Roadways and Roundabouts - Revisited

When we first moved here, learning to navigate the roads was a challenge.

In a creative attempt to slow traffic, communes turn busy streets into an obstacle course. They add speed bumps -- long ones that stretch across the road, and sometimes it is difficult to know how high they are until the kids hit their heads on the ceiling if I don't slow down enough. There are giant square speed bumps that are usually positioned next to each other, leaving drivers to wonder if they should try to go through the middle or attempt a "one-side" hit, where half of the car goes over the bump. I've learned that the most effective approach for minimal bump-age is straight on (the biggest part of the square goes right between the tires).

There are also the road blocks. These are big structures that block half of the road, making it impossible for two drivers to pass each other at the same time. Sometimes they even make them pretty, by planting flowers in them. Drivers are forced to take turns going through, meaning that driving in my neighborhood can easily turn into one big game of chicken, especially if someone doesn't know the rules about who has the right-of-way.

And we also have lots of roundabouts. These help with the traffic flow and keep everyone moving through busy intersections - much better than traffic lights and stop signs, in my opinion. To add just one more level of excitement, there is also the "yield to the driver from the right" rule. This means that at unmarked intersections, drivers on the right, always have the right-of-way regardless of who gets to the intersection first, unless the road coming from the right is a smaller road, coming into a major road. Ahem. You can probably guess that not everyone agrees about when a road is "smaller." I know the culture of my own neighborhood's streets, but I still get paranoid driving in unfamiliar neighborhoods.

As you can imagine, Saturday and Sunday mornings sometimes reveal carnage from the late night drivers of the night before: tire tracks in the flowerbed of a roundabout; pieces of a broken headlight combined with a missing chunk of cement from a roadblock; or even a fallen streetlight. In all fairness, if you aren't familiar with the streets, the roadblocks aren't always easy to see in the dark whether you've had a few drinks or not.

On our house-hunting trip almost six-years ago, I remember feeling like I was driving with Jason Bourne. My husband zipped our little rental car up and down the side streets like he was being chased. He might have had fun weaving in and out of roadblocks, and bumping over speed bumps, but I remember gripping onto my seat and yelling at him to slow down. For friends and family who have followed this blog since its inception, they might remember an early blog post about our drive to school. (I would link to it, but the host-site doesn't exist anymore.) Our drive to school over bumps and around the roundabouts, combined with his nerves and yogurt for breakfast, made Monkey carsick. He even threw-up all over me one morning.

It's funny, as we get ready to move, I am coming face-to-face with a lot of new expats just arriving. After all, I have to sell everything in our house that plugs into a wall, and new expats are buying everything for their house that plugs into a wall. It's a symbiotic relationship. Part of me is jealous that they are just beginning their experience, as ours is coming to a close. The other part of me feels like I did my senior year in college - it was fun while it lasted, but it is time to be done. But it is also providing me with a fun reflection - of how I felt and what I thought, when we first arrived, as compared to how I feel now.

A recent FB post from a new expat friend reminded me about how scary it was to drive here in the beginning. Last week, we had one morning where everyone got out of the house without drama. Everyone remembered lunch boxes, swim bags, and we were even on time. That morning, I slowed down to the perfect speed to go over the speed bumps and no one hit their heads. My car wove in and around the roadblocks in perfect sync with oncoming drivers, waving my gratitude to the cars that paused when they were supposed to yield. Zipping around the roundabouts at a smooth pace so as to be considerate of Monkey's sensitive tummy. It felt like a fine-tuned choreographed dance. One that is soon coming to an end.  

I Am A Twitter Convert

It's true. I am a Twitter convert. Not that long ago, Twitter was a social media tool that was very far out of my comfort zone. How does one "tweet" to strangers? And I had to figure out how to use a "hashtag".

But I persevered and I'm glad I did. If there is one thing I've learned in the past few months, writers have to tweet. Twitter is the place where all aspects of writing come together: publishers, agents, bloggers, published authors and those aspiring to be published authors. Publishers and agents tweet about what they are looking for in a project or query. Writers tweet book suggestions and writing advice.

And contests! There are pitch contests galore. And while it's not easy to condense my entire manuscript into a 140 character pitch, it is a great exercise that every writer should do with each manuscript they write. There is something about having to weed through the characters and plot twists, to find the simple words that summarize the entire story. It is a road that leads to clarity and purpose.

And I found my Twitter sprint group! There is a group of writers, that gather at their computers every Friday night. And in thirty minute segments, they write and write and write. When the 30 minutes is up, they report word counts. It begins on Friday night, U.K. time, and at some point changes off to a U.S. group. If I wanted to, I could even wake up early on a Saturday and catch the end of the U.S. sprints in the morning. (But that would require waking up early, and therein lies the problem.) I used to be a closet Friday night writer, but now I don't have to be.

And let's not forget my ghost groups. I love ghost stories. I always have, they fascinate me. I love ghost stories so much that I write my own. And on Twitter, I can follow a plethora of paranormal research groups, all in once place.

As Facebook is the social media tool for family and friends, Twitter is the tool for networking. Especially within my particular passions. And I am happy to be a convert! @NCTFowler

Travel Spaz

I learned something else on that trip to London, besides how lucky I am. I learned that I am a spaz when I travel by myself. The week was busy, it’s never easy to plan a big disruption in the middle of the week. And - me leaving in the middle of the week for an overnight and all of the kids going to different houses to sleep - was a big disruption.

Monkey had swimming, so he needed his swim bag. He and Miss B went to one friend’s house for the night, so they needed their overnight bags. AJ went to a different friend, he needed his bag. I needed my bag for an overnight. It gets to be a lot to pack and a lot to remember, just for one night.

Fortunately, my writer/lawyer brain categorizes everything and remembers the tiniest of details, from Monkey’s inhaler to snacks and swim bags. Unless, of course, it is something critical that I need for myself.

The last time I traveled by myself to London was for a writer’s conference. And I missed my train connection. I just read my ticket wrong or something and I missed my train. Anyone that knows me, knows I don’t do stuff like that. Normally.

Today, on the train from La Hulpe to Midi, I realized I forgot my Belgian id card. I had my passport of course, but not my id. I spent a solid twenty minutes in a panic sweat about it. What should I do? Taking the train back to La Hulpe to get it would take hours. I decided to go ahead anyway and see what would happen. They rarely ask for it on the way out of the EU, and once I was out, I could worry about getting back in later.

Well, the border agent asked for my Belgian ID. Of course. But somehow, someway, I got a really nice border guard. With a smile she gave me a stern warning to always carry it with me (reminding me once again about the power of a U.S. passport). 

In the end, my worry and panic was for nothing. Well, not really for nothing. I walked away with a lot of mental notes about what the panic felt like and how worried I got about something that turned out to be nothing. 

Now, the next question, which of my characters needs to worry about an interrogation? Because now I know exactly how to write the scene.  

Unbelievably Lucky.

I feel very lucky today. Well, I feel lucky every day that I wake up in Belgium. But today, I feel even luckier. (Is that a word? I think so, my spell check didn’t flag it.)

Today, I took the kids to school, and tonight, they will all go stay with friends overnight. So, I feel lucky that we have friends here that are willing to take our kids for an overnight, and I feel equally lucky that I know our kids will behave and not be too much trouble (hopefully.) Luke was a little weepy this morning when I left. But I handed him off to his third grade teacher who had managed to turn his tears into a smile before I even walked away. I feel lucky that Luke has such a good teacher this year, even if it’s just for a few months. (What is that, reason number 4?)

Then, I drove to the La Hulpe train station and got on the train. I feel lucky to live in a city with trains. Then, I rode it to Gare du Midi. There, I cleared customs (reason number 5 or 6, I've lost count, for feeling lucky, but deserves its own blog entry) and boarded a Eurostar train to London. I feel lucky to live close enough to London that I can take a train and get there before lunch.

I am going to London today, because fifteen years ago, I got married. I married this guy, who had a passion to see the world and a gift for talking to people. Specifically, he has a talent for being able to connect with people from other countries and cultures. Talk about luck. This guy took me to London for our honeymoon and it was our first trip abroad together. I remember riding the train into London from the airport, watching the gardens of the houses rush past, thinking, “I could live here someday.”

For the past five years -- one third of our marriage -- that dream came true. (See original reason for feeling lucky today, above.) My parents were here this summer when we celebrated our fifteen year anniversary, and not that I’m not thankful for the nice dinner we had with them on August 8 (thanks again Mom and Dad), tonight I’m meeting John in London so we can go out for a date. We have tickets to see Les Miserables, a show that we saw on our honeymoon.

I’m on the train now, and everyone around me is talking about where they will go first when they get to London. Which museum? Which neighborhood? The Italian guys near me have a map spread out between the four of them, and they are taking this conversation very seriously.

And it occurred to me, that this is the first time I’m going to London, and I don’t want to “see” anything. The first thing I’m going to do when I get to London is go for a run. I’ve always wanted to run the loop around the bridges between Covenant Garden and Big Ben. But I never have my running stuff because there is never enough time. Or else we end up walking too much and I’m too tired.

So today, I feel really lucky that I’m going to London just because I can. And I will have time to go for a run.

A Football Photo

Last night, AJ had soccer practice, and they were doing a dedication of the new Ohain football field at the club. Monkey’s coach sent a message that all players were invited to be a part of the “photo” they would take as part of the inauguration ceremony before the first match at the new field.  I thought it would be really cool for the boys to be part of this. With our upcoming move, this would cement them in the history of our adopted home. What if they hang the photo in the new clubhouse? How cool that they could come back years later and find themselves in it.

Everyone had to wear purple soccer gear. AJ’s practice was at 5:30, and Luke was instructed to be there at 6. AJ’s coach said that they would have practice first, and join the festivities when they were finished (his practice finishes at 7). This should have been my first clue.

Not wanting to drive back and forth to the field, we came at 5:30 prepared for the duration. Miss B brought her doll, and her stroller, and her coloring books and for backup reserve, I had my iPod loaded with Blue’s Clues. (We are used to killing time at the football field.) The sun was warm and bright, and we had fun sitting in the stands watching everything around us. There was a party tent pitched by the field where the politicians were giving speeches and toasting glasses. A beer truck was attending to thirsty crowd goers.

But it was a school night. In the middle of a really busy week. Knowing we would be later than the already late usual, I was even more organized than my usual self. I had a dinner, ready in the oven at home. All I needed to do when we walked in the door was turn on the oven to Broil to melt the cheese on top. (Seriously – it’s the best recipe for a rushed night: Make some penne pasta, mix in a bolognaise sauce and a layer of mozzarella cheese across the top. All you have to do when you walk in the door is turn on the oven to broil. But be careful not to let the top burn – it goes from golden brown to black really fast. I usually make Monkey stand there and watch it.)

But I digress. We sat in the stands of the old field and played. And colored. And watched Blues Clues. And then the sun went down and it got cold. Monkey’s team was running around together. AJ’s practice was finishing up. There was lots of purple everywhere. Except for one group of older boys wearing green. This probably should have been my second clue, but I was too tired and cold to be rational about anything at this point.  

We made our way over to the new field where most of the crowd was gathered. I stood with other moms who were equally worried about dinner, unfinished homework and it being a school night.  And we wondered together, where was this picture going to happen? When was this photo going to take place? No one really knew. Eventually, all of the action moved to the new field. I found an old sucker in my pocket for Miss B.

The speeches concluded, the young players lined up. Finally, this was it. The moment we had all been waiting for, the photo.

It wasn’t a photo. They had all of the kids line up, and cheer on the players who were there to play the first match on the new field. I don’t even think they took a photo.

Ok, so it was cool. Sort of like at a Wild or Twin’s Game when they invite a group of kids onto the field – on a much smaller scale of course.

But it wasn’t cool enough to stand around in the cold, entertaining a bored, hungry four-year-old on a school night. But the silver lining, was that this didn’t happen because I misinterpreted something. The other moms all thought the same thing I did, that there was going to be a big historic photo, and there wasn’t. In the end it didn’t matter, we were home later than normal, but dinner was quick. Homework got finished. Bedtime was a little late, but the fresh air meant everyone fell asleep really fast. In the end, it could have been worse. It could have been raining.