Some mid-week inspiration

Saw this via the J.Crew blog (yep, J.Crew has its own blog. It's actually very inspiring for everything from fashion, art, beauty, and travel even if you don't actually shop there).  Not being the creative type myself, I always love hearing designers talk about what inspires them to create something beautiful. Imagine seeing a muted beige landscape and thinking of that beautiful dress in the fourth picture or reinterpreting a striped blouse and scarf you saw in a portrait for the modern day as in picture number five. Imagine seeing potential in everything you saw. Wouldn't it be great to see the world like that?

(Photo: J. Crew)

Lessons in nonchalance

Nothing freaks out the Spanish.

After taking the entire month of August off for the summer vacations, our point person at the University of Barcelona just returned to work on Thursday, September 1st (and not a moment sooner apparently!). Upon turning on his computer and opening his email, he saw the five emails the Professor and I had sent in August desperately trying to get in touch with him to tell him that we doubt we'll be able to make it to Barcelona by the time of the fall semester start date which is THIS Thursday!  In our emails, we told him that our FBI background checks, which should arrive next week, were holding up our visa applications and that the Spanish consulate told us that under no circumstances should we buy our plane tickets without having our visas in our hands.  Thus, the whole month of August the Professor and I chewed our fingernails and waited anxiously to hear back from the University, fearing what they would say.

So, what did they say?  No problem! They said that they're sorry for not getting back to us sooner and that we shouldn't worry about this minor (!) delay.  They'll just switch the Professor's class from the fall semester to the spring semester.  In other words, instead of teaching a course beginning September 15th as originally planned, he will now teach a course beginning in February.  Of course, they still want us to get there in October or November so that we can get settled in, find an apartment, fill out the appropriate employment paperwork, and get to know the city before the winter holidays. But basically they reassured us that the job was still there, that everything would work out, and most importantly, not to freak out.

That last bit is a little difficult for us (mostly me actually). Freaking out is something I do naturally. I seem to have a gift for freaking out and if I do say so myself, I'm better at it than most people I know.  That's why these Keep Calm and Carry on posters, ubiquitous though they may be, really speak to me. And while I love many of the variations that have sprung up in recent years, I really think we need a Spanish version of these.

The Professor and I were brainstorming what the Spanish versions would say:

Me:  Keep Calm and Drink a Beer (Tranquilizate y toma una cerveza)

Professor:  Keep Calm and Eat Tapas  (Tranquilizate y ve de tapas) 

Me:  Keep Calm and Take a Nap (Tranquilizate y toma una siesta)

Professor:  Keep Calm and Go on Vacation (Tranquilizate y ve de vacaciones)

This list could go on and on.  So what about you guys? Got any calming mantras? Or can you think of any to add to our Spanish inspired list?

Happy Monday!

My memory

Ten years ago today, I was a senior sitting in my first period AP Economics class when a teacher from down the hall rushed into my classroom and without a word of apology for interrupting the class, blurted out, "They've just crashed a plane into the World Trade Center. Turn on your TV."  Before that day, I didn't know what the World Trade Center was, I had never heard the name Osama bin Laden, and had no idea that my identity as an American was about to change forever.

When every television in every classroom in my school showed the Twin Towers engulfed in flame, ash and debris, I naively thought that it was an accident---that some drunk pilot had fallen asleep at the wheel or something. I had heard the word terrorism before that day, of course. But I never thought of that word as having a place within my own vocabulary.  I can't remember using the word before that day. When my classmates and I watched the news anchors reporting on the scene, I heard this word used over and over again and I began to get a sinking feeling in my stomach.

By third period, my worst suspicions were confirmed.  The news anchors were reporting that Islamist extremists were suspected of orchestrating the suicide bombings. When this update left the news anchors lips, a sophomore girl dressed in her ROTC uniform, announced to the class, "I can't wait until I'm in the army so I can get in a plane and bomb all of those damn Iranians myself."  Shaking with fear and anger, I turned in my seat to face her and said equally loudly, "Excuse me. I'm a damn Iranian." I even pronounced it like she did: Eye-rain-ian instead of the correct pronunciation which is: Eee-ron-ian. The whole class fell silent and I turned back in my seat and put my head down. I was stunned at her comment and at the boldness with which she uttered it. In a way, I couldn't believe it. I had spent my whole life trying to explain to friends and classmates where my dad was from.  Most people heard the statement, "My dad's Iranian" and accepted it without judgement. Just curiosity.  My childhood friends reacted to my dad's nationality with innocent ignorance,"Your dad's from Iran? Where's that?"  instead of with the belligerent ignorance that I encountered that day and henceforth.

By fourth period, the PA system was rattling off the names of all of the students who were being pulled from class.  Parents were in a panic over the possibility of another terrorist attack, this time in Miami, and the number of students being pulled out probably numbered in the hundreds. Midway through fourth period, I heard my own name called. In confusion, I grabbed my bag and my jacket, said goodbye to my friends and walked out of the class.  I scanned the throng of parents for my mother and instead saw my older sister and her then boyfriend waiting for me.  "What's going on? Why did you pull me out of class?"  I asked.  "Mom thought that you'd be having a tough day," she said simply.  I found out when I got home that my other sister had encountered the same kind of hostility at work when one of her coworkers announced to the whole office that she just wished that people like that (she emphasized the word "that"  while looking at my sister) would just go back to where they came from.

When I was sitting in the backseat of my sister's boyfriends car as we drove home, I started feeling really sick.  That day, I came down with the flu and I didn't have to go to school the rest of the week.  In a way, I was glad not to have to go because I didn't know how other people would react to me. My friends, I knew, would stay my friends. But I was worried to go into my third period class. I was worried about being treated differently.

If you've never faced discrimination before, I doubt you will be able to understand just how I felt in those days. Apart from being worried and afraid for myself and my family, I also felt angry. Angry that this had to happen at all. Angry at the extremists for putting Middle Eastern people into a position where they have to defend where they're from and what they believe. When the news came out that no single suicide bomber was Iranian, it didn't make a difference.  When the media showed images of people gathering in Tehran to light candles for the victims of the attacks, it didn't make a difference. We were seen as the enemy and it didn't matter that we weren't.  Suddenly my dad, who is not even a practicing Muslim, became a fundamentalist in the eyes of the world.  Some of my dad's Iranian friends coincidentally lost their jobs around this time.  Iranian students who overstayed their student visas in order to not have to return to Iran where they couldn't find jobs and would be repressed by a totalitarian regime, were suddenly tracked down by the Department of Homeland Security, detained, interrogated and unceremoniously kicked out.

I felt that in the days following September 11th, I was being told by the whole country that despite being born here and regardless of whether I identified myself as American or not did not matter anymore.  I was going to be different whether I wanted to be or not.  I couldn't call myself American anymore.

In ten years, it has gotten easier.  Time passes and people's memories do fade for the most part.  But that latent feeling of alienation is still there. When Osama bin Laden was killed, people would ask me what I thought of his death.  It's as though they think my opinion would somehow be different from any one else's.  That I wouldn't feel happy and relieved that there was one less murderer in the world. When people ask me what I think of the latest terrorist attack, or the war in Iraq, or the latest inflammatory comment that Ahmadinejad has made, I am aware that those people do not see me as an American. Suddenly, I'm not a half-Persian, half-Chilean girl who was born in Miami.  Suddenly I am an other.

I have questioned my identity over and over since that day. Whether I even want to be called an American if Americans don't want me. What's that old line? Something like, "I don't want to be part of any club that would have me as a member?"  Well I felt the opposite way once. I desperately wanted to be part of a club that wouldn't have me.  In that sense, national identity can be a very fickle thing. Even today, I'm glad I have so many to fall back on: American, Persian, Chilean, Miamian. That way, the expulsion from one identity does not make me feel groundless and invisible.

I know this post is lengthy and pretty deep but it feels cathartic to get it all out for once. I also think it's important that we all document our memories of September 11th not just so that we can reflect but also so that we can learn from each other's experiences.   The upshot of this whole post in case I rambled, is simply this: We're all Americans. All the time. No matter what.

(Photo:Getty Images)

Small Space Inspiration

Great minds really do think alike. In the past week, three of the interior design blogs that I frequent have done posts on beautiful, small (sometimes tiny!) spaces that are anything but cramped and cluttered.  This is especially pertinent to European living where houses and apartments tend to be smaller than in America, but that's not to say you can't get some great ideas from these posts if you live in a big house.  Below, I break it down for you.

In this Paris apartment, the homeowner used floating shelves in the entryway to avoid using a piece of furniture which would take up floor space and make the space feel smaller. Another smart tip: hang mirrors to reflect the light. If you notice, there's a mirror hanging over the shelves by the door which help make the space feel bright and airy. 

In this Canadian tree house (can we take a minute to talk about how cool it is to live in a tree house?) the homeowners carved out enough space for themselves, their kids, and a dog.  Smart tips from their space?  Use a day bed in the living room which does double duty as a sofa and a bed.  Also, take advantage of the great outdoors, if you're lucky enough to have access to it.  This patio is practically a second living room. 

And finally in this Swedish apartment, the homeowners have made the most of 39 square meters which, if you know your conversions, is pretty darn small.  The greatest ideas here are 1) paint your walls a bright white color so your space feels clean and light and 2) make use of vertical space. Who says your bed can't be up by the ceiling?

I have to admit it---my favorite space is the last one. There's something about a sparsely decorated, mostly white space that gets me every time.

Which one do you like best?

(Photos: French by Design, Apartment Therapy, Delikatissen)

It's not too late to read!

Summer is over.  Most people are pretty bummed about this, but I am thrilled.  Summer in Miami is like whipped cream on a doughnut---overkill!  I am looking forward to the shorter days and longer nights and temperatures in the high 80s as opposed to the high 90s.  

The one thing that I will miss about the summer is that suddenly you’re not encouraged to read lighthearted books anymore.  From May through August, every magazine, radio show, and blog is inundating you with a list of great summer reading---usually books about romance, travel, food, or anything else not expected to make you think deeply or furrow your brow while you sip a Mojito and roast yourself under a plastic umbrella at the beach.

But I say, let’s not deprive ourselves of cheap thrills, useless knowledge and belly laughs over the fall and winter.  Towards that end, here is my recommendation for a great read any day of the year.  I recently finished the book, Lunch in Paris: a Love Story with Recipes by Elizabeth Bard.  As the title would suggest, this book is primarily a memoir of an American who moved to Paris where she fell in love, got married, had a child, and did a lot of eating.  At the end of every chapter, she provides a recipe for a dish that in some way relates to the contents of the chapter.  The book is very much an exploration of the differences between French and American culture and what happens when these two worlds collide but the moral of the story is that despite our differences, love conquers all. Especially when there’s a soufflé involved.

Anyway, if you’re interested, check out the book at your local Anthropologie or Amazon.  Hmm. I was going to end this post with the word, “Enjoy!” but under the circumstances I think that “Bon appétit” might be more appropriate. N’est-ce pas?

Por si quieres aprender un idioma....

EF - Live The Language - Paris from Albin Holmqvist on Vimeo.

EF - Live The Language - Barcelona from Albin Holmqvist on Vimeo.

Hope you're all enjoying your weekends. I just wanted to pop in to share this video that I found via the blog, "The Senses Five."  The video above captures the experience of learning French and Spanish in Paris and Barcelona respectively.  Don't you wish you were 22 again and studying abroad?  I never got to study abroad when I was in college because I was working every summer and couldn't afford the expense.  I'd like to think I've made up for it in recent years though :)

Buen fin de semana!

P.S. The post title translates to, "In case you want to learn a language..."

(Videos: Albin Holmqvist)

Don't you wish your vacation photos were this beautiful?

 

 I don't know about you guys but I'm a sucker for travel pictures, beautiful landscapes, and gastronomical delights. So imagine my pleasure when I stumbled upon the absolutely gorgeous blog of photographer and food stylist, Aran Goyoaga.  Above are pictures that she took on her recent vacation to Iparralde, in the Basque Country. For more inspiration, visit her blog, Cannelle et Vanille (meaning Cinnamon and Vanilla in French).

Enjoy!

(Photos: Copyright Aran Goyoaga)