Westward Ho!

Or back to the lovely Croatian island of Korcula, once again...

First things first. Giggle. Rent a everything.
Dude, sign me up.








So, hub and I are a bit late to the Croatian real estate market. (Thanks, Italy. Thanks a lot for hoovering all the great property at rock-bottom prices). This pretty baby is going for $130,000. U.S. And we can see through the roof. And there is no water. And we almost fell through the floor. But note! What a lovely lemon tree.
And the view. Sweet.
Oh well. Maybe, Montenegro or Albania. Yes, Albania....

Of course, the bonus treat to this real estate adventure was our real estate agent. Her family has lived in Racisce for generations, and, lovely people, we were not only given a tour of available properties (owned by a network of aunts, uncles, and cousins, of course) but were treated to refreshments of Turkish coffee, figs, chocolate wafers, and pretzels. We also managed to obtain a delicious 2 liter Coca-Cola Light sized bottle of olive oil from her cousin. For a reasonable price.

It was lovely sitting there surrounded by family. The pace was slow. There was no rush to do anything in particular. Everything in its own time. Nema problema. I think of how Stu and I race around, trying to cram as much as we can into every day. If I'm not busy, occupied, I feel as though I'm not fulfilling some greater purpose. If I'm not DOING, what am I? I can't sit around here, reflecting, drinking cup after cup of strong-ass coffee, I should be out there...doing...

But what?

I wonder how much this is an American cultural trait, some by-product of the Protestant work ethic. It's certainly no crime to take joy from life's quieter moments, in fact, to step off the merry-go-round. Why can't I enjoy this? Why must I nervously tap my foot and consult my watch? I'm on vacation. Where am I supposed to be? In a culture that demands us to be our fullest selves, to be independent, individuals, at all cost, what have we lost? Our family? Our sense of community? Did we ever have that?

Anyway. Just a thought. Just something that occured to me between our second cup of coffee and our drive back to Korcula town.

Political Insouciance

So.

Veli and I walk to the park.
Veli poops at said park.

Of course, I forget pooper scooper, i.e., plastic bags from Mercator that are carefully stowed away and saved for just these occasions. What to do? Aha! Is that a campaign poster, I spy? Would anyone mind if I just...rip...a...little of the poster for...Damn! That's a pretty big piece. I just ripped off half his face. Blast. Is anyone watching? Of course. Sigh.

Note: The desperate measures taken by this blogger were in no way meant to influence the good citizens of BiH. Go forth and vote! Shit happens and must be dealt with accordingly.

Oh sweet holy Jesus...

My dog's gassing me out. She's on a silent-but-deadly 10 minute cycle. The quantity and composition of said fumes are overwhelming. Possibly lethal.

Speaking of...And, I must say, only at 1 in the morning and after a generous supply of super delicious red wine can something like this be considered important enough to write about. About. Dangling preposition. Is it? Dangling or a preposition? Oh, my fingers smell like garlic. Scrummy! Ah, pasta. Dinner. The succulent memories...

Oh, yes, speaking of. That's it. One of the "bonuses" of our last house was the backyard. Not really a yard, as such, but a fenced in concrete slab where Veli could run, chase cats, and, well, do her thang. In the beginning, Veli wasn't so fond of this particular aspect of the yard. She became accustomed to the multiple park walks and the soft cushy grass on her bum. Who would trade all that in for the cold hard reality of concrete? Not me, sister. But, Veli's a sport. And a dog, lest we forget (as we sometimes do, humanizing her and all). So. For six months, she had her park walks but embraced the concrete for her...private doings. Now, that we have moved back down the hill (whoopee!), there is, alas, no more concrete slab. In my innocence, I presumed she would, once again, revel in the cool grass.

Silly pet owning lady!

Veli has decided that she much prefers to perform #1, shall we say, in the middle of the road. The result? Dark rivulets of dog pee. All shapes, all designs, all in various stages of dryness. She has made our little drive into quite an abstract work of art. As for, ehem, #2, she prefers a pedestrian foot bridge over the lovely River Miljacka. Tricky, very tricky, but I have become quite the adept plastic bag-pooper scooper-picker upper.

Hmm. I am not sure this is fit material for public consumption. I will "save as draft" and attend to my nightly ablutions.

She reviewed the draft and, lo, it was, um, adequate.

After a more than brief hiatus...

I have decided to resume my all-but-defunct blog.

The reasoning behind both the hiatus and my unexpected return will be forthcoming. But, for now, I leave you with a question, a comment, and a picture of Veli at our old house. Awww...

And now, for both the question and comment. Exactly how do you keep your abs so fantastic, Fergie, and why can't I stop singing (to myself, of course) I'm such a lady but I'm dancing like a ho/'cause you know I don't give a fuck so here we go! It's embarrassing and must stop.

Okay, so two questions and one comment. Eh.