Sublime stuff from New York and Dubai
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Expat Mammy inspired me to share my past experiences of depression. Hopefully it will help others who find themselves in the same boat, especially considering that depression is such an isolating experience. One of its key symptoms is that it makes you feel more lonely and disconnected from the world than you'd think possible. My first incidence of feeling depressed - and by this I don't mean being a bit down or kind of sad but properly in-your-face depressed - was in my early 20s. It was most certainly situational depression brought on by the disintegration of my family (the fact that my life was going nowhere at the time didn't help either). There I was, disappointed on so many levels; the foundations that my life had been built on were shattered and I felt completely bereft, lacking the life skills required of an alleged grown up and with zero confidence in myself, my past and my future. I cried a lot. I hid in my room. I spent larg...
Everyday for lunch I make the same sandwich — turkey on toasted oatmeal bread, with cucumber and green pepper. It's a crunchy ritual I look forward to everyday not just because I love my lunch but because I make it for me. I never really got that idea of doing something for yourself everyday until I got sick this year. I'm very used to doing things for the Kid and the Prince but putting me first? Nope. Until this spring. I had to make time between work and home life for physical therapy, rest, exercise. And yes, even making something for my lunch. And it wasn't until I started the lunch routine that I realized how stupid I'd been. Not putting myself first (at least once a day!) meant I expected someone else would do that for me. I spit out a lot of memes on self reliance to my friends. But I forgot to shove the advice down my own throat. No longer. It's 11:30am here in NYC and I'm about to munch my lunch. So. What are you making for yourself today?
Off to London today for a reunion with old friends, a wedding and a visit to my dear ex-Dubai BF The Harpenden Housewife, not to mention a spot of shopping (sorry, but Dubai simply isn't a patch on London for small boutiques packed with delicious things). I'm looking forward to having a beer or two at my old haunt The Builder's Arms , having dinner at one of my favorite Italian restaurants (nothing fancy but quirky decor and consistently amazing food), lunch with an old GF at the fabulous Spanish tapas joint Dehesa , and of course an indulgent trawl around some great Notting Hill boutiques . Then I'm headed for North Wales on what is essentially a research trip. I've been trying to pull together a story aimed at young adults over the past six months and, finally, it's just starting to come together. Some essential holes in the plot have been filled following a lot of thinking and a bit of what might possibly be divine inspiration. The final step before I c...
"Why do all these people who live in France have to speak French all the time?" "I love horses. They look really yummy, too. But I do really love them." "Mummy, you're going away and leaving us for a whole week?" *guilty feelings* "Does that mean we get loads of treats and get to stay up late every night?" Firstborn: "Mummy! Baby Belly has my DSi and she won't give it back!" BB (one year old): "Mine." "That was really funny, Mummy. You should put it on your blog."
When I was a kid communicating with the outside world was pretty simple. If a letter came through the door, you wrote a response within the week (if you were polite) on your best notepaper and walked it round to the local Post Office. Phone calls came through that big plastic thing attached to the wall, the one with the dial, and if you were expecting a call then you stayed at home until it rang (although this was torture for teenagers waiting for boys to call, especially if your dad insisted on hovering by the stairs to ensure nothing smutty was being said). Once you left the house you were unreachable unless you chose to drop a shiny ten pence piece into the feed slot of a public telephone. If you dropped round to someone's house and they weren't home, you scribbled a note and pushed it through the letterbox. See? Easy. A limited number of options. These days, it's so much more complicated. Email, mobile, SMS, Facebook, Twitter and a variety of other ways for people...
Driving a stick-shift for the first time in years along narrow French lanes with exciting hairpin bends, window open, wind in my hair, alone, blasting out The White Stripes on the car stereo. Who needs therapy?
Me: I would wear it with a bra. It needs a solid bra. Neighbor: I don't know. You're getting too complicated. Me: How is it too complicated? Neighbor: It's just too complicated. Me: Don't understand. Neighbor: You're adding too many variables. Me: It's just a bra. Neighbor: I don't know. It's complicated.
The Maid Slave (MS) is a woman on the verge of desperation. It's summertime so of course the kids are off school and going nuts from boredom and, if that wasn't bad enough, the prospect of going home for a full six weeks without her maid at her side makes her feel a little sick inside. MS isn't sure how some of her friends manage without a live-in maid. A few of them even do their own housework! Her mind boggles when she thinks about how different her life would be without dear Rashida; no long lunches with the girls, no weekly mani-pedi, no spa days, no gym sessions... she shudders. It would be like Before , that awful time when she had to work and do her own laundry... As it is, MS can barely make it through each Friday when she's forced to give Rashida the day off; MS would secretly like to insist that her maid works a full seven day week - after all, it's not like she does much on her day off bar a bit of church and h...
Marvellous, an Internet connection... Following a reasonably uneventful journey - or as uneventful as travelling with three children can be, especially when one of them is a one-year-old determined to find excitement at every available opportunity (forget Snakes On A Plane and think Walking Baby On A Plane - can you see it? Uh-huh) - we are now in Geneva. I like Geneva. Apart from having fond memories of the place due to having lived here for close to three years as a small thing and numerous visits since, it is a very nice place indeed. I can't say I'd ever want to actually live here again - it's a touch too sanitised for my taste - but the combination of Lac Leman and the mountains looming beyond is a pleasing one. In terms of sheer Euro beauty, it delivers on many counts. We're here for the night, staying with a friend, then off via road to France tomorrow. Thank God I remembered to pack the Nintendo DS consoles which hopefully will encourage the older girls t...
We're leaving Dubai in the morning (actually, think it is morning already, oops - in a few short hours then) for the summer exodus; flying in to Geneva then driving down to France where I'll be staying until mid-August, with a brief excursion to London in between. I'll be back on the blog as soon as I can.
I live in: a 1960s concrete box in the lower east side of New York City. I was born in: St. Louis, Mo. If I could live anywhere, it would be: In a home tucked along the cliff of Big Sur, where I could bike each morning to the Big Sur Bakery for coffee, hike to Pfeiffer Beach to write, swim and paint, then grab a glass of Syrah and a steak outside at Nepenthe with The Prince and The Kid. Yes every single day. My favorite escape: See above. But in New York it's the 42nd Street Library's Rose Reading Room in winter weather, and Bryant Park in Spring. At night? The Pearl Lounge at Beauty & Essex , tucked into a banquette, Emerald Gimlet in hand. 5 things to do before I die: write (and publish) several books, wear a couture gown to a formal event, learn to surf, watch my daughter grow up happy, sentient and fulfilled, and see the Palio . I most regret: some things I can't mention here. Most random experience: Meeting Mi...