I don’t know how to thank you, but thank you ♥

Someone did something for me recently that was so kind, so generous, so supportive, so loving, so unexpected, and so incredible, that I quite literally don’t have the words to thank her.

She knows who she is, and the world—my world—and my life is a better place for her being in it.

Thank you, dear friend. For loving me, for trusting me, for supporting my dreams. Always.

I love you!

xoxo

Life’s Been SO Good, part I

Day 24 and my tongue is still white.

Apparently, a white tongue, (which should eventually revert back to a nice and pink tongue again) is a sign that the body is still de-toxing.

I guess I have a lot of good living to cleanse.

It may have started freshmen year in college, when I discovered Ho-Ho’s. Or Junior Year Abroad, when we ate and drank our way through Germany (yum) and the rest of Europe. Ouzo, anyone? Fond memories of Rahmschnitzel, RitterSport, gyros, and Mandelhoernchen from my favorite Konditerei. Baumkuchen, and tortes and pastries of all kinds. That incredible, fresh bread! And hot pretzels. And hot pretzel buns. Hot, sugar-and-spice cinnamon almonds all winter. And chocolate, chocolate, chocolate.. (I have a whole TWO shelves of German cookbooks. Another of Swiss & Austrian. And all the recipes from my Oma, of course! ♥ )

It got worse during grad school, when I spend a summer as a intern in Bern, Switzerland. And lived across the valley from the Toblerone Factory. It was like coming home every afternoon to an entire valley filled with the inviting aroma of hot chocolate chip cookies.

I tried some strange and interesting new things; learned to make (always stir the cheese in a figure-8) and eat (never, NEVER drink water while eating) fondue, and risotto, and a great salad dressing that I still use; and generally had a great time.

And when I could graciously bow out of the full-fledged hot midday meal with my colleagues in town, I loved getting a fresh roll from the local baker, some chocolate at the Confiserie and sitting on the back steps of the Bundeshaus—the equivalent of the White House in Washington, D.C.—looking out over the river below.

Food didn’t become a big problem until I went back to Switzerland and worked in Zuerich for a year. It was cold, and wet, and rained for weeks and weeks and weeks at a time.

And that was summer.

(I once paid about $3.00—each—for a bag of California apricots. It was like holding the warm memory of the sun in my hands. Every bite was pure heaven.)

I didn’t share.

That winter it was REALLY COLD, and snowed and snowed and snowed. For weeks at a time. The man at the market laughed at me, because I was looking for fresh lettuce, and handed me a head of cabbage instead.

And pointed at the potatoes.

I would’ve dashed from building to building if I could’ve, but the sidewalks were icy. Lethal. The best I could do was a careful shuffle and slip. Or stay inside. A lot.

And eat.

The Swiss eat well—all year round. And exponentially more chocolate—it’s considered food, not an occasional ‘treat’ –than Americans do. (And this is real chocolate, remember. Not the chalk-and-paste stuff that Hershey’s tries to pawn off.)

Rich, full-fat, full-flavor, real cacao chocolate. They even have real white chocolate.

All day long.

Hot chocolate for breakfast. A chocolate bar tucked into the briefcase (just in case). Pick up out a few handmade truffles (mocha, praline’, and white chocolate champagne were my favorites) from the over 100 varieties at the original Teuscher Confiserie you pass by every morning on the way to work. A chocolate-filled Broetchen, or pastry in the afternoon, when the sun goes down at 3:30 and you need a little boost to make it through the rest of the day workday in the pitch dark.

Then a sweet snack for the trip home.

And chocolate fondue (after the cheese fondue for dinner) for dessert on the weekends.

Everyone has their favorite brand of chocolate—and there are jillions of them. Big, international companies like Lindt, and tiny, specialty houses who create only enough for a select, often subscription-only, clientele.

Different chocolates for every season, every occasion, and every possible taste.

On a regular basis the company I worked for took me on tours of their other holdings. Among them, of course, were chocolate and other confectionary companies. And sent me home laden with samples, bless them.

In my free time, I toured a couple of chocolate factories on my own. Like said Lindt. (Very stingy on the samples, they were.)

And it wasn’t just chocolate. Tortes, and pastries, and crispy little cookies (cookies dipped in chocolate, cookies filled with chocolate, cookies sprinkled with chocolate…) Marzipan and real nougat (the soft, chocolate-y hazelnut creme, not the yucky white stuff with fruit & nuts). Rahmcarameli—a Bern specialty—were a particular favorite of mine: little tins (I still have one somewhere) filled with little cubes of of a brown-sugary miraculous confection somewhere between a soft caramel, fudge, and the brown-sugar filling in those See’s chocolates that I can never remember the name of.

And then there were the cheeses—every shape, color, variety. Hard, soft, strong, mild, and those incredible creamy German varieties that are spreadable. And of course the breads—hot, crusty, fresh-baked everyday. Light and airy; rich and eggy; rustic and hearty; chewy and whole grain. (I did miss the pretzel buns from Germany, but I made do.)

In Switzerland (and Germany, and across Europe) people patronize a favorite cheese shop, a favorite baker, a butcher who has the best cuts and makes the best sausages, a green grocer who has the freshest produce.

Every region in every country has their specialties—wonderful things, unusual things.

Things I might not be able to get ever again…

What can I say? I went native. It wasn’t just the food—it was the lifestyle, the camaraderie. The wine and cheese and amaretti on a warm summer evening by the lake in Lugano; or fondue, or raclette by the fire on a cold night in Bern. Fastnachtskuechli and Zwiebeli  at Fasching (Karneval). And Kaffee und Kuchen on a Sunday afternoon in the garden. With friends that became like family.

I spent more than a year living on bread, and cheese, and chocolate, and…

I could go on and on.

And did.

Some really wonderful memories there.

Stuff that no cleanse can ever wash away.

And I think I’ll get my raclette grill out and invite a few friends as soon as this fast is over.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raclette

Wild Weekend Women

I had a absolutely fabulous weekend with a dear, fabulous woman that I’m grateful and honored to call my friend.

Friday night we went dancing. The first time I’ve danced (or been able to dance) in ages and more fun than I’ve had in a long time. It was a wild, wonderful event for a really good cause. The room-length dessert buffet didn’t even tempt me. (The crispy, golden calamari emanating enticing aromas of garlic and goodness from the other end of the room, however, did. )

Not enough, though. Not enough.

Although I used to go up to the City once a week, I haven’t been in a while. And there’ve been things I’ve missed! But we didn’t go to any of my favorite restaurants, didn’t eat or drink any of my favorite foods.

And I wasn’t even tempted on Sunday, at a really unique and fairly rare event: a lovely tea which featured fresh-baked bread and a long table heavily laden with Tassajara-inspired goodies. Instead I enjoyed the music and the company.

And being back in surroundings that feel like home.

I was reminded all over again what an incredibly beautiful city San Francisco is. And how much I love it, and what happy memories I have.

And how glad and grateful I am that I live here, with open vistas of hills and trees all around me, instead.

Day 21.

Choose Joy

I didn't have time to paint, or post (here, or on etsy) yesterday. Madly dashing about the house, cleaning & tidying for some pending houseguests. As if an old friend from University and the two teenage boys she was bringing were going to care if my drawers were organized and the floors were clean! Driving my mom, who'd come to help, and myself, to the brink of crazy.

On the other hand, it's a good thing I do get guests on a regular basis--each time, my house gets a little cleaner, a little more organized. I unpack and put away a few more boxes. I moved into this house about a year and a half ago--it's a process! When the countertops are clear it feels like there's more air in the room. I take deeper, calmer breaths. And yes, I'm happy.

Have been thinking about joy a lot lately. A part of me that I'd never separated out and addressed by name until about five years ago. It was on a beach in Thailand, a day or two after the tsunami. Yes, that tsunami. I wasn't affected, not in a physical, direct way--I was on a different island, in a different ocean. But it was a trip--a journey--that will affect me for the rest of my life.
More about that another time.

The topic now is joy: Choosing happiness. I met a wise, wonderful, beautiful young woman on that island. A doctor, a writer, a thinker. A brave and sensitive and lonely soul, looking for more joy in her life. Yesterday she sent me a wonderful email, about a 'happiness' conference she'd attended in Australia. I hope she'll let me post it here. It seems the whole world is re-evaluating what it means to be happy--how, and why, and the vital role played by conscious choice. I don't know her well, and I haven't seen or talked to her since Thailand, although we stay in tenous touch with occasional emails. She had no idea that I'd started this blog, or that I'd named my online business Choose2BHappy. But it wasn't until I met her on that stretch of white sand that I realized what a gift it is to live with joy.

More soon. In the meantime, pay attention to what makes you happy. Notice the things that make you smile, that make your soul hum, that make you feel warm, and safe, and loved. That thrill you, that bring tears to your eyes, that make your mouth water.

And start practicing. Choose happiness.

You deserve it.