My Life on the Lane

We Hebben Niet Veel Tijd -- We Don't Have Much Time

2012-02-02T13:21:00.000-05:00

Our days here in Belgium are numbered and soon we will begin the process of repatriation back to the United States. That is, my husband, Mr. Lane, will begin his process of repatriation, since I have been more like a 'visitor' the past two years (and especially since I stayed behind part of the time to allow our youngest to finish high school). As long as I travelled to the states every month or so, I did not need to have a residency card. Mr. Lane had all the official documentation, even a Belgium driver's license, I got off easy...and believe me, I'm glad I did. Waiting in line at the Belgium government offices with Mr. Lane (and hundreds of immigrants and expats) to file his paperwork every several months, was enough reason for me to choose flying to New York every so often. Plus, this way guaranteed I got to go home on a regular basis. A perfect world for me. I will miss Belgium. But, of course, Mr. Lane will still have business here, so I'll be back...to eat, drink and visit the lovely people we've come to call friends. I went for a long drive today, along the country roads outside Antwerp, that have become familiar to me over time. The bumpy cobblestone streets, the village cathedrals, favorite brasseries, bakeries, chocolate shops and book stores...all of which I will miss. I've come to know my neighborhood shop owners, or at least I feel like I know them, they tell me about their lives here in Belgium, always friendly, always kind. I've started to see familiar faces when I'm around town...yesterday, a woman said to me, "Good to see you again!" And I felt almost like hugging her, she has sold me stationary and supplies all this time and I wasn't sure, until that moment, that she saw me as a regular customer, resident of Antwerp, neighbor. My landlord and another resident of my building were here this morning, to help me figure out why my kitchen sink was flooding the offices below our flat. They both spoke in Dutch, but we all seemed to understand each other as they fixed the pipe that had come undone. "You're leaving us soon?" My neighbor said in broken English. "Yes, back to the states," I said. His eyes were so kind and I truly felt we'd be missed. We've moved so many times over the years, eleven to be exact, and this move will be our trickiest yet. I'll go home to Connecticut, where we still have our home at the end of the lane, and Mr. Lane will stay in Antwerp to meet the movers who will pack and send our furnishings back to America on a transport ship. I'll oversee the packing in Connecticut and meet all the shipments at our new home in Ohio. The town we chose just outside of Cleveland reminds us both of New England and Belgium. There's an historic downtown district with small shops and restaurants, and summer concerts in the town park. Our house is on a quiet lane overlooking an old quarry that is now a lake. Homes in town date back hundreds of years and resemble those of our small town in Connecticut and in the countryside of Belgium. There's even a candy store with homemade chocolates. But, I'm sure there are very few Belgians, so we will take our memories with us, of all the people we've met along the way. Of their hospitality, their families, their love of food and wine and champagne and beer...we'll hold them close in our hearts. In honor of Belgium, I leave you with a recipe for Belgian Waffles. Be generous in your serving sizes and share every bite with loved ones, and by all means, just like the Belgians, take as long as you like to finish your meal. Tot ziens!

Belgian Waffles

Heat 1 cup (soy) milk

Add 7g (1 package) dried yeast

Separate 4 eggs (yolks and whites)

Beat the whites until you get a sort of foam

In a deep bowl, combine:

3 1/4 cups flour

1/2 cup (cane) sugar

1 teaspoon salt

Melt 250g (soy) butter and add to flour mixture

Also, add the milk-yeast mixture

Finally, add the four egg yolks

MIX until smooth

Fold in the beaten egg whites

Gently combine with your hands

Let rest for at least 8 hours (I assume in the fridge)

Heat waffle maker until very HOT

Spoon in waffle mixture (should be thick)

Add toppings in Generous amounts:

Whipped Cream

Ice Cream

Chocolate sauce

Fresh sliced fruit

anything that sounds good!

Enjoy!

Authentic Belgian Waffle in Brussels

Our son enjoying his favorite local food -- waffles! We were fortunate that our three grown children and their sweethearts were able to visit us here in Belgium and travel to other countries during their stays.

Yum!!

All is Calm, All is Bright

2011-12-14T18:53:00.000-05:00

Our little town in the states was all lit up with holiday decorations as we strolled down Main Street along with our fellow citizens for the Holiday Walk, the kick-off to shopping and celebrating, which happens every year, on a Friday evening, right after Thanksgiving week. There were carolers and ice sculptors and Santa Claus and horse-drawn carriages...and even a movie star and his new girlfriend (we are a small town, but just charming enough to draw even those with an entourage). All bundled up in my new white scarf, black suede boots and cozy down jacket, listening to a carol or two and dipping into Books on the Common to buy a few gifts, I found myself getting in the mood for Christmas. How can you not get in the mood, with half the town out in the cold winter air, singing songs and greeting friends, children with their eyes wide open as Santa goes by on a sled through town. I mean, come on, it felt like that scene in Funny Farm with Chevy Chase, where he and his wife decide to sell their house in New England after their dreams of moving to the country, so Chevy can write the great American novel, are a total bust. When they find a potential buyer, they talk the whole town (and promise to pay each citizen $50 to depict 'small town' values) into bringing to life, a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting. I love that movie. And I love that our little town reminds me of a Norman Rockwell painting and that it's not an act. It is, indeed, a sweet little New England town, right down to the white painted houses, black shutters, the town post office where everyone chats while they are in line to buy stamps, the diner, the ice cream shop and the gazebo in the park. It's like a movie set, and sometimes I think someone might yell, "Cut!" And the movie is a wrap. Is is possible to be in love with a town? Well, my heart flutters every time I go home, so it must be love. Or maybe I just appreciate it because I live in another country most of the time these days. Or maybe I see it differently, because I live in another country. Antwerp has its charms as well. We flew back to Antwerp a few days after our walk along Main Street, arriving on a Saturday morning, the city still sleeping as we drove along the Scheldt River to our flat overlooking a small harbor. The moon was setting over the city, and holiday lights were still sparkling as the day began to peak through the overcast skies. The riverfront had been transformed into a winter wonderland, tidy merchant shacks had been set up and there was a giant Ferris wheel, lit up and rotating slowly nearby the castle (yes, we have our very own castle in Antwerp...) and there was even a makeshift ice rink complete with bales of hay to sit and rest upon between laps. Tiny white lights were strewn all along the sidewalks and I felt like we were getting the pre-opening-night-sneak-peak as we drove by, the only folks around, those who were setting everything up for the first day of celebration -- which was that day. We were a bit punchy from the overnight flight, so when we arrived at our building, we got a burst of energy and cleaned our whole apartment and pulled out the few holiday decorations that we'd had shipped over when we moved into our flat. Our goofy Charlie Brown style faux-Christmas tree, it's branches all bent and decrepit, magically came to life as we found a few ornaments and a string of lights. Voila! Christmas in Belgium. We napped a bit and then walked down to the river to join in the festivities with our other fellow-citizens...and I must say, it was all too familiar to our sweet little New England village celebration. Santa was there to thrill the children, the street vendors were selling hand-knit hats, warm macaroons (just like my grandmother made), hot chocolate, wooden toys, and of course, waffles, chocolates and beer. Even the castle had a tree inside its courtyard, near the statue of Jesus on the cross. It was lovely, and we felt welcomed back to our other hometown, in northwest Flanders where friends were greeting each other much the same way they were in our small town in Connecticut, a kiss or two or three on the cheek, with a hello! how are you? Merry Christmas! Only, in Dutch of course. My life on the lane is calm and bright, happy and merry, and just as festive on both sides of the pond. Gelukkige Kerstmis, Seizoenen Groet! Merry Christmas, Season's Greetings!

Grote Markt, Antwerpen

Shopping along the Scheldt River

Ice Skating Under Twinkling Lights

Antwerpen, BE

Ice Skating in Antwerpen

Carolers in Ridgefield, CT

Cheerful Storefront in Connecticut

Grote Markt, Antwerpen

Antwerpen Lit Up

Het Steen, Antwerpen's Petite Castle

Window Shopping in Ridgefield

Home Is Where You Hang Your Hat

2011-11-19T15:37:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, Mr. Lane and I landed in Brussels at dusk and as the sun was setting on Belgium, we headed north towards Antwerp, tired from our travels and ready to be back home. Coming around the corner and up out of the tunnel into Antwerp, its dim, glowing lights welcomed us home, and what a sweet, sweet sight....ah...I was home, for one day. The plan...to repack then back to Brussels Airport to begin our final leg of what was feeling like, a world tour. But, for now -- we were home. Home. It's where you hang your hat, keep your stuff, clean your clothes, sleep in your own bed. Home. After the final leg to Naples, Florida, next up for me, home-home, in Connecticut for a few weeks. Survey the damage from the recent, freak snow-storm and welcome my youngest, home for Thanksgiving from college in Boston, along with some of his floor-mates. Can't wait for the house to be filled with a bunch of university kids looking for home cooked food, a quarter-less washing machine, and a regular-sized bed -- all of which I will happily provide. Ah, home. So thankful for home, whether in Belgium or in the states. As we all move towards Thanksgiving, let's be grateful for our homes...wherever they may be, down your own lanes, safe, warm and filled with what is important to you. My life on the lane is filled with travel and discovery and jet-lag, but mostly my life on the lane is all about being home.

Happy Thanksgiving from My Life on the Lane...to you and yours and your life on your lane.

Riprendere Vita...on the Lanes of Italia

2011-11-15T21:44:00.000-05:00

Keyboard Shortcuts Help Toggle. control+alt+h

I've been traveling quite a bit lately, feeling like a rock star on tour, in a way...if rock stars are middle-aged Americans who wear somewhat sensible shoes and suede vs. leather jackets and who can't remember all the words to the songs anymore! Let's see, about a month ago we left our home in Antwerp and with just two, two-day trips back for clean clothes, we have traveled to Lille, France, New York, Connecticut, Boston, Cleveland, New York again, London, Brussels, Lake Como, Milan and Venice and we are now enroute to Naples (the Florida one) via New York and Atlanta, then back to New York to Connecticut, and then back again to Antwerp. Of course then we will head to California for Christmas, why not? Seems fitting for aging rock stars, right? Or at least a corporate executive and his author-wife who have lost their collective minds and are trying to zig-zag through as many time zones as possible ('fall-back' happened for us in England). I'm tired but inspired, jet-lagging with tail-wagging. Okay sorry, that last line proves I'm exhausted and maybe not cool enough to be a rock star after all. I'm writing from somewhere over the Atlantic ocean, wings stretched (ba-da-dum) on to the next place, Florida...for an industry meeting, which to me, means a few more chapters (writing not reading) poolside, hopefully sipping mojitos. Instead of talking about all the places I've been lately, I'd like to share a bit of Italy with you, not only because it's one of my favorite places on earth, but because I learned some new things this time. In the past, I've been to Florence, Pisa, Siena, Tuscany and all its splendid hill towns -- but this trip, I was lucky to see the northern region, from the Swiss border all the way to the Adriatic Sea. Even though it rained almost the entire trip, I found I'm still, undeniably in love with Italy. I feel alive in Italy -- my senses, my heart, my mind all awaken and I find myself 'feeling' my way through each day. We arrived late in the evening to our hotel at Lake Como, and with the rain, a heavy fog was covering the steep mountains surrounding the lake. Out on our veranda overlooking the lake, the rain was falling lightly and boats skimmed the surface of the water, heading home for the night. We slept good that night, a light wind against the French doors surrounding our room. In the morning, we woke to the most magnificent view of the entire lake region, the fog lifting, leaving a blanket of clouds that only added more texture to the peaceful mood of Lake Como. Mr. Lane was off to meetings and I was off to Milan. A driver, Giampaulo, picked me up mid-morning and we headed back forty-five minutes to the fashion capitol of Italy. Milano is a historically rich city with cathedrals and palaces, famous designer boutiques and up and coming little gems that all devine fashionistas would love discovering. It's also a foodie heaven, with cuisine from Italy considered to be among the best in the world. You'd be hard-pressed to find a bad meal in Milano. If it's shopping you want, the department store, La Rinascente, can be found among the designer stores in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele. This is Italy's equivalent to NYC's Bloomies or London's Harrods. The department store carries many of Italy's most popular brands, as well as, many others from around the world. If you're in a brousy mood, you can take a stroll around Cordusio-Magenta, a lovely neighborhood with small boutiques housing creations by Italian designers such as Massimo Crivelli. Of course, bring plenty of euro if you plan on actually buying anything. I bought just one special gift for one special person and easily surpassed my budget...but it was worth every penny, and I can't wait to see him open it at Christmastime :) Don't forget to take a Gelato break (I didn't forget...twice!) with flavors like dark chocolate, hazelnut, banana or orange zest ...yummy-perfecto! If you're more the cultural type, Milano will not disappoint...the city boasts wonderful antique shops bursting with furnishings from the High Renaissance period. The Municipal Modern Art Gallery has exceptional collections from the 19th and 20th centuries, including works by Picasso. If you are lucky enough to secure an advanced appointment, you can view Leonardo da Vinci's 15th century masterpiece, The Last Supper, at the Refectory of the Church of Santa Maria delle Grazie (icbellagio.com). The entire city is a juxtaposition of ancient and modern. Sky scrapers are going up to house fashion designer's growing need for larger headquarter offices, right next to gothic shorter versions that housed great innovators from centuries past. The financial district is home to Italy's stock market, Borsa Italiana, where banks house most of the surrounding buildings. Milan is the capitol city of the region of Lombardy and the province of Milan and is the second largest city in Italy. This accounts for the many strikes and demonstrations in the news. In fact, there was a demonstration going on when I was in town, but my driver, Giampaulo, had a cool gadget that provided a constant stream of info about traffic and city related issues, so he knew where the strikers were at all times and kept me safely away from those areas (the demonstrators can be quite violent if not passionate). That day, they were striking against the bail out of Greece and the domino affect it would likely have on Italy's already weak and corrupt economy. Cost of housing per square meter in Milano is skyrocketing and only the very rich can afford most addresses in downtown Milan. You'd never know, other than by the cries from demonstrators, that Italy is suffering along with the rest of the world -- economically. The city is set up like a spider web, with rings of traffic encircling neighborhoods with the main arteries feeding down into the historical center where the largest cathedral in Italy, Duomo di Milano dwells. This Gothic church took nearly five centuries to build. The Piazza del Duomo surrounds the grand cathedral. In the evening, opera fans marvel at the gilded interiors of the 18th-century theater, La Scala, considered one of the world's most important music houses. The theater also boasts its own museum, with the history of Italian music from the 17th to 20th centuries. Before or after you hear the fat lady sing, you can grab a delicious bite at II Salumaio di Montenapoleone, a Milanese eatery nearby La Scala -- deliziosa!! If you are a wine-ufficiale, then a stop at L'Ulmet for a glass or two to leave you feeling relaxed and satisfied. Ahhh, vino! Le nostre preghiere sono state esaudite! (our prayers have been answered) I was surprised to see canals stretching through parts of the city that were originally constructed for shipments of marble to be transported to the center of town when the Duomo was being constructed or was it when the palace was going up? Well, whenever it was...a long, long, long time ago, complex waterways were developed, some of which have been buried under now, to make way for new buildings and roads. There are a few canals left, with ancient boats, reinvented as restaurants, still floating, although tied up, kind of sadly, on the low tide. The canals are no longer used for boat traffic, and unfortunately, in some areas, now seem to be used as trash receptacles...which is always sad to see. Milano is a bustling, wealthy metropolis, with a graffiti'd middle-class shoving up against its skinny, super-model sides...a hotbed for unrest and controversy. I must say, after a day of walking around Milano, no matter how interesting and gothic-modern, I was very content to return to the restorative and spiritual shores of Lake Como late that afternoon. I wrote into the early evening, a light rain tapping against the tiles outside on my terrazzo. Mr. Lane returned from his meetings and invited me to join him and the staff from his division offices for dinner at Il Gatto Nero (a restaurant supposedly frequented by local-resident-movie-star-extraordinaire -- George Clooney) We both changed into dinner clothes (I was careful to wear something George would find attractive, even though it seems he's not attracted to my age-group, even though he's my same age) and were greeted by his colleague in the lobby for the very steep drive up the mountainside to the restaurant. Winding back down proved trickier knowing the driver had several swigs of Grappa with his cappuccino after several glasses of wine with dinner. But what a way to go if you were going to go...the incredible view, the mountains, it felt like we were suspended above the lake...if we propelled off the side of that cliff, if the car had lost it's grip (remember, it's raining and slick)...well, then all I could do was hope and pray that George Clooney would hear my screams and catch me -- rescue me and nurse me back to health at his gorgeous movie-star villa, which according to our dinner-mates was clinging to the same mountainside we were now traversing, like new skiers making our way down the slopes, back and forth, turning and crossing, turning and crossing, a few feet lower each time (I swear I saw dirt and rock falling down the hillside from our tires...Mr. Lane said I was crazy, but he too had shared in the Grappa-fest, so what did he know?). But alas, we made it back down to our hotel (George hadn't been needed after all) and by that time, the rain was coming down hard, but we found our way to our suite and out onto the veranda for one more look at beautiful Como. I didn't mind one bit that my best silk evening jacket (the one that would most certainly have caught George's eye) was getting drenched as Mr. Lane kissed me, like an Italian lover, right out there in the rain, leaning against the railing, the lake lapping against the ancient stone wall, two stories below, neither of us coming up for air, even when the wind knocked over the trellis behind us....no, for a few lovely days, we lived like passionate Italians, throwing caution to the wind, drinking whole bottles of wine as if it was Perrier, staying up late, laughing, saying things like, ciao and grazie a and scusi! Referring to each other as Bella and Ricardo (more romantico than Mr. Lane, si?). Ahhhh, Italy, I love you. And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, we found ourselves driving (Giampaulo at the steering wheel once again) three hours east, through white-wine vineyards to Venice, city of love. My heart be still. I can't tell you much about the rest of our trip, (privacy please) but it was wonderful, I can tell you that...and Venezia far exceeded my expectations. It was more beautiful than I ever dreamed and even more special than anywhere I've been in a long time. Do hire a gondola in the rain, late at night, off-season, when the only city lights are dim candles illuminating the centuries-old villas...and oh, be sure to choose the gondola with the guide who sings and whistles the greatest Italian love songs ever written, and who takes his time weaving through the canals and is the last gondola back to the dock. Perfetto! My life on the lane is winding, and ancient and romantica and deliziosa (and sometimes even a little dangerous) Ciao-Ciao!

Venice

Beautiful Designer Shop in Milan

Milano in the Rain

Lake Como in the Rain

Venice

Venice Doorway

Lovely Lane in Venice

El Duomo Milano

On Architecture

2011-10-17T11:51:00.000-04:00

Where we live in Antwerp, restoration is on-going with buildings being meticulously remodeled and (unfortunately) in some cases, torn down and completely rebuilt. Seems everyday, there is a new project begun in the waterfront area and throughout the city of Antwerp. Architectural styles of Baroque (with Flemish Baroque having its own distinct styling), Romanesque, Gothic, Neoclassical (which began under Austrian rule in the 18th century), Art Nouveau (Brussels led the world in Art Nouveau during the 1890's) and Art Deco can be found all around Belgium. Some of the newer contempory architecture falls a bit flat alongside more ancient counterparts, however there are some modern jewels which blend and even sometimes explode within the modest skylines of Belgium. Here are some favorite architectural splendors, sublte and spectacular from the low countries. My life on the lane is rectilinear, semicircular, pointed, stylistic and juxtapositioned these days, and I'm enjoying all design concepts -- old and new.

My First Acquisition of Antwerp Art

2011-10-14T12:11:00.000-04:00

I love my new painting by Paul Van Soens, Antwerp artist, who also happens to be our landlord. I fell hard for this abstract painting on display at Mr. Van Soens art studio and gallery, Insularte, which is at the street level of our building. I'd been admiring the painting for weeks with Mr. Lane as we passed by on our evening walks. I came home the other day, with company, and there it was...Mr. Lane had asked Mr. Van Soens to place it in our flat to surprise me. How sweet is that? It's the perfect touch to our modern, loft-like apartment. It hadn't occured to me that the painting had colors similar to the cover of my novel, Restoration, until it was hanging on the wall above the fireplace and a copy of my book was nearby. No wonder I was so drawn to this particular piece. Mr. Van Soens has many wonderful pieces on display in his studio, but this one spoke to me. I think the dark, embossed area looks like cobblestones with the horizon floating above, very peaceful to me. I'm in love. I'm in love with all art these days in Europe. I can't help myself...art surrounds me all day, everywhere I go...I'm immersed in oils, water colors,

sculptures, statues, frescos, murals, even the graffiti moves me. The new European artists inspire me, as they go up against the great masters in history. It makes me think about literary greats and how writers, just like artists, try to imitate and match the masters when crafting their words. Does art imitate life or life imitate art? Do words imitate art and life? Everything and everyone interact and inspire everyone and everything. My life on the lane is inspiring and artistic and literary and absolutely lovely.

Adjusting to Life in Another Language

2011-10-14T11:14:00.000-04:00

We got 'told' in Dutch about
our inproper disposal of
glass bottles, note was
taped up in the elevator
for all to see in our building
(bottles were mostly wine
and beer of course!
drunk and stupid
Americans)

Living as an expat can be challenging, and I now have a newfound respect for all the foreign folks who seemed lost in so many ways back home in the states. I hope I was helpful enough when asked directions in the past or asked where the best restaurant was in broken english or with hand gestures while out and about in LA, NYC, San Francisco, Seattle, Atlanta...etc. I must have one of those friendly, helpful faces, because I am often asked for help in public, even here in Belgium. I have had people approach me for directions in more than one city here in Europe. But, more often than not these days, I'm the one asking...and in my broken Dutch or Frenglish or my idiot attempt at German, please...don't try this at home. I find that if I smile a lot and help them along with their English, people can usually tell me what I need to know. And lately, I must say, some words in Dutch are just rolling off my tongue, which surprises ME the most and I want to give myself a star everytime I remember the correct way to ask for something or greet someone or thank someone or say good-bye (tot ziens). I'm also getting very good at the three-kiss (drie keer). Right cheek kiss, left cheek kiss, right cheek kiss. It's not as easy as it sounds...I have a good-sized nose that tends to get hooked on people's cheeks or worse yet, sometimes I even bump their nose with my nose in the process. If you don't know what I'm talking about, people in Belgium like to kiss on the cheek when they greet a friend or colleague they know (in a social situation or even sometimes a professional situation). Some folks will shake hands if they know you are American, which seems uncomfortable for them, especially men shaking a woman's hand. So, I'm getting good at just going in for the kill...kiss, kiss, kiss. Sometimes the language barrier is funny and sometimes embarrassing, and I find myself trying to be more careful about what I say, so not to be misunderstood, which for me, is an interesting exercise in self-control. I think I'm getting even more polite and certainly more politically correct. Lots of Europeans like to tell me what is wrong with American government and what needs to happen for the world economy to be fixed. Not a lot different from the rhetoric I hear back in the states and just like at home, I strike a smile and nod and wait for them to feel like they've had their fair-say. I'm just not that politically conversational -- at home or abroad. I vote, study the issues, but it's a private matter for me, just like religion and well, some other things too. At least out in public, that is...if you know me well, I'll share my views (it's the Norwegian gene in me to play my cards close to my chest). That all said, the funniest thing happened this week. We've been careful to research and figure out (well, I had anyway, because I tend to be anal about domestic things) the different color bags to use to dispose of our trash and recyclables here in Antwerp. We'd heard (again, really just me) that they are strict about their policies and we not only wanted to avoid high fines, but also because we like being green. We've been carefully separating our plastics, bottles, cans, garden debris, paper and all other trash. Since we travel so much, we hadn't noticed that our glass was being set out in the hallway near the refuse closet in the lobby of our building. Someone was nice enough to dispose of it properly for some time now, and we don't know who that was, but whoever it was, they finally got mad enough to leave a note in the elevator with our bag of glass in the lobby. We didn't get it at first, because the note was in Dutch and the glass was now in a box instead of our bag, so we passed right by it for a few days. Finally, we got on the lift the other night, and their was a longer, more intense looking letter with lots of explanation points!!! I told Mr. Lane, someone must be in trouble, because this letter looked threatening. It was late, but I was curious, so I took the note into our flat and tried to translate as much as I could (the handwriting was not very clear, probably because they were so angry when they wrote it). From what I was able to translate, it seemed as though some idiots were putting glass into the plastics-only container, which was dangerous and could cause someone to cut themselves if the glass broke inside the container and that these disrespectful people were obviously too lazy to walk their glass to the proper disposal site. What? Disposal site? It's a plastics-only container? "Honey! I think this note is for us..." Of course, Mr. Lane was already asleep by then, so I woke him and made him go down to the disposal area with me and retrieve all of our glass debris (and we'd had a party recently, so there was quite a bit). I'm a rule follower, so later, after searching the web, I found that Antwerp has these really ugly receptacles around town where you put your glass. I'd seen one at the end of our lane, but didn't know that's what it was...so again...Mr. Lane was retrieved and off we went, after midnight, mind you, to find our neighborhood receptacle. There it was...right there all the time, that ugly roundish looking thing that blocked my view to the west when turning onto the main road from our flat. "Ahhh, here it is," I said to Mr. Lane, "help me load our glass...the green opening is for colored glass and the white opening is for clear glass." We both looked at each other and laughed, the six foot tall container was completely full, and so was the next one at the end of the next lane. Completely cobblestoned out in our flip flops and tired from a very long day, we grumbled all the way back to the flat with our box of glass containers. Yes, we are still waiting and checking daily for the receptacles to be emptied so we can race down with our glass debris. These are the moments that we miss all the wonderful services right at your doorstep in America. We removed both our apology sign and the Dutch language warning sign and placed them in the paper recycling container...we hope this was the correct way to handle the situation. If we can figure out who was disposing of our glass all this time, well, of course we will bring them flowers and Belgian chocolates, and hopefully we will become friends...and then of course, there will be another person to kiss, kiss, kiss, each time we meet. My life on the lane is all about recycling and kissing and translating and talking in Dutch. Begrijpt u mij? (do you understand me?!) Tot zo! (bye for now)...

Belgium is Not Boring

2011-10-03T13:15:00.002-04:00

One of the most beautiful, well-kept secrets of Northwestern Europe is the countryside of Wallonia (Southern, French-speaking Belgium), the Ardennes and Luxembourg (the city and entire country of Luxembourg where they speak French, German and Letzeburgesch). I'm here to tell you (and I mean, I'm really here, I'm sitting at my desk on the fifth floor, above a harbor designed by Napoleon Bonaparte in Antwerp, Belgium) that Belgium is not -- at all -- boring. I've heard this a lot in the past year and a half, and mostly from people born in Belgium. Often, when I tell locals that I live here now, they respond, with a smirk, "Why?" I find myself defending Belgium and reminding them of the many lovely aspects of their country. They continue to smirk at me, like one day, I'll get it, I'll get what they believe to be true. The Belgians, by nature, have a self-deprecating sense of humor and love to poke fun at themselves. On drunk-driving...a Belgian told a travel writer it's too scary to drive sober in Antwerp (of course he was kidding...the Politie take driving under the influence very seriously and road stops for sobriety checks are very common in Belgium). But, I do see what they mean, some of what is referred to as gothic, ancient, medieval...is really just ugly and old. But, growing up in California, the only buildings of historical architectural importance that I remember, were the Missions. So, the fact that I can walk out my door and see a harbor designed by Napoleon, with buildings lining that harbor that date back centuries, not years, but centuries...well, that just thrills me every time I go cobblestoning (my new term for walking in Europe). The Southern region of Belgium also does not disappoint, but rather, exudes an entirely different flavor from Flanders altogether. In the north, you have sophisticated Brussels, hip and fashionista-ish, yet ancient, Antwerp, medievel Ghent, and romantic Bruges and lovely smaller villages like Lier, Diest and Turnhout. But south of Brussels, in the Walloon region, you have the gorgeous rolling hills and villages of the Ardennes. There are castles and chateaus at every turn, and colorful little hamlets dotting the countryside all the way through the hillsides and forests to Luxembourg. What is boring about that? Nothing. And here are the pictures to prove it. My life on the lane in Belgium is vivid, alive, splendid and stimulating.

Picture Perfect Castle in Vianden on the border of Luxembourg and Germany

Village of Vianden

I love the couple embracing outside this lovely Inn

Cobblestones and Flowers...my favorite

Had the best BBQ spareribs and beer at this cafe in Vianden

Now that's a great lane...

Many of the buildings still show damage from WWII

Beautiful Luxembourg City

Lovely Lanes of The Netherlands

2011-09-27T15:09:00.002-04:00

Yes, there are windmills everywhere...

I spent a few days in the Netherlands last week while Mr. Life on the Lane was in meetings in a little town called Leiden, which literally means, 'pass through' which is all you'd ever want to do in Leiden...so each day, we were in The Netherlands, I dropped Mr. Lane at his office and headed in the direction of anything lovely and Dutch-like. The first day, I went back to Den Haag, where I'd been a couple of times before. Americans like to call this town, The Hague, which does not sound as nice, if you ask me. Nor does Florence instead of Firenze, or Antwerp instead of Antwerpen, or Brussels instead of Bruxelles, although, the Dutch say Brussels and the French say Bruxelles, but I side with the French on this one. At any rate, I spent the better part of the day in Den Haag Centre (prettier spelling again) which to me, is the lovelier part of town. You've got the medieval castle where it all began, when William II, Count of Holland, built his fortress during the 1500's or there abouts (don't quote me on the dates here, since I'm just guessing), and thus, began the most powerful family in the region. Den Haag is the political capitol (Amsterdam is the capitol...capitol) for the country and is in the principality of Zuid (South) - Holland (no, Holland is not a country, it's a region in The Netherlands...a common mistake). You also have wonderful shopping and government high rises, as well as, subtle, kind of architecturally modest homes along the canals. There is a feeling of old money in Den Haag and the suburbs are filled with gorgeous mini-estates with good-sized gardens with privacy gates. Important things go on in Den Haag as the city is often mentioned on the nightly news when diplomatic meetings are in session, so this town has an international power energy of sorts and people look sophisticated. I did not stop to eat anywhere on this particular day, but the restaurants are known to be good and there are lots of bars and clubs as well. It's an elegant, modern city with an old world touch here and there. The North Sea borders the city and there is a Coney-Island type area along the seashore. I spotted several large tulip growers along the route from Leiden to Den Haag, sort of like huge greenhouse facilities where they grow and ship the famous bulbs all over the world. I missed the blooming season last year and hope to catch the show this coming year. I always enjoyed tulip-peeping drives when we lived in the Seattle area, so I'm curious to see if The Netherlands can show me a better time flower-wise next spring. On my second day in the area, I went to Amsterdam, where I've also been a few times and I was determined to see the city in a different light than I have in the past. Seems as though where we came in each time on other trips, we'd end up walking near or through the red-light district before hitting the more pleasant parts of town. Don't get me wrong, I get a kick out that area, but it can be a bit much, kind of like Vegas on crack. And we did some great touring in the past, like the Anne Frank House where Anne and her family hid in the attic during WWII. But, this time, I took a different route and drove directly to the Van Gogh Museum, which is in a lovely part of town with sidewalk cafes, parks and lots of nice shopping. I lucked out and found a great parking spot on a sidestreet and hit the cobblestones for a wonderful day. The Van Gogh was fabulous. A complete history of Van Gogh's life and short career as an artist (only ten years) and of course his tragic self-inflicted death. I felt like a study-abroad student since that's who all seemed to be touring the museum with me. It was fun. I bought lunch for a college student from Colorado when I noticed he was the only one not eating in his group. His friend told me he was short on cash, so I asked Mr. Colorado if his mom knew he wasn't eating and he thought I was funny making him go get a tray of food while I waited at the register. I told him to pay it forward for some other starving student someday...he liked that idea and shook my hand to seal the deal. I then dipped into the modern art museum since I almost went there by mistake when I first arrived (it's right next door) and the guy at the counter told me to come back after Van Gogh if I had time and he'd sneak me in for a quick run-through. He was still there, and in his sweet Dutch accent, told his guard friend to let me in without paying...so see, paying for that lunch for that kid was no big deal since someone else was just as friendly to me at the next stop. After a fast look at floor one and two, I exited and took in some shopping and bought some fabulous boots by an Amsterdam designer. Super comfy and already wearing the tred on the streets of Antwerpen. That night, Mr. Lane and I had a wonderful Indonesian dinner with one of his associates and their spouse. A lovely evening and the food was great. Because of the shipping industry, ship's cooks have been bringing back recipes to the region from Indonesia for hundreds of years, so you can get a great Asian dinner in the Benelux (Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg) Region. You could say, I'm eating my way through Europe, but because I'm walking everywhere, I'm not noticing any extra pounds, thank goodness. My last day, I went to Delft on the recommendation of our dinner companions. And what a great suggestion. Besides Delftware (handpainted blue patterned tablewear), the town was like a mini-Amsterdam or even a little like Brugge, with canals and ancient, medieval buildings and cathedrals. I walked through an Abbey constructed in the 600's. Amazing. I saw more art...there are so many great artists from this region...Gerard Ter Borch, Rembrandt, Carel Fabritius, Van Gogh, Peter Paul Rubens (Ruben's House is in Antwerp), Jan Steen, Johannes Vermeer, Paulus Potter, Frans Hals...just to name a few. I had lunch in the main square of Delft and you'll laugh at me, there were so many quaint Dutch restaurants in between shops with wooden shoes and Delftware, but the restaurant that caught my attention was called, Subway...ahhhh, America! I had a loaded Subway special, toasted, with lite mayo and black pepper, just like I order in the states, and it tasted exactly the same! I was in heaven. Of course I was the only one sitting outside the Subway sandwich shop, but seriously, it tasted so good and the view of the main square was more delightful with each bite (and yes, I got a combo with BBQ Lays and a Diet Coke, perfection). I then hit the shops for a few more touristy buys and then headed back to my car, which of course, with everything in military time in Europe, I had miscalculated how long I'd be gone and didn't pay for enough hours, and yes, I received a parking ticket for my time in Delft. You can add that to my speeding ticket in Leiden for rushing to pick up Mr. Lane...so much for my 'slow down' I began back in the states after my tickets in New York. Whatever. I'm still learning the roads and I seem to think everything is the Autobahn! But, really, driving in Europe is a trick-and-a-half...between the traffic, narrow lanes, cobblestone streets, bikes, pedestrians, trains, buses, scooters, motorcycles and trollies...well, I'm just trying not to hit anyone! I'm hoping those are my only two tickets...time will tell! My life on the lane is filled with art and the Dutch and cobblestones and ancient buildings and canals, and in a weird way, it's starting to feel totally normal (as a opposed to how I felt a few weeks ago...what I think of as freaky deaky!)...and kind of like home. P.S. Please excuse any spelling errors, can't get my spellcheck to work here in Belgium, since I have to translate from Dutch to English and that seems to overwhelm my laptop and it just stares back at me when I click spellcheck...so I'm my own spellcheck which is not a good thing....I'm a writer, not a speller. Goedenacht!

The garden next to an ancient Abbey in Delft

Ancient Abbey in Delft

A 'Delftware' bench in Delft

This might be my favorite picture of all
time. Kind of self-explanatory...
ancient technology -- modernized.
Love it.

Gorgeous Cathedral in Delft
right near the
Subway Sandwich Shop :)

Northwest Region of France

2011-09-20T13:48:00.001-04:00

This structure was part of a
farmhouse outside a village
in Northwest, France
...I'm sure there
is historical significance...everywhere
in France, you see wonderful ancient
architecture with great stories.

Last Friday, we took off for France from our flat in Antwerp, heading in the direction of Normandy to visit the American Cemetery and Memorial above Omaha Beach in the Northwest Region of France. It was a gorgeous drive through rolling hills with cathedrals peaking up above villages scattered along the countryside. We saw farmlands and ancient abbeys, gothic architecture, and lovely little villages. We took the scenic route and tried to stay off the main highways as much as possible. We're lucky that the company my husband works for has supplied us with a fabulous BMW touring car...so believe me, it's a comfy ride wherever we travel these days! They don't call it a 'driving machine' for nothing. The Northwest region includes Brittany, Normandy and Loire. Our focus was on Normandy in hopes of getting as far as the cathedral, Mont St. Michel. We didn't make it all the way, or we did, but it was just too dark to get any good pictures by the time we came upon -- what to me -- was one of the most incredible sights, a magnificant castle on top of a mountain right out on the water, as if suspended in the sky. I hope to go back one day and take the full tour. Always good to have a reason to return. We spent most of Saturday winding along the coast and stopping to see each of'the battle sites from the Normandy Invasion during WWII. This is the kind of roadtrip that husbands love. But, I have to tell you, I was totally caught off guard by how emotional I felt the whole day. Especially when we visited the American Cemetery and Memorial. It was hard to believe that such a peacful place had seen such a horrible battle and that so many soldiers died on that beach that day. There are 9,387 American soldiers buried at the cemetery and 307 unknown soldiers. We walked the grounds and visited the memorial buildings which have wonderful tribute films and heroic stories about soldiers who faught valiently for freedom that day...freedom for our country and for France and for those who were being oppressed and murdered by an insane leader in Germany. The thing that struck me, was how young the soldiers were and how scared they must have been coming in on those boats, with no way of knowing what they were in for...and their commanding officers having to move forward knowing full-well what was in store, to begin the march to Germany...to put an end to the evil that had gone on too long.

So many died right here

Pathway down to Omaha Beach

One of the headstones for
an Unknown Soldier

Hard to believe such a peaceful place
witnessed such horrors during
WWII

We stayed in a lovely little town called Caen in an ancient smallish chateau that had been renovated and decorated with modern, hip sensibilites. It was a place I knew my daughter the interior designer and her architect husband would absolutely adore. We felt pretty cool, and even a little hip. The restaurant's chef has cooked for heads of state from around the world. To say the least, we had the dinner of our lives....unbelievable. I wish I could remember the name of the champagne we had with our dinner, it was almost peach in color and so smooth and dry, I thought I'd died and gone to French heaven. The hotel was called Ivan Vautier Hotel (yes, the chef was Ivan and yes, he was very French and sexy). It was a lovely time and a wonderful trip, emotional, moving and worth every mile. This week...The Netherlands...to be continued. My life on the lane is all winding and exploring and learning and experiencing these days, and I'm just enjoying the ride. Au revoir!

I think I took this photo in the village of
Colleville-sur-Mer, not far from
Normandy

Every cathedral is a beautiful
architectural tribute to the
heavens above

Empty-nested on the Lane...

2011-09-13T11:39:00.000-04:00

When I arrived at our flat in
Antwerp, I found this mother
bird nesting on her eggs
on our back fire escape.
She's a lucky bird,
being a mom is the
best job ever.

This summer was a rush of activity. Kicking it off, was my older son's college graduation from Washington State University. Three days of celebration for the culmination of four years of studies. A few weeks later, our younger son graduated from high school in Connecticut and began preparing for college in Boston, with orientation the next week. Just after dropping our daughter back at JFK to head home to the west coast, the moving van arrived to pack and load our older son's belongings for his new job in the southwest. My kids do everything big, so it made perfect sense to throw in a wedding this summer...my daughter and her husband were married in August, cliffside -- above the Pacific. Between all the planning, and zig-zag trips, for the wedding and graduations, and orientations, and college move-outs and move-ins, birthdays (both my husband and I turned 50 this summer)...I was also packing for myself to join my husband full-time in Antwerp where he's been working for the past 18 months. Once our youngest son was settled at his dorm in Boston, I had less than a week to finish packing whatever I absolutely couldn't live without for the next few months. And get this...I also prepped and polished and perfected our home in Connecticut to go on the market the day after flying to Belgium. So, let's review. Daughter, married. Middle son, graduated, employed. Youngest son, graduated, enrolled in college. House on the market, move to Belgium. This is all great news. Oui? Oui. But, it also means that my nest is empty, we are downsizing and I live in another country. I'm not sure if this is how it's supposed to be done. When birds fly away from the nest, are mother birds supposed to fly the other way? Well, that's exactly what I've done. I live on a different continent than all my birds. I didn't have that first lovely, melancholy week after my youngest left the nest -- of walking into his room to just look around, wistful and teary-eyed. I was too busy cleaning out his room and turning it into a model home version of itself (it seriously looks great). I did however, come across old pictures and art projects and term papers that I helped him edit. I also cleaned out the attic and boxed up what I thought my two eldest might want someday when they have kids. The rest -- all of it -- in more than 15 trips to the Goodwill, was donated or tossed. Each room of our home at the end of the lane, is absolutely spotless and arranged like a model home. I would buy that house in a minute if I was still raising a family and needed lots of space to fill. There are four levels of finished rooms. I will miss them all. My office still sits on the third level (too much hassle with customs to send my desktop, so I write on a laptop here in Europe) with an extra bedroom and even a sitting room. The second level has four ensuite bedrooms and the main level is where we lived. Holidays, birthdays, big meals, a rented movie...a good book by the fireplace. The basement is a teenager's and husband's dream...TV screening room, pool table, air hockey, fitness room, poker table...full bath. The yard is gorgeous and there's even a carriage house with an extra two car garage and an unfinished studio space. It's a short walk to town where you can get a cup of coffee or an ice cream cone right on Main Street. This is the house where everyone wants to hang out, the house where the group prom pictures are taken, the house where the family reunions are held. It's a great home and one we bought as our nest was beginning to empty. I wonder now if we subconsciously were trying to hold on to our nest. Maybe, but not now. That gorgeous house needs a family, one that is still happily in the nest. So maybe it's good that I'm in another country, so I don't have to witness fully the marketing of our home, with all the boxes of memories in the attic, memories from all the houses we lived in together as a family. Our family moved a lot, eight different cities, all over the country, but each house, the laughter and celebrations, big and small moments, were all real and wonderful and will live on forever in my heart. My nest might be empty now, and I may have even flown the opposite way from my birds...but we'll migrate back to each other for visits...and oh, the stories we'll have to tell.

Summer Concerts in the Park

2011-07-13T16:46:00.000-04:00

Ballard Park

Ridgefield, CT

CHIRP Concert Series

Blue Grass band
from NYC

Is there anything better than a summer concert in the park? Yes...a FREE summer concert in the park! Every year, our little hamlet of Ridgefield has concerts at Ballard Park on Main Street on Tuesday and Thursday evenings -- all summer long. Being so close to the city, we get some great bands willing to travel up to Northwestern Connecticut. I have not yet been to one of these events that wasn't a great success. It seems like the whole town shows up, the youngest citizens crowd the stage to dance along, as teenagers hang back behind the crowd on benches, chatting and just hanging out. All the rest of us (the older people) sit in folding chairs or on big blankets sipping a glass of wine. Mr. Lane and I like to ride our bikes to town (since we live only a few blocks south) and have a glass of wine and appetizers before heading to one of the sidewalk cafes along Main Street for dinner. Last night, as we road back up our lane with the moon shining through the trees, I thought there couldn't be a more romantic way to spend an evening. Plus, after all that fresh air, I slept like a baby (as I'm sure all the other babies in town did as well, after they danced the night away near the stage). There's just something so sweet about summertime and neighbors all out enjoying the evening together doing something simple, like listening to music at the town park. It made me think of the concerts of my youth, and not just the big, loud, stadium concerts, but the small gatherings in the park, or by the seashore or in an outdoor amphitheatre. I grew up in Southern California, so I was lucky to be near some of the greatest places in the world for music. But, some of my favorite memories are the smaller venues...free concerts at a nearby park, on the sand at the beach, at a local club, and even once, on a tennis court in Hawaii (Jimmy Messina wanted to try out a few songs one night at the resort where I was staying). On my travels throughout Europe, it's always a treat to come upon a few musicians playing their instruments in a piazza. Right across the harbor from our flat in Antwerp, there are regular outdoor concerts during the summer. We can see and hear them for free from our balcony, where we sit and enjoy a glass of wine and watch the people coming and going. To me, summer wouldn't be summer without music (and obviously a glass wine if you count how many times I mentioned it!)...and music in the beautiful outdoors, well, that's just heaven. My life on the lane is like a song in the summer and I'm humming along....

Mr. Lane enjoying
the concert...

Change is Good...Right?

2011-06-30T23:40:00.000-04:00

Tear down next
to our flat in
Antwerp

The last time I was in Antwerp, I realized that my husband (let's call him Mr. Lane) was not joking when he told me the building next door had been demolished. Temporary supports had been placed between our building (to the left in the photo) and the newly refurbished building on the right. All that remains is a gaping hole -- quite a sight. The harbor area where we live is under total reconstruction, an up and coming, trendy district to buy real estate. There are great restaurants, a brand new towering museum and shops opening all the time. Usually when I show up, there are a few more people moving in around us. This is evident by the exterior lifts for furniture delivery...the elevators are often too small in Belgium for anything more than a few bags or a few people... therefore, everything is brought in through windows and balcony doors by way of lifts. It's quite amazing to watch a sofa or a grand piano being pulled up the side of a building. During the day, the area is full of trucks and union workers, hammering away, scaffolding and cranes are a way of life. There's plenty of noise, but nothing compared to what's coming when an entire building goes up right on the other side of our master bedroom wall. All this reconstruction reminds me of the many changes in my life back home (which is still Connecticut...for now). In the past month, I've traveled to the west coast to see my oldest son graduate from college and then back to the east coast to see my youngest son graduate from high school. That same week, a moving van loaded furniture I was happy to donate (downsize is my favorite word these days) to my older son for his move back out west to start his new job. A few days later, I found myself getting 'pumped-up' at orientation in Boston for my younger son's college. Mr Lane and I stayed in a dorm room (I guess so we could experience the whole experience) and didn't sleep much on the hard mattresses (glad I ordered that egg crate pad for my son a while back -- he'll need it). We ended up talking (and panicking) late into the night. In addition to our sons leaving us high and dry (no tuition pun intended), our oldest, our daughter, our princess, is planning a beautiful wedding on a bluff overlooking the Pacific ocean this summer. So -- there have been trips out west to tour venues and emails with vendor info (I now know the difference between venue and vendor quite well) and we even managed to squeeze in some shopping for honeymoon clothes during the high school graduation weekend. Needless to say, it's a full plate these days. The dorm walls seemed to be closing in on us and even the fresh fruit and bottled waters we stocked in the mini-fridge (a big difference from our college days of Doritos and beer) couldn't sooth our nerves as we tried to figure out the logistics of our life. And then it occurred to me -- these are the days, these are some of the moments that we will cherish most when looking back...but still, I often feel like I'm running in a marathon from coast to coast and from event to event, and once my son is settled at college in the fall -- I too, will be relocating -- finally -- to Belgium. The funny thing is, all the construction going on around our flat in Antwerp seems like nothing to me. It almost feels peaceful. Life is always evolving and sometimes a little reconstruction is in order (sounds like a book called Restoration). My life on the lane is busy these days, and the race is definitely on, but it's worth every mile.
See you at the finish line...
~ Caron

Buying Organic And Local On The Lane

2011-06-01T00:24:00.000-04:00

My favorite salad right now is a caprese salad...field greens, sliced mushrooms, carrots, tomatoes, basil, fresh mozzarella and a lovely drizzle of balsamic vinaigrette...served with side of grilled chicken or shrimp and a glass of vino, magnifico! Here in New England, there are many organic farms (Northeast Organic Farming Association, NOFA) and wonderful farmer's markets and regular markets where you can buy local and organic. I buy Connecticut grown produce at several small markets in my area and at my local farmer's market every Friday, June-October. I like the idea of supporting local farmers, and that my fresh produce, meat and dairy are not shipped in, making my carbon footprint a bit lighter in the process. Plus, fresh really does taste different...and better. I've noticed that most of my favorite restaurants are also buying local and organic. Since I'm too lazy and busy to cultivate a vegetable garden of my own, this is the next best thing to picking tomatoes right off the vine. My life on the lane is fresher these days, and organic and tasty!

Life On My Other Lane

2011-05-23T17:21:00.000-04:00

I live in two countries, two cities, with two harbors, two homes, two time-zones, on two continents, with two languages (although three languages are spoken in one)....you get the drift. I live in one place more than the other, which will flip in September, and then I will live in the other place more than the other one. Okay, now I'm confusing even myself. So, on my recent trip (from Connecticut) over to my other life (in Belgium), I decided that instead of touring, or getting settled, or trying to find places, or meeting people, or buying things we need, or working on my language skills, or whatever else I've been doing on previous trips (four in all this year, the longest being a month-long stay) -- this time, I was going over to just see what it feels like to 'live' in Belgium. First of all, this was the first time I've flown over and not suffered from jet-lag after my overnight flight. For some reason, I was able to sleep fairly well on the flight (maybe because my husband bumped me up to business class, which by the way, I must say, for the record, life is better in rows 1-6...I mean, come on, they even serve you hot fudge sundaes). But, I don't think it's because of the extra rest or the larger seat, it's more to do with the fact that I've been to my new home away from home so many times now, that it's finally beginning to 'feel' like home, and therefore, I'm not emotionally drained or overwhelmed or scared or nervous, I'm just home when I walk through the door. I know how to get there, I understand a lot of what people are saying around me (in Dutch, French, and sometimes German) or I get the gist anyway, by how they express themselves and through body language. A man came up to me while I was sitting on a bench below our flat reading, and asked me in Flemish (I can now tell the difference between Flemish and Dutch) if the long, barge-like boat tied down in front of me was a floating bed and breakfast, and if I was the innkeeper. Yes, it's a hotel, I told him, but No, I was not it's owner. I said this all in English and he completely understood me and thanked me in his own language. I knew he understood, because he walked closer to the boat and entered the phone number for reservations painted on the side into his cell phone and began asking questions. Soon, the boat's captain came out from below and welcomed him aboard to take a look at the rooms. I heard the word, slaapkamer, which means 'bedroom' in Flemish and Dutch. I went back to reading my book, and several more times, Dutch speaking people stopped to ask me the way to a museum or a restaurant or just to comment on the beautiful weather. I could communicate just fine, because I felt relaxed enough to understand what they needed. There was something different happening. The fact that people were assuming I was a local and could help them, was because I looked comfortable in my environment. I've always said, never judge a new place for at least a year, it takes that long to become accustomed to the area and the way things are done (and after so many moves, it really is true). So, even though I don't live full-time in Antwerp, Belgium, I've become one of its citizens, available to answer questions and help my fellow residents (Twerps). Mr. Life On The Lane and I spent time together after he finished work each day, going for walks and stopping for a bite at restaurants, that for once, were not a place someone had told us about, but instead, just looked good to us for whatever reason. We found little shops that were not part of the tourist areas, where we could buy furniture, magazines, flowers, sporting goods, comfortable shoes for a cobblestone city, office supplies, cooking supplies, tea, herbs...really anything we needed. We found smaller parks where locals were playing basketball and soccer and alleyways filled with outdoor cafes. I felt, for the first time, like we were blending in, receiving friendly glances and smiles from our fellow Antwerpians. On the weekend, we did what we always do, a movie, church, breakfast out, cooked meals together and a nice drive to another town for lunch. That other town, just happened to be Brugge. But, we went about our time there like any other Saturday afternoon in Connecticut. We parked where we always park, just near the central square and walked around for a while, bought some chocolates for the drive home and found a lovely sidewalk cafe to have lunch. We could have been at the Spectrum in Irvine, California or Quincy Market in Boston for all we knew...it was just another Saturday, hanging out together where we live. Boy, did that feel good. So, even in a foreign country, with other languages, and different food, life can feel just about the same. Home is where you hang your hat, my dad always said...and he was so right. Couples hold hands, children laugh and play, the elderly chat about the old days, young people hang out together -- everyone trying to enjoy the day. It's nice to know, that when my life becomes more often in Belgium and less often in the states, it will feel comfortable, like home, like I belong. Leef uw leven zonder spijt -- live your life without regret.

Uit Belgie met liefde,

(From Belgium with love)

~Caron

Shops in Antwerp

Lunch in Brugge

Window boxes of Antwerp

Canals of Brugge

2011-03-28T16:00:00.000-04:00

Funny things people have said to me during moves:

Seattle…is that in Portland?

What? Where? Between Oregon and Canada? I thought that state was on the east coast.

You won’t like Norcal…it’s not in Socal.

Is Connecticut in New York?

Do they speak Belgian in Belgium?

Cleveland? At least it’s not Detroit.

La Crosse, Wisconsin…is that where lacrosse started? (No. In the 1400's by North American Indians)

Well, how will I visit you? Do I have to take a ship or something? (Moving from Orange County, CA to Atlanta, GA)

The Adirondacks will be good for you…germs can’t grow in cold weather.

They talk funny there, how will you understand them?

You’re coming back, right?

Winter on the Lane

2011-02-02T22:24:00.000-05:00

Winter in Connecticut actually started early this year with the first flurries appearing back in October. If you don't live in New England, then you've probably seen news reports of record snowfall throughout the northeast. Our little town has been no exception. We've been hit hard and steady all winter so far. There have been blizzard conditions, ice storms, high winds and problems with ice damning on rooftops. We have giant icicles that dangle precariously from our roof line when temperatures rise above freezing. Once the temperature drops, the melting snow freezes into icicles up to six feet long. It's truly amazing. Especially for someone who grew up on the west coast. Don't get me wrong, I'm a seasoned east coaster, having lived in Connecticut before, and also stints in the Adirondacks of New York and also a bit of time in Wisconsin. I know how to work a shovel and snow blower, believe me. I'm more spoiled these days and have a plow guy who keeps my lane and driveway clear and sanded if necessary. He's so overworked this year, that his equipment has needed repair and he sometimes doesn't show up until the end of the day due to the shear volume of snow. All that said, today, in the middle of an ice storm and two consecutive snow days (which means no school to us locals) I -- along with the rest of the world -- received some good news. The groundhog did not see his shadow today. This means, of course, if you believe in such things, that spring will be coming early this year. Hallelujah. I love winter, and snow, and all the beauty it brings, the fresh air and hot chocolate and a crackling fire in the fireplace -- but holy mother of nature, an early spring sounds like a great idea to me. Like most people, I read my horoscope with a slight smirk on my face, and believe predictions and star readings are just entertainment for the masses, not something to live by. The way the astrological forecaster words her (have you ever noticed it's always women who write horoscopes?) reports for each sign could be true for anybody in any situation. 'You will feel emotional toward a loved one.' 'Opportunities at work will be available.' Horoscopes never say things like, 'You will catch your spouse cheating.' 'Your boss will promote the dingaling who sits in the next cubicle, over you, because they've been having an affair.' If only -- that might actually be helpful. But who could predict such things? The same goes for the groundhog. We all know it's mostly for fun and that it's the guys in the funny top hats who make the prediction. After all, since February 2, 1886, Punxsutawney Phil has been emerging in Pennsylvania and predicting when winter will end with 40% accuracy. Give or take. It's an old German tradition brought to America by the Pennsylvania Dutch, who by the way, are not Dutch, they are German. There are some different ideas as to why we call these settlers Dutch when they are German. One theory is that because they traveled down the Rhine River to Amsterdam and Rotterdam in the Netherlands, and sailed on ships registered to Dutch harbors, the English speakers confused them for Dutch. Another theory is that the word for 'German' in German is Deutsch, and English speakers butchered the pronunciation over time (that sounds more like it). At any rate, the Palatine Germans (from the Rhine region) speak Palatinate German and are responsible for the tradition of Groundhog Day in America. When Phil emerges on February 2nd each year, if it's cloudy and he sees no shadow, then it's an early spring...if it's sunny and he sees his shadow, then it's six more weeks of winter. Today it was cloudy. Hurrah. I'm going along with the tradition and count on an early spring. But, I have to say, after seeing the movie, Groundhog Day, starring Bill Murray in 1993, I hope it doesn't just all turn into a big nightmare. That was one of the most frustrating movies I've ever seen. I loved the setting (it was not shot in Punxsutawney, PA, like you'd think, but instead, Woodstock, Illinois, due to nicer hotels for the crew and because it was film industry friendly) but every time Bill Murray set his clock and fell asleep, and awoke to relive the same exact day over again, I wanted to get up and leave the theatre. People have tried to explain the deep meaning behind the movie to me, and either I'm stupid or not very deep, but I just don't get it. So therefore, I'll probably never go to the town of Punxsutawney and actually participate in the Groundhog Day events, but this year, just for kicks, I'm going to believe in the groundhog, with complete conviction. I'm going to pray that he's correct and I'm going to get behind the little furry guy. Spring. Spring. Spring. I will repeat this over and over until it comes true. For I have no other option -- as I sit buried in 72 inches of snow, with icicles hanging outside my window, and more snow on the way this weekend -- than to hope, and hope is the key word here, people, that the groundhog is right, and an early spring is totally, for sure, going to happen (I threw some California jive in there for good luck). By the way, I wrote this whole blog with my fingers and legs crossed, if you believe in that sort of thing. Please, for the love of humanity and all that is good, pray for an early spring and keep the faith. Happy Groundhog Day. ~ Caron

Slow Down

2010-12-15T02:56:00.000-05:00

Recently, I received a citation. No, not a writing award - a speeding ticket, my second in two years in New York. I've received three tickets in my driving career, all of them in New York. I've lived and driven all over the country, countless road trips have taken me through all fifty states. I've even driven in Europe.  I commuted to school and work in cities like Los Angeles, Seattle, San Francisco and Atlanta. Some of the worst gridlocks in the country. But, all my tickets, all three, were received in the empire state.  I don't live in New York (although I did live in the Adirondacks for a short time back in the 90's) but I seem to attract state troopers like magnets. My first and third violations were for speeding when I was en route to the airport to pick up my husband (I've been running late for that poor man for nearly twenty five years now...sorry, Darling). The second violation was for driving too fast on the way home from my mother-in-law's funeral...I had a hernia at the time, and it was killing me (no pun intended...sorry, Jane). All three times, I was following the stream of traffic, but as luck would have it, I was the one chosen to be pulled over.

But, that's not my real problem.

After receiving my last ticket, I did some soul searching and decided, I needed to slow down.  I drive too fast. And maybe, even though others were driving at the same pace as me, that was no excuse. This was karma, or a warning, of some sort, that something bad was going to happen if I didn't slow down. Things happen in threes, I'd heard that my whole life and this might be a warning from above, a sign from somewhere, that if I don't slow down, something worse than receiving a ticket might happen. I've been following the speed limit for several months now. I've also been tailed, honked at, sworn at and threatened everywhere I've gone.

One man, and I know he was a man, even though it was late at night on a dark country road, but I could clearly see his angry face in my rear view mirror as he followed me so close, that I could no longer see his headlights, they actually disapeared under my car and I felt like I was towing him. The speed limit was 25 MPH. I finally gave in and increased my speed to 30 and then to 33 MPH. But, that seemed to just make him more incensed.  The route was a tight, winding two-lane road through hills. I was scared, to say the least. And felt shaky and upset when finally, he made a right turn onto what I could only imagine was his street, where again, I imagined, his wife waiting for him, so she could start pushing during her home water birth, which he was now late for, since he decided to finish his emails at the office before getting stuck behind me. Why else would he be so tense? Why else would he have been so mean? It had to be something very important that I was keeping him from...right?

I've been nearly run off the road by teenagers, elderly people, Mom's driving vans full of children, school buses, and I was even tailed closely by a policeman in my own town. People! I'm going the speed limit. It's posted everywhere! And I'm going to continue to go the speed limit. On the Interstate, I travel in the slower right lane. Semi-trucks whiz by me, tour buses fly by, late date cars that look like they are barely running, speed by me. I've been passed, given the finger, spit at, and almost side-swiped. I was even passed-up on a two-lane road by a student-driver, the instructor looking very satisfied, as they passed by, like I'd given him the wonderful opportunity to teach his student how to pass a slowpoke. He was the only one to be nice to me since I started going the speed limit. I won't tell you what the tractor driver yelled to me, when he pulled up next to me at a traffic light. It was not pretty. In all these cases, I increased my speed by five miles per hour, as soon as I was being tailed and sometimes as much as ten miles per hour. I've come to find that once someone is tailing you, they make a commitment to continue the harrassment even if you speed up. Did I do this to people too? Probably. But, I don't do it now. I'm careful to keep a safe distance between me and any cars in front of me. And when I do come upon a fellow speed limit participant, I feel so happy that for the moment, I'm not alone and we can travel together, going the speed limit, like two safe ducks in a row.  Here are some things I practice these days:

Leave with plenty of time to arrive on time
Enjoy the sights along the way
Listen to my favorite music
Pull into a parking lot if I need to use my phone, even though I have speaker capabilities
Feel no pressure when I see traffic is slowing to a crawl
Realize the NYC bridges don't feel so dangerous when I'm driving at a reasonable speed
Patiently wait in long toll lines
Stop at every crosswalk where there is a pedestrian waiting to cross
Not stress when a train is passing
Handle any weather conditions with ease
Enjoy a lower heart rate along the way
Arrive calm and ready to do what I need to do at my destination

Granted, I've had to learn to ignore angry, irritating fast drivers, passing me, giving me 'the look', cutting me off (no problem, I account for them and apply my brakes a bit to let them get by). I will admit it was hard at first, I do care what people think, but in a way, driving slower, has helped me not care so much. Slowing down has made me see the world differently. I see the beauty of the land around me and find my way easier, because I don't whiz past streets I was supposed to turn down. I'm calmer. I'm actually on time more often than not now. My heart rate feels normal all day, not racing all the time. I have more energy. I find myself parking further away, because I have the time and therefore get more steps into my day. I take the stairs more often now and hold the door open for other people. I generally feel nicer and happier. Try it for a week, then for two, and before you know it, you'll be slowing down too. It's not such a bad thing. It doesen't make us more important to be rushing about, in fact all it does is put us in danger. Danger of an accident, or an anxiety attack, our hormone levels shoot up and crash back down making us sick. Just slow down. Leave early. Go the speed limit. And if not, please just go around those of us who are going the speed limit, who have chosen to listen to the warning and slow down. We're not trying to make you crazy. We're just trying to get there in one piece, and maybe avoid another ticket or worse yet, an accident.

If only the whole world could slow down with me, so I can get home safely to my life on the lane.

Leafy Lane

2010-10-20T19:20:00.000-04:00

This time of year makes me feel lucky to live in such a beautiful place. New England is alive with color in the fall, and while we batten down the hatches, and prepare for the inevitable snow storms ahead, it's also a time for reflection and the total enjoyment of nature. It's particularly lovely on our lane, the trees are rich with fall colors. You only have to go out your door in Connecticut to feel immersed in the foliage, especially in the northern parts of the state. Here in my town, everything is about the trees and each fall, the colors become more vibrant every day -- Mother Nature draws you into her open arms, wrapping you in giant quilt of spectacular hues of yellow and orange and red. You find yourself in awe at every turn, trees that stood quietly all summer, their green leaves shading the ground beneath, are now a kaleidoscope of brilliant contrasts of glittering brilliance. And when the leaves begin to fall, they scatter like confetti across sidewalks and roads and meadows, blanketing the woods. It's a symphony of sights and sounds so lovely, it can bring a tear to your eye. On sunny days, a walk down a peaceful, winding, country road, is a concert in nature. The birds wile away the day with musical melodies (my son just gave me that line :) perched high on one hundred year old branches, as if a song was in order to celebrate yet another autumn afternoon. Gentle breezes tickle the tall dry grass and dance through the trees adding a background of light percussion. Suddenly, after a humid summer, everything feels new again, the cool air clears your mind, making way for fresh ideas. Aah, fall...a time for renewal, for change. I sit here in my kitchen, glancing out the window, which is wide open to the side yard, listening to the sounds of nature, knowing that each moment from now on, is precious, as my youngest child races towards graduation and will be off to college in less than a year. Will autumn feel different next year? Will it be sad? Or will next fall bring new adventures, a fresh start? Nature will have to carry me through. I'll go for long walks, and ponder my future, while enjoying the trees of Connecticut one last time before moving to Belgium and a new life, post-children...on another lane, in another part of the world, where the leaves will not be quite as brilliant, but there will be places to explore and things to discover, and best of all, I'll be joining my husband for all those new walks. Til then...my life on the lane is deep into fall and I want to walk in the leaves before the sun sets each day.

Faraway Lanes

2010-08-19T13:27:00.000-04:00

Talk about lovely lanes! Just returned from a road trip through seven countries in Europe, all of which possessed some of the most beautiful narrow, cobblestone streets in the world. Paris, Zurich, Berlin, Munich, Brussels...street after street just made me think about how everywhere, down winding country roads, through vineyards and corn fields, uptown, downtown, near main squares, and historic monuments, around the corner and on the edge of town...there are quiet, private, simple lanes with homes or flats or apartments or lofts, with flower boxes, brick fronts, stained glass, ancient heavy doors, brass knockers and rod-iron gates, new buildings juxtaposed against centuries old structures, all possessing mailboxes, an address, an owner, a landlord. Down every lane, there are people living their lives, moving through the day, no matter where, no matter the time, life is going on in different languages, other time zones, at varying paces. Children are dropped at daycare, people rush to the train, neighbors wave, some ride bikes, the elderly walk slow, teenagers run by, some sit and wait, others glance out windows, joggers jog, streets are swept. They stop for coffee, they read the paper, they have a quick chat. Cellphones are flipped open, the trash is taken out, the car parked, dishes done, mail checked, bills paid, floors cleaned. Time cards are kept, onions chopped, tomatoes diced, meat is browned, oven heated, phone calls returned, letters opened, TV turned on, the wine cork popped, bathtub filled, a load of laundry done...another day, all around the world, the sun is setting, the sun is rising, time is marching, and people are living, down the way, over a few blocks, on the other side of town, in another state, on a different continent, along all kinds of lanes, dirt paths, a culdesac, at the corner, behind a fence, on the top floor, next to their friends, or all alone. Everyone is dwelling somewhere, moving along, getting ahead, falling apart, picking up the pieces, starting over, just beginning, or staying the same...whichever, however, with whomever, together, broken, healing, spinning, surviving...everyone is doing life...down the way, in their own way, out of the way, or trying to find their way, they're plugging along, pulling the weeds, mowing the lawn, painting the trim, letting it all go or tending to every inch. The thing we all have in common, the thing that interconnects us, is that we're all trying to find our way, sometimes forward, most of the time back, but always, always, at the end of the day, we head home to our own place, to our own life on the lane.

My First Post: A Muggy World for Me...

2010-07-25T01:05:00.000-04:00

It's the end of July, and summer is in full, humid swing...it's not always so hot and muggy in this part of New England during the summer...but this year is different, and it seems as though Mother Nature has decided to over-moisturize the entire region. My garden is sagging, the cicadas are buzzing at high-volume, air-conditioners are blasting, and despite the cool temps inside, the heat lightening and thunder keep me awake most nights. Living on the east coast, the seasons are well-defined, and I look forward to each new segue of nature...the sprouting of leaves in the spring, the warmth of long summer days, the changing of the guard in fall as vibrant colors act as a prelude to the first signs of winter's quiet symphony of snow fall. But, it seems as though summer is cheating me out of her usual warm and sunny disposition, and instead, her mood swings of heavy clouds and sultry temperatures have kept me off my porch on weekend afternoons, and inside on the treadmill when cloudbursts threaten my walks to town. I'm trapped inside as if it's winter all over again. I guess, then, it's good that I'll be traveling soon to where summer is behaving itself and the temperatures are more pleasant. My Life on the Lane had better be back to normal, weather-wise...when I return!