The zucche are back in season - round squash with bright melon-like flesh and ivory-colored bulletproof rinds. I see heaps of them in a plastic milk crate at the market and think about it for a heartbeat, but then remember the toughness of that rind, my desperate awkwardness with knives and, above all, the fact
Eva, they say, you're quiet tonight. They get nervous when I'm quiet - these friends of mine - and they're not wrong to be. I like to talk, and I can do it in twoalmostfour languages. It's rare that I stop - What's that? What's that word mean? Conjugate this verb in dialect for me.
A few months ago, I was interviewed by Blog Expat for their Expat Interviews feature; a lovely time was had by all. Answering the questions made me reflect deeply on my years living abroad - how did I get here (Ryan Air)? What advice would I give other expats (stock up on Jell-O)? But the
E got off the bus and wandered towards the scent of chocolates and strawberries and caramel and lemons and vanilla and sugar and heaven. Dawson Street was always busy this time of day, but she was being pushed more than usual - jostled by a throng that seemed to be converging in front of a
*according to Sean Give out - as in, "Sean gave out to me for yesterday's blog post." After - as in, "Sean's after coming home from work." Well - as in, "I'm doing well today - not good, because if I were doing 'good,' I'd be Wonderwoman." Biscuit - as in, "This hard thing that
British Steve (one of my fellow teachers and friends here) says all of his schwa sounds as "oooh." "Say 'lover', Steve!" urges American Mike, his roommate. "Loooova," Steve will say gorgeously. "I don't have an accent. I don't know what you guys are talking abOAT." says Alan from Ottawa. "But that letter you keep trying
So very much to write but with no internet in my apartment (still) it feels impossible to cram all the things i want to say in little tiny bites. Sometimes I write it all out in my head and figure that when I come to the internet cafe it will all just pour out ...
The internet cafe is not free. There is, apparently, a sign above the computers that says something like "Free internet when you buy 1 drink! 1 hour maximum" but, of course, this, I couldn't read. My new neighbors, Bob and Sean, translated it for me when they bounced over to said cafe, ready to get
Yatta for a free internet cafe just about 10 minutes from my apartment in Sakiio!!! Free is dangerous, though, because for the past 48 sans-intanetto hours i crossed a continent and an enormous ocean while nursing a raging head cold, got settled into my teeny, tiny apato, strolled down the main street in search of