old stone buildings, brightly-coloured storefronts, a Dean and Deluca, bookstores and open, alleyway patios). We're a 2 minute walk from a mid-week farmer's market, 10 minutes from the biggest market in the city and 3 minutes to the metro.
Don't you want to come visit?
2/23/11
A House A Home
So, here’s where I spend most of my time these days. Our new kitchen has a big shiny fridge and an awesome gas stove. And although it’s not as much fun to cook for just Adam and I (we greatly miss bringing our leftovers to Liz and Ziad), I’ve been digging into bagfuls of booty from Trader Joe’s and whipping up two-bean burrito bowls with smoked corn and ricotta-yogurt cream; basil-stuffed egg white omelets; and Parmesan paninis on multigrain muffins. Between cooking and digging through piles laundry and sweeping up dust kitties under the couches, I’ve remembered that yes, once I wanted to be a housewife when I grew up. I guess I forgot.
