The Explosive Gift Situation : His Version

Note:  For the first time I have let someone else write something for my blog.  After stating how absurd our fight was I had told my friend that I at least appreciated the blogging material.  He then stated that it was only fair that he get to share his side of the story as well.  Here it is...

The gift.

A true story.

By anonymous.

I am the only son of an Italian, divorced, wealthy mother, and for me the nanosecond has always been the unit of measure to count the time intercurring between "I want" and the answer "here it is!" Therefore, when Dawn told me that she bought me a present, I immediately spot the cliffs in front of us. "I'm not very patient, Dawn," is my 'intelligenti pauca' for her. Unfortunately Dawn doesn't speak Latin, and proudly replies with a clear political program of how this affair is going to evolve: "I know. This is why you'll have to wait!"

I met Dawn Antle something more of a year ago in toytown Zurich, and we immediately became friends. She's a mix between a geek (at her job), a Talleyrand (in her social life) and a lioness (as a mother), all in the packaging of a full optional, top level, Canadian. She just can't avoid being used to have it always her way. 

Anyway, on with the story.

In the next two weeks after the official announcement that a gift was waiting for me, and after asking her, probably every day (I'm not sure if I missed one, I would need to check), when I could have it, my expectations had grown like a soufflé. Yellow shields with black horses on them were already flashing in my imagination, when here comes the first cold shower: "it's just not ready yet".  "If it's not ready, can I at least know what it is?". "No", is the reply, "I'll send you a picture". What I see is a cubic shapeless package in a brownish gift paper, unintelligible in size. "Thanks, it's what I've always wished for.", is my sarcastic thought.

I'm now at the point where my patience has to be measured with negative numbers. The mood when you're so hungry that you'd rather eat crude eggs than waiting for the omelette. So I drop her the first warning that I'm at boiling point: I send her pictures of objects that I think might be the actual content. In front of them, a warm blooded mammal, moved by compassion, would just reveal the secret. Well, not her.

A week passes fruitlessly, so I resolve to use the "N" bomb in my arsenal: Give her a present myself. Something that would make her impossible not to reciprocate, something that would make her feel guilty at any time she just looks at that. What I buy is a biscuits tin box with a carillon that rings whenever it's moved. "This is genius", I giggle. "If she doesn't fall for it, she's not human", is my thinking. 

She doesn't. The Canadian Caterpillar, in front of a hint the size of the Matterhorn, just carries on with ruthless stubbornness.

Another week week later,  I'm forced to wave my white flag, but since I would like to have at least the honors of war, I have to resort to Padrino tactics: the proposal that you can't refuse. After a kind good morning from her, I retort: "You're not clearing your conscience so easily, dear. But I'm sure you like this subtle torture, don't you?" Now, this is the closest I can get to begging "give me the damn present now or we are not friends anymore," and anybody who knows me would understand it. But not her. The red fingernailed juggernaut, in front of the moral equivalent of a bleeding horse head in your bed, just escalates to Defcon 1: "That's ok, I will win this one yet."

This is how our friendship was over forever (that is, until she just lowers her big blue eyes and softly whispers 'I'm sorry'). Not because she is an incorruptible torturer without a cause, but because she still hasn't understood that men have feelings too! And that if you shake one of our deepest rooted certainties, i.e. that we can have whatever we want no need to ask, you will get in trouble.

In the end, even I have not clearly understood how a spontaneous act of kindness has been turned into a claw. That's beyond me. What I'm sure of, is that at the end of the story, she'll walk away with it. She always does.

Footnote:  I have to be honest, the battle still rages.  In the end there will be a casualty or two, but I thought it would be interesting to share two sides of a story - and how a seemingly benign, and even intended thoughtful gesture can have the opposite affect when two people refrain from sharing openly.  Even two very good friends...

Baking Day Panic Attack

Today is a big day for me.  Yep.  It is baking day.  

My friend likes to host international dinner parties.  They are pretty cool evenings.  Approximately 20 plus strangers gather together for dinner.  Each brings a dish reminiscent of their home country.  Basically we get  together and  share a delicious mix of food and culture.  

The last time I did it got away with a fruit salad drizzled in maple syrup.  Typical Canadian dish.  Not.  Okay, the maple syrup was typical.  Today however, I am going to shake things up.  I am going to bake fruit pies.  Not crazy ambitious, but certainly more so than the fruit salad.

First panic attack occurred when I realized that my trusted pastry recipe was safety stored somewhere back in Canada.  A few minutes on the computer, and Google lead me to a four star recipe that promised not to disappoint.  I entered the kitchen.  Second panic attack.  No pie plates.  A quick text to my gal pal and she told me where I could procure some pie dishes close by.  Emailed myself the shopping list for the pies.  Third panic attack.  What is lard in German?  

By this time I am starting to ponder whether maple syrup drizzled over vanilla ice cream would suffice. Alas, I am determined, and ready myself to shop for the necessary dishes and ingredients.

Forth panic attack.  How does one carry multiple pies on trams and through the twisty, hilly walkways of Zurich old town?

Then I got to thinking, in Canada it is customary to purchase chocolate cake at the local bakery...

And now it feels somehow fitting that I share another Canadian singer/songwriter.  Chantal Kreviazuk with "Feels like Home."  

A Reason

It is Saturday morning and I am enjoying some text chats with a couple of girlfriends while sipping on my fourth morning coffee.   

I am aware that there is nothing particularly unique about that, however this has become an important part of my morning start.

One of the best things about family is that they know you in a way that most people do not.  There is also a great deal of comfort in that. You have the freedom to be exactly as you are - without judgement. 

As an expat, you miss that.  Family is far away and often the time zones make communication a challenge.   The opportunity to be with family is not as easy as it once was so the potential to be lonely is prevalent.  There are many an expat event.  You see the guys and gals mingling and chatting, enjoying the momentary intimacy that these events provide.  Sometimes people win the jackpot and connect with another similar soul, but more often than not it is only temporary.  Still, these events are essential - for without them we would be starved.  And I suppose even though intimate relationships are not so common, there is still a kinship amongst us all.  We have similar challenges, needs and lifestyle.  

I've been living abroad for over three years officially.  Unofficially it has been over four.  Enough time to strain the friendships I enjoyed back home.  Enough time to get used to not celebrating special events and days with family.  Enough time to crave a deeper type of intimacy in my now familiar surroundings.  

As I am texting back and forth with my girlfriends I am comforted.  They know my deepest and darkest secrets.  They know my fears, my desires.  I know theirs.  The veil of pretence has long fallen.  I share this type of communication with a guy pal too.  When he met my son for the first time, he said it was like meeting an old friend since he already knew him through me and my countless stories.  

Yesterday I read an editorial on how as humans we crave intimacy - but we also fear it.  It touched on the fact that many of us turn to social media to satiate our desire for a deeper connection.  That is something that I simply cannot do.  I need the banter, the shared laughter and the sometimes needed hug that can only be experienced in person.  Yet, I do not know of many people who are more fearful of intimacy than I.  In the past my family served as safe zone. Outside of that, was a crafted facade that was years in the making.  However, this whole experience forced me to change.  A little anyway.

I have not lost the connection with my family, it is in many ways even deeper than before.  Something I am grateful for every moment of every day.   But the distance of the comforting arms of my family was too far away in moments I longed for something more than a superficial intimacy.  I had to take a chance or live with the ache of loneliness of being alone.

So here I am.  In my pjs, sipping my coffee, texting with those that know me best.  We share our mistakes, our heartaches, our successes.  I am a happier person as a result.  Unburdened.  Some people manage this without being forced.  I didn't - or couldn't.  I cannot help but consider the irony of it all.  There are few things more rewarding than intimacy - yet as much as we crave it, we also run from it.  Me included.  I don't profess to have mastered it - its simply a reflection on something this journey abroad has forced me to try.  And I am glad I did...

Yoga and a Finnish Sauna

Nudity.  Yeah I know - here I go again.  But seriously are things ever different here in Europe.  Years later I am still getting used to it.  This past week tested me again.  

Lets start with yoga, and the fellow that walked in and changed rather comfortably right there in the studio.  How awkward I thought as I made a mental note to myself to NEVER plan to change in the yoga studio.  Ever.

The next moment was when I went to see a massage therapist.  Since it was my first visit with her, she wanted the background story that had led me her.  While I got ready for the massage.  Awkward.

I try though.  I try to appear cool about the whole thing.  I really don't know how some cultures can be so uninhibited.  In response to my recent nudity rant, a friend shared a story of when he was living in Finland and having his work performance evaluation recounted by his boss in the sauna.  Nude.  I am sorry, but I know I will never ever get that cool.  However, my friend said that although he initially balked at the idea - it turned out to be a bonding experience.  "We were in an environment where we were equals which made discussion easier and more productive," he told me.  Personally I think I'd have to resign.  But, IF I did manage to summon some courage to do it - I would likely have to starve myself and spend 8 hours per day on a treadmill starting two weeks in advance of the meeting.  And a board meeting?  All that breathing and sweating with a bunch of people I would be happy to live a life and never see naked?  And happy to also have them never see me that way either. I think we all wear clothes to work for a reason - no?  

Okay, I am done.  Well, for today anyway...

(for those doubters on the Finnish sauna thing, here is a CNN story on a board meeting in the sauna, nudity required... http://money.cnn.com/magazines/fortune/fortune_archive/2003/10/06/350393/index.htm )

And now Imagine Dragons, and yes, this one is for you - you know who you are :)

Thank You

I have a friend here in Zurich that I do not spend so much time with simply because communication is a problem.  His English is good, but he usually misses the meaning of what I am saying.  My German is rocky as heck so I avoid speaking it out of embarrassment.  And to make matter worse for me, he insists that I speak German only to him - therefore I have an abundance of excuses whenever he suggests we catch up.

Until today. And his text.  It read "it is time to speak German Dawn."  

It is relatively easy to live without German here in Zurich. However, I didn't really notice how limiting it was until last night.  I was at an expat sort of Christmas party, and there were many people that I knew which was very cool.  Being surrounded by familiar language and people is comforting.  But I am in Switzerland. 

As I left the party last night, I couldn't help but feel it was just a repeat of another day a week or two before.  My friends also seemed a bit bored with the whole scene.  Even though the expat community here is huge and dynamic, it is also only a small part of what is here.  I don't plan to turn my back on what I have here, but it is time to make my world a bit bigger. 

Sometimes it takes one thing to shake things up enough and make you realize that perhaps you are heading in the wrong direction. And that happened for me.  I had to say bye to my best friend here.  I knew it was coming, but I guess I sort of hoped that fate would intervene and I could keep them close.    I threw myself into anything that would keep me busy - hoping to find something or someone else to fill the void. I know it sounds silly, but you can't imagine how incredibly important friends are when everything and everyone familiar is afar.  

Tonight I cancelled my regular plans.  My friend is right - it is time.  Not just to learn German, but for a bit of a change.

So, to the familiar faces and places, thank you for making it so easy for me here - but it is time for me to disappear for a while.  

Another Canadian tune...

Defying Convention

As I waited for the tram, my eyes settled upon a very petite elderly woman. She had just left her flat in downtown Zurich and was pulling a suitcase, one small enough for a couple of days travel. My heart warmed a little as I watched this woman. A large brimmed hat sat on her perfectly coiffed hair. Impeccably dressed, she had selected a tailored white suit. For colour a baby blue scarf was tied around her neck and matching cotton gloves were on her hands.

What also struck me was the confidence with which she carried herself. I simply could not help but smile as she made her way through the crowd. I was sure she had known a life filled with sophistication and glamour and I quietly pondered the exciting stories this woman might be able to share. I wanted to know her.

I saw a lot of people as I made my way around today – but it is this lady I will remember. By defying convention she had made a stamp on my day. Imagine what one could do with a life lived like that?