Losing a pound of love

It was a tough trip to the States for Maya. Not only must a big country seem infinitely bigger when you're that small, but she was also surrounded my other dogs. Everywhere we stayed, there were at least two other dogs with which she had to compete for food and water and (heaven forbid!) attention. Some she got along with (Julie the Sheltie and Reagan the Japanese Chin), some she didn't (Mica the female Siberian Husky and Hatton the Golden Retriever); some scared the shit out of her (Caleb the arthritic Chesapeake Bay Retriever) and some desperately wanted to date her (Shadow the male Siberian Husky, that old devil). In the end, though, they all worried her to death. Between that and the 8000+ miles of air travel, she lost as much as 1.1 pounds, from 4.8 before we left to 3.7 by the time we got back.

By my (admittedly random) calculations - give me a break, I was a Humanities major - that means that the amount of love I am receiving in my daily interaction with Maya, love muffin that she is, has been reduced by 23%. Twenty-three percent! I'm a quarter down on love, people!

Strangely, however, her patriotism seems inversely related to her weight, as evidenced by the attached photo, taken after our return from the States.

More tests are definately in order.....

And now it's been 10 years and I'm still wondering who to be

Got an email from my dear friend Becky today. She writes:

"In other terribly depressing news, I got THE CALL last night. Yep, the one I've been dreading. The 10th HIGH SCHOOL REUNION is upon me."

Having long ago located my 10th high school reunion web page online (www.franklincountyhs1996.com), I was not nearly as shocked as poor Becky at this unavoidable reminder of acne, band camp, and that painful rejection by the cheerleading squad that $10000 in therapy never managed to erase from your delicate psyche. In all honesty, I'm actually looking forward to my reunion. In eager anticipation, I've already made contact with several of my old classmates, exchanged photos and caught up on missed moments in their lives. I find it truly enjoyable, despite the fact that - as Ben Folds Five so brilliantly put it - "now it's been 10 years and I'm still wondering who to be."

This ability on my part to look beyond the directionless wanderings of my life to this point has a lot to do with the indisputable point that - on paper at least - my life looks pretty damn amazing if I'm selective with the facts I relay. Case in point, "I've been happily married for four years to a man I adore; I've been living in Germany for the past two years and have travelled extensively throughout Europe during that period to countries including the Czech Republic, Poland, Austria, Italy, Swtizerland, France and Belgium; I recently completed my Master's degree with the University of Heidelberg and hope to begin my PhD in the fall.

Question: Who wouldn't want a life like that?

Answer: Me.

Because here are the facts that I left out: The man I'm so happily married to is in a war zone on another continent and has been for the past six months. I won't see him again until October. I am so sick of travelling and feeling like a tourist in my own home that I could scream. And my Master's degree is in American Studies, a discipline which (forgive me, my HCA friends) I fear makes me all but unemployable. If one more person says to me, on hearing the subject of my degree, "So, whaddya wanna do with that - teach?" I swear to God I will murder them with my bare hands.

When it comes to my 10 year reunion, however, I think I can leave a few facts out when describing my life these days. I think I'm entitled. And I don't think anyone would blame me if I secretly wished that that girl on the cheerleading squad was now REALLY fat. I mean like Orca fat. That would be a nice bonus.

Hello. My name is Amy...

....and I'm an Alias addict.

Since I've been back in Germany, I've done exactly three things. One, I had (and seemingly continue to have) a throat infection. The little bugger seems impervious to all the antibiotics I throw at it. It's probably bird flu.

Two, I started my new job at the USO in Mannheim. After nearly two years of volunteering with the USO here in Heidelberg, it's amazing to show up, do exactly the same thing I was doing last week for free, and GET PAID for it. If only I'd known that they would pay me for it in the first place, I never would have done it for free! (Wow - taken out of context, that last sentence could definately end any hope I might have of a career in politics.) The people at the USO are great; they're the same folks I've been working with for these last couple of years. And best of all, the job is extremely low stress. My most important assignment every day is to ensure that the refrigerator that we sell cokes out of is fully stocked. After my last job, which involved a level of stress that oozed out of my eyeballs and pooled on my desk in icky little puddles, this job is like a vacation.

Three - and this is where the addiction part comes in - I've been watching Alias. For those of you not familiar with this most excellent show let me update you. It stars Jennifer Garner (she of the new-and-improved Bennifer fame) as a wig-wearing, ass-kicking, super-secret-squirrel-society-type spy with subplots upon subplots about naughty Russian spy mothers and cold, Mommy-killing fathers, and evil geniuses around every bend. We're talking waaaaaay over the top here, people. And I love this show. I love it so much that I think you have to spell it with a 'u': I luv this show.

I never actually watched it while it was in production (I think it's off the air now, non?), but those wonderful folks on AFN started rebroadcasting the series from the beginning about two months ago, and I got hooked. Happily for me - but sadly for my addiction - my husband sent me the first four seasons while I was away in the States. You know what that means, sports fans - that's right, I've sat in my apartment all week long, doing nothing but feverishly watching Alias episodes for hours at a time.

They say the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem.

Turning 28 on the 28th

Here's what I've learned in my first day of my 28th year: 1) the mojitos and margaritas have never tasted better, 2) sales people are always willing to fetch you a drink as long as you're buying jewelry, 3) it will always be embarassing to have someone sing to you in Spanish while forcing you to wear a straw hat, 4) the older you get the more often you lose the people you care about.

A week and a half ago, the earth gained a new explorer with the birth of Elizabeth, a much welcome addition to the lives of Berry and Jonas. Having been her first ever babysitter just last Thursday, I can personally testify to the beauty of the little soul peeping out from behind her eyes. If her genes are any indication (especially on her mother's side), her life will be a blessed one, full of feminine power and promise.

But it seems that the world doesn't give us such an enchanting new soul without asking for something in return. Today at 6:08pm it took from us the life of Melanie, a sister and friend. Although I hadn't spoken with Melanie since college, my memory of her is so vivid. She had the spirit of a dynamo in a body betrayed by cystic fibrosis; I always felt that nothing could describe her better than the car she drove, a bright purple Ford Mustang that was as recognizable as Melanie herself.

Some people say, "The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away." I think perhaps it's a little more complicated than that. Perhaps it's closer to the truth to think that Melanie's energy and spirit can never be taken away from us. Instead, it's simply redirected into new souls like Elizabeth, and through such channels it continues unabated and undiminished.

Either way, today's blog is dedicated to life's travellers, but those newly arrived and those recently departed.

to Elizabeth: Welcome to Earth.
And to Melanie: Welcome Home.