Bittersweet

I'm not one to deal well with uncertainty. I like having a plan, whether it's for a morning at home, Sunday dinner, a vacation abroad, or where I'll be living in a few months.

The last one's probably a biggie for everyone, though, so no fair that I'm counting it. But, counting I am because it's rearing its head again. After we found out that my request for Swedish residency was denied, everything got thrown into the blender again. Do we try to extend our lease (even knowing that they told us last time we could no longer do less than 1 or 2- year extensions)? Do we figure out temporary housing? What do we do if the appeal is denied, too? We've been under the assumption that our time in the U.S. is up and we are moving abroad as soon as we can, but, what if that's not actually going to happen?

Our lawyer said it could take three months from the submission of our appeal for the courts to make a ruling. He's just filed our paperwork, so that would mean, theoretically, a decision by the beginning of December at the latest. Except that's just after our current lease ends. And, even if we had permission to leave and were actually able to get everything in gear, we have to stay thru December for the baptism of our godson.

So, you can imagine I'm handling all of the uncertainty and stress of not knowing if we'll need to find a way to sell our belongings and ship the rest in a few months, or next year, exceptionally well.

The only obvious solution was to make a pan of dark and salty chocolate.

It was delicious and decadent and I am definitely making some more this weekend.

Not so fast

{  My neighborhood and the Manhattan skyline, as seen from Dumbo  }

Despite all the happy home-cooking and cocktailing posts last week, I was in a very, very grumbleupagus (not to be confused with snuffleupagus) mood.

I heard back from the Swedes and they d.e.n.i.e.d my request for residency.

Can you believe that?

I still can't even talk about it—I'm so furious. It was especially disheartening since the weekend before we found out (the weekend of Delilahs and egg custards and arancini) we plotted out all of our next moves for our exit from Manhattan and felt ready to take this next big step. Then Monday rolled around and ka-blam.

I won't go into the reasons why I was denied (because they're absurd), but suffice to say that had we been just boyfriend and girlfriend, and R still lived in Sweden, it would have been an easy approval. Or, if I had been someone arriving illegally and lying about certain personal details, it would also have been easy. But a married couple that's been together for a long time is apparently not worthy of a permit for the non-citizen's wife.

So I've spent the last week assembling paperwork for an appeal—which we have three weeks to apply for, well, two now—and to make this even more exciting, I only have six weeks before I have to go through the whole rigamarole of securing, or giving up, our apartment here. What are the chances that a decision from the immigration courts once they receive our appeal documents will be made before then?

Stay tuned.

(And cross your fingers, please.)

Popping by the Swedish Consulate

{  Consulate General of Sweden in New York  }

In the ongoing, but hopefully rapidly winding down saga that has become my bureaucratic life, I visited the Swedish Consulate earlier this week for my residency interview. What I thought would be a pretty cut-and-dried experience (husband was born a Swedish citizen, wife has the right to live and work there via marriage to said-husband, so, we just fill out some forms, write a check and we're done—right?) turned out to be a bit convoluted—at least initially.

I submitted my request online at the beginning of the year, which called for filled-out forms, proof of marriage and our life together and payment, naturally. Since the Swedes wanted to know where we'd live when we arrive if they granted my residency request, they required that my mother-in-law fill out paperwork, too, confirming that she would let us stay with her until we get set up.

But after she filled out her forms, we were then asked by the Immigration Board in Sweden to confirm where we live and work in Sweden today (and to provide proof of such), despite the (obvious) issue that we currently live in NYC and are in fact asking permission for me to live and work in Sweden. How can we give proof if we haven't received permission for me to do just that? Why would I rent an apartment or buy a plane ticket without the legal documents necessary?

Silly Swedes.

So after some more strongly-worded emails, things seemed to be sifting out and I finally received notice two weeks ago for my interview this week (it would have been even sooner if I was in town). Oddly enough, the Swedish Consulate here seemed to be moving ahead, while the Migration Board in Sweden was still asking for more documentation of our non-existing life in Sweden (foolish).

I was told to come alone and bring the original documents I had submitted online (marriage certificate, passport, bank statements, tax filings, apartment lease, etc.) to meet with them. So I armed myself with all of that, and donned some cerulean blue pants and a cornflower yellow silk top (I'm a big believer in wearing bright colors anyway, but a subtle nod to the Swedish flag via my outfit was definitely on my mind, too) and headed up to Park Avenue in midtown.

The Swedish Consulate is not nearly as charming and lovely as the townhouse completely committed to the Italian Consulate—instead, the Swedish Consulate is housed in a huge edifice and takes up a few floors—but on the welcoming side, they had a plate of fresh kanelbullar waiting for visitors and I was in and out in 20 minutes!

My interviewer (who shares the same name as my mother-in-law, which I took as a good sign) asked me super straightforward questions, like my husband's name and date of birth, where we were married, did I marry of my own free will, why do I want to live in Sweden and what type of work I do and that was it!

Now I wait...again—although the woman did tell me that she saw no reason why the wait would be long, so fingers crossed!

Cavorting with the masses, or not

{  The Consulate General of Sweden's Midsommar party in Battery Park  |  21 June 2013  }

Crowds. Navigating the masses, trying to avoid trampling toddlers, straining to hear above the clatter.

Big parties. Introductions, mingling, small talk, pleasantries.

Two situations that I'm exceedingly bad at. It's the reason I hyperventilate at the Union Square Greenmarket (and why I never go anymore). It's also why I never rushed a sorority, and why I'm not  too enthusiastic about big gatherings or festivals (last week I took the ferry across to Williamsburg to visit the original outpost of Smorgasburg and I panicked getting off the boat when I saw the crowds.) Probably a combination of my huge level of shyness and my inability to be calm when I'm thirsty / hungry and it looks like procuring something to assuage my parched mouth and grumbling stomach will be difficult (which is exactly what happened at Smorgasburg).

All this slipped my mind this weekend.

First, when we realized that we could finally make this year's Midsommar party thrown by the Consulate General of Sweden. To be fair, I didn't think we'd be in the midst of masses of people. Seriously, look at these pictures (this is from last year, but the crowds were the same, if not increased, this year)! Who knew there were so many Swedes in New York?

I walked down from work in Soho (carrying my laptop and walking 2 miles in the heat probably didn't help my frame of mind) to meet R outside the park. Within two seconds two things were clear: Swedish children with wreaths of flowers are adorable, especially when they're holding hands and skipping around and, there were only 5-6 kiosks with food and drink for the hundreds of people milling around. The lines were ridiculously long, but at least Swedes, being Swedes, the lines were also frighteningly straight and orderly.

We had already missed the raising of the Maypole (it's done at 5PM and we were still at work), but we had hoped to watch the dancing and singing. Sadly, after 20 minutes of trying to fight our way through the crowds we decided we had soaked up enough Swedishness and walked up the Esplanade to the North Cove Harbor to sit out by the yachts with a platter of chips & guacamole and pork tacos for me, burgers for R and beer for both.

It was delightful. And there were no crowds.

And, because I hadn't learned my lesson, I went to a housewarming in Dumbo Saturday night and didn't time my arrival well. R wasn't able to come (he excels in large social situations), so I was left to fend for myself and try to talk to people for the first hour and a half. Then, mercifully, another gal I'm close to arrived and we escaped to the roof with two others (one being the hostess), and finally, we got to chat and sip our drinks and enjoy the view of Manhattan.

So, here's my new official lesson/survival tactic for overwhelming social situations: When at a big party, form your own smaller one. (And if smothered in a large crowd, leave and create your own—because who needs that?).

The case for Svenska

{  Summer Barrel Tasting @ City Winery  |  Tribeca, NYC  |  11 June 2013  }

We ended up going out for pizza last night. Of course we did.

But first, I met R at City Winery for a little shindig they were throwing that we had absolutely no business being at (it was an event for the Classic Cars Club of Manhattan—of which we are definitely not members of, but the CW manager is a friend of R's so he kindly added us to the list). I walked over from my office in Soho after work, noted the adorable Shelby parked out front, and gave my name at the door to enter the winemaking part of their complex. Huge wine vats were being tapped with a serious number of wines out for tasting. City Winery is a restaurant, educational center and an actual winery—they make their own wines and allow members (something we are also not part of, oops!) to make their own wines there, as well.

After we sipped and sloshed our way partway down the line, we took a break and parked ourselves at an overturned-barrel-cum-table. At which point I felt it was a good time to launch into an emphatic, wine-fueled tirade against the Italian Consulate (naturally, since I was incorporating hand gestures, I had to revert to Italian). When I petered out I leaned my head against R's shoulder, sighed heavily and surveyed the room—at which point I noted a friendly-looking lady standing near us, so we all began chatting.

Surprise, surprise, she ended up breaking out into near-perfect Italian when R introduced himself (and she asked upon hearing his accent where he's from). Turns out she's been married to a man from Milan for 6 years. They're planning a trip to Sicily this summer so we were showering her with ideas and advice. She also casually mentioned to us she was waiting for her Italian citizenship through marriage to come through. Something she had applied for three years ago.

Three. years. ago.

She's still waiting for it! And, they live right across the Hudson River in New Jersey, so she submitted her application through the Newark consulate, which I imagine has significantly fewer cases than the Manhattan consulate—my local branch.

Sigh.

She was a lovely lady and it would be nice to do something with her and her husband, as she suggested, but, oof! that news was unwelcome. The only thing that could cheer me up after that was a lush, burrata-topped pizza from Emporio, one of my favorite sources of gluten-free pies—although they've just begun charging extra for it!—in the city.

So, lessons learned?

1. I need to start studying Swedish. Luckily I wasn't saying anything horrific in Italian that may have caused offense, but—more than once—I've been saying something somewhat sassy under my breath to R and turns out the people next to us speak Italian. This happened just last month on the way back from Mexico!

2. The citizenship process is basically a never-ending stream of nonsense. Although, perhaps I already knew that. Yep, definitely knew that.

How sure are we about this Bella Vita nonsense?

{  Our delicious homemade pizza—who needs Italy?  |  June 2013  }

Y'all. I am feeling completely despondent and sick to my stomach—this time, not physically, but emotionally. I'm so over not knowing where we're going to end up, but even more over the stress of dealing with all these bureacracies.

That Italian Consulate appointment that moved up? It's next week. And we're still missing one document. From a federal agency. Which has informed me it won't be here in time.

And knowing those Italians, if we cancel the appointment, we'll have to reschedule it (it took 10 months to schedule this one) and re-do all the documents again, as they'll expire (that'll take another $250'ish dollars, which you'll remember, we've already paid twice).

Hence my nausea.

The other option is to go to our appointment without the missing document and hope we can just laugh it off and return with it as soon as it arrives. I can also bring the previous version, which is only six months old, but they're quite strict about the 3-month validity required, so I'm pretty sure they'll send us home and we'll have to do it all again anyway.

My desire for Italian citizenship is waning, and the only reason it hasn't completely disappeared is because Sweden is now giving us a tough time. We heard from them this week—they have more questions about our situation—I have no idea what the problem is. My husband is a citizen. I paid your fee. I submitted all the proof. What more do you want?!

An extension

{ Washington Square Park: you're still mine for a bit longer  |  13 March 2013 }

After a pensive weekend, followed by a week of email negotiations, our apartment situation is finally settled: we agreed to a 6-month lease renewal at a slightly higher (but lower than market-price) rent.

WHEW!

Things were looking bleak / expensive for us when our building said they could only offer a 3-month renewal, which wouldn't help since the new lease-end date would coincide with my Italian consulate appointment. Our building reasoned that we could always renew again in three months, but of course we ran the risk that the price would rise. Again.

We put off responding to the three-months-only-option e-mail, and were in the process of very grudgingly resigning ourselves to another year in New York (since subletting isn't an option for us and we also wanted to avoid another price hike in three months) when we received another communiquè.

Our landlords had reconsidered given my history with the building (six years, people!) and offered us a 6-month extension at a locked-in price. Not sure what prompted them to change their mind—maybe giving them the cold shoulder made me more attractive, the way boys are way more into the girls that give them the brush off?

Regardless, I quite like the idea of one last summer and fall in NYC. Although that does mean if we are able to leave when the new lease ends, we'd wind up in Sweden just in time for winter...oops!

Snowy deliberations

{ Snow falling...horizontally  |  Lower Manhattan  |  8 March 2013 }

As you can see, we've got a wintry-white weekend ahead of us.

Perfect for me, as I've got two days of taxes to look forward to, which will hopefully keep my mind off of fretting over (1) needing to decide within three weeks where we're going to live in NYC for the foreseeable future and (2) when we'll hear back from the US, Italian and Swedish consulates, which may make our need to prolong our time here null.

I think an Excel spreadsheet would call this a circular error.

Signing on a new dotted line

{ View of Lower Manhattan from the NYC Harbor during our Pioneer Schooner evening sail  |  August 2012 }

The definition of naiveté: assuming it would be completely fine for us to time the end of our NYC lease to 6 months from when we're eligible for each others' citizenship, because of course we'll be able to work the system of three different governments to apply for and receive permission to live abroad AND prepare for an international move within 180 days.

So very, very foolish, on our part.

All of which to say that my home in Lower Manhattan—where I've lived for 6 years—may no longer be my home come spring. I've lived in the same building the entire time, although I've moved apartments within it twice, and we assumed (again, naive) that if our lease expired before we had the proper paperwork to move, we'd just go month-to-month, which I've done before.

But, I haven't verified that we could do that again, and in the meantime, our building emailed us yesterday to say that our rent was going up 15% a month. So, either we take a gamble and assume all the timing gods will work in our favor and we should ask if it's still possible to do a month-to-month lease for a few months (at the higher price), or realize that it would not be a mistake to assume we'd need another year to sort things out and really prepare ourselves well for an international move so it would make more sense to move somewhere else where we could either pay the same rent, or slightly more—but not 15% more!—for a better apartment.

And, did I mention we have two weeks to decide? And, that in NYC, you have to basically give up your apartment before you find a new one, which means that if we decide not to renew our apartment we'd have to tell them now, but we wouldn't be able to find another apartment until a month or so before it's available, which works out to me being a basketcase and not knowing where I'm going to live for 6 weeks.

Fun!

Tape, red or otherwise

{ Excellent Christmas gift from my Swedish svärmor  |  January 2013 }

Do you know where the phrase "red tape" comes from? Good ol' President Jedidah Bartlett enlightened me (although the Internet tells me the origin dates even further back, but let's go with what The West Wing says): apparently Civil War veterans had to go to D.C. personally to get their pensions after the war. They had to wait for a clerk to look through all the records until their papers were found—and they were bound in red tape.

Not that applying for foreign citizenship is equal at all to fighting a war (although theoretically it means that if there was a draft, I'd have to pledge allegiance to multiple armies), but I've been dealing with quite a bit of red tape, both foreign and domestic.

I mentioned some of the foolishness that was involved with my Italian and Swedish requests before and things are still pretty much just as foolish.

For Sweden, well that authenticated marriage certificate I mailed over did me no good on the residency permit side, but at least our marriage is now registered with Skatteverket, their version of the IRS. I only realized that nothing was happening when three months passed and no news was sent our way so I started raising a ruckus with the Consulate here to ask what the heck is going on (they had told me it would take three months maximum from receipt of my marriage certificate to having residency in hand, which is not at all how things went down). Turns out, we had been misinformed. So they gave us a bunch of forms to fill out, except when I got home nothing made any sense at all (and these were in English).

So I sent them a strongly worded email asking what exactly am I supposed to be doing with these nonsensical forms that ask where we live and work in Sweden when I explained to you that we wanted to get permission to live and work in Sweden? In response the Consulate sent me a link to an online form the very next morning—after 40 minutes answering questions, uploading documents, attaching photographs and providing my credit card information, BOOM, my request for residency based on familial relationships was sent! And now we wait.

For Italy, those cads are holding fast to their August 2013 appointment date, and I found out that the additional documents I will have to show are even more involved then originally thought. They want a recent copy of my birth certificate (of course I don't understand that since I wasn't born again), but it has to be translated and authenticated and stamped by the Department of State. Oh, and all of my four criminal records will have go through that same procedure...after I pay to get new ones done of course, since they'll be out of date by the time my appointment rolls around.

Although, as is the case with Italians, R met someone who knew someone who knew someone else that works at the Consulate and we were given an email address to use to ask for an earlier date. We did and were told that maybe they might have an earlier opening if we ask again in six weeks.

See? Red tape.


PS. Thank goodness everything is progressing for R with his US citizenship. He's already studying for the civics exam and we're just waiting for an appointment date for our interview, his test, and his oath (!) ceremony.

Monday meanders: 6

{ Lower Manhattan...or Paris?  |  January 2013 }

Monday meanders: my somewhat-regularly-posted collection of online goodies.

+ Why is doubt spelled with a b? Is anyone else as interested in the root of words/historical meanings? I probably wasn't always, but after I began learning languages, I realized how helpful etymology is for making connections across linguistic divides. This animated video about why doubt is spelled with a b is interesting (and not too long, don't worry!). [via]

+ Making tiny cool (and workable!): the winner of NYC's tiny-apartment competition was just revealed and...it looks pretty nice!

+ Finally on the Downton Abbey bandwagon: How could you all keep this from me? I'm completely obsessed and have just petered into Season 2 (so don't spoil it for me!) and saw this gorgeous picture of Mary and Matthew and had to share. I could maybe be a country lady. Maybe. If the gig came with a grand library and a slew of dogs and horses, then perhaps definitely.

+ The right of way for Swedish mammas and pappas with little ones and dogs: of course there's a separate subway turnstile just for them. Ah, Sweden. I heart you.

+ Simple home: Y'all may already know how interested I am in simplifying, cutting-back, whittling-down, etc., and that I really enjoy reading Sarah Wilson's blog and e-books, but now I'm even more excited because she's just bought her first apartment and is about to start "My Simple Home", a series on "sustainable, ethical, minimal, efficient, toxin-free and economical"living. I love how much she researches different topics (whether it be autoimmune diseases, cycling, toxin-free living, etc.) and then does small tweaks here and there to see how she can improve her life (a philosophy I'm very much in agreement with).

+ French provincial in Brooklyn: I cannot even believe this prosaic gorgeousness exists a stone's throw from my apartment in Lower Manhattan (via).

+ Made-to-order Balinese furnishings: I now know two couples (one in real life, and one through their blog—so I'm using the word "know" lightly for the latter, of course) that have traveled to Indonesia and had furniture made to their specifications and sent back and they're just gorgeous! Our friends in Williamsburg have a huge industrial loft that is warmed up by all their incredible teak furniture (that was shipped across the world and right up the East River to the pier in Brooklyn at the end of their street!). And, I just saw these beautiful lights on Hither & Thither (and check out the outdoor fireplace, wouldn't mind that, either!). Gorgeous, no?

Monday meanders: 3

{ via }

Very few tidbits to share from my online futzing around last week...since I mainly meandered from my sofa to my bed and back thanks to this bug that's taken me down.

+ Coconut snowballs: Kinda obsessed with these no-bake, gluten-free, nut-free and vegan goodies (pictured above). Maybe when I'm standing on two feet again I'll whip this goodness up.

+ Santa Lucia: Oddly enough, there's a specific cultural/religious tie between Sweden and Sicily. Sweden (a secular, mostly Lutheran country) has an annual festival of light on winter solstice to mark the beginning of daylight and warmth as the year progresses. Lucy comes from the latin lux or "light" and the festival in Sweden is named for Santa Lucia, a martyred Catholic saint from the fourth century. She's the patron saint of Syracuse in Sicily (about two hours down the coast from R's hometown by car) and the blind (she's usually pictured with her eyes on a platter—a little unsavory). The Swedes celebrate with little girls (or boys...) dressed up in white with a crown of candles and lots of processions and singing, saffron buns and mulled wine.

+ The story of Jim: An beautifully disorienting, touching post about contradictions and life and lessons learned from Sarah at The Yellow House.

Joining the EU

{ Looking up under the City Hall archway | NYC | December 2012 }

Let me tell you about last week—and why it involved getting fingerprinted more than once, writing a handful of checks, and filling out an obnoxious amount of paperwork.

We're about to hit the three-year mark on our marriage, which means: I can file for citizenship in Italy and Sweden! Well, Italy. Sweden requires you to actually live there first, but trust me, I'm working on that.

As part of the paperwork, I had to get an FBI criminal report and a police report for each of the three states I've lived in. Of course each individual body had their own specifications and costs and notary requirements, which made the whole process that much more interesting (sike).

I thought it'd be pretty simple after the legwork of getting fingerprinted was done—just wait for the FBI and all those states to send me a report, translate all our identification documents and get them authenticated and then call up the Italian Consulate to schedule an appointment and sweetly ask them to grant me citizenship, per favore.

Of course, it's never that simple with the Italians. They told us the next possible appointment will be in AUGUST 2013! I could have an Italian baby by that time! Not only did we have to pay $3/minute to hear that bad news over the phone, the $150 I spent on fingerprinting and record requests was for nothing, since by the time that appointment rolls around, they'll have expired. Annoyed doesn't even begin to describe my mood. I bet if they minimized their espresso breaks and lengthened their hours from about 2 hours a day to say...a normal work day of 7.5 hours we'd have an appointment next month!

(Note: we were instructed to only call once we had all the documents ready, if we had any idea they wouldn't give us an appointment for the time it takes me to grow a baby we'd have made the appointment first A YEAR AGO and then done all the run around to get our documents in order).

Meanwhile, we heard our marriage is thisclose to being formally registered in Sweden. I sent the paperwork back in October to register our marriage there, which would give me the right to receive their version of a SSN, which makes getting residency and benefits from Day 1 infinitely more easier, instead of waiting to do it once we arrive.

In the midst of all that foolishness, I finished R's citizenship paperwork for the US. After two rounds of fiancè visa applications for him to enter the country in 2009, plus applying for his 2-year green card in 2010, and then his 10-year green card in 2012, he can (finally) ask for US citizenship (like Italy, the US also requires you to be married for three years before making your request).

Am waiting for the day when I will no longer have to write a check to any country's homeland security/minister/etc. (I'm scared to even tally up how much we've spent in the last 4'ish years on this). If everything keeps moving forward R should have American citizenship next year and I will hopefully have Italian citizenship and Swedish residency within the next year...which would give me a break from dealing with immigration bureaucracy until 2016,  when I can ask for Swedish citizenship. And THEN I will no longer have to deal with this nonsense...well, until we have children and need to request citizenship in three different countries for them. Sigh.

I'm on my way to becoming Jason Bourne—except with legal passports.

And no Treadstone, of course.

{My trip to Goa | 2006 | Jason Bourne may have run down this exact same beach }

Undecked halls

{ Everyone else is feeling festive | Soho | December 2012 }

I am decidedly un-festive this year.

No decorations at home, no presents being bought/crafted. I'm not even listening to holiday music!

Thanksgiving really does set the tone for the holiday season for me and since we had a muted day this year, I don't think I've fully gotten into the holiday spirit. That plus knowing we'll be out of the city and sans family at the end of the year (so no tree, no Midnight Mass, no Glögg) and I'm feeling decidedly blue (or blah), instead of red and gold and plummy purple.

Not even this adorable series of Scandinavian holiday crafts appearing each day of December like the best advent calendar ever got me in the spirit.

I think I need to just admit to myself that this year is a wash in terms of Christmas festivities...but I can console myself knowing we'll be (mostly) offline and on a beach for two weeks soon.

That's a consolation prize I can get behind.

{ The table set and the apartment decorated for a holiday meal...last year }

Latte pappas

{ A walk in Stockholm's Hagapark | December 2010 }

The primary thing people warn me about when I say I want to move to Sweden is: "but it's so cold/dark!". True. But, I'm hoping my obsession with coziness and candlelight, their obsession with "fika" (coffee/pastry breaks) and my newfound love of saunas, which exist on every street corner over there, will combat the overwhelming lack of sunlight and warmth in winter.

On a tangential note: here's a man's point of view on gender equality in Sweden (I promise I'll move on from this soon). Don't you love how the dad's are called "latte pappas"? Adorable.

"It has only taken a few weeks of this for me to know [that] when I thought I was being sympathetic to my wife during her child leave, I wasn't being nearly sympathetic enough. And when I thought I was being understanding, I didn't understand a thing...

...In Sweden, men's painful discovery of how exhausting it is to look after a baby is believed to aid parental harmony. 'You get a whole different understanding of how it is to take care of a child, because work is nothing in comparison'...

...Swedes tend to see generous shared parental leave as good for the economy, since it prevents the nation's investment in women's education and expertise from going to waste."

Granted we don't have children, nor are we anywhere close to being ready, but I think it might be nice to be in place that has this mindset when we finally decide to grow our own little family, no?

Wistfulness

{ Pretty pretty snow-covered Swedish cafe via }

I saw this house posted on one of Sweden's tourism pages on Facebook last week and had an insane surge of happiness. Cozy little red house in the woods with a little tree out front bedecked with twinkly fairy lights and a dusting of snow over everything including the quaint stone fence? Oh, yes. That is perfection. All that's missing is a plume of smoke from the chimney and a golden retriever tromping and snuffling about in the white poufs outside.

It's funny, just having a tiny window, a teensy glimpse into a different reality and you assume it's all perfect and rosy. Walking past a fancy home goods store (or even unfancy: I get the Gimme's at IKEA!) or browsing about the blogosphere or checking out beautifully staged real estate listings in foreign countries, you think: if I lived in that house, or had that furniture, or had that for lunch, or lived that life I'd be happier.

Is it location that makes things better? The unfamiliarness and promise of the unknown? Will I be drastically happier and more fulfilled just by going to a country that I think fits me better? Probably not. Whatever ails me here will just trot along across an ocean and end up next to me, right where it's always been.

But, that won't stop me from wistfully imagining up all the potential loveliness that may or may not come to pass when I take a big jump next year. So I present to you above: the Scandinavian country cottage of my dreams.

Equal play

{ Helin & Voltaire, one of my favorite places in Stockholm | December 2010 }

To me, this really is the epitome of cozy urban living (can't you see why I want to live in Stockholm?). Every time we're back in the city for the holidays, we always make a point to take a walk across the snow-covered meadow in front of the turreted Helin & Voltaire cafè in Djurgården and indulge in some ridiculously delicious, cinnamony, cardamomy goodness.

If the optimal mix of city and country wasn't enough for me to love about Sweden (plus the whole passion towards an open society, sustainability, minimalist beauty, etc.), there's also their take on women, which can be summed up in a word: amazing.

Turning the page

{ An autumnal table }

Much as I love the month of September (not only because it's my birthday and when a new school year starts—even though I'm no longer in school, but because I believe that everything starts afresh in the Fall, not on January 1st), there’s something sweet about October 1st. Maybe because it falls on a Monday this year and seems fresher? More crisp?

Regardless, I’m glad it’s here, if for no other reason that the subways are on their way to being more bearable and the A/Cs will soon be shut off (crossing fingers for no more descents into sauna-like conditions post-shower and pre-work and that yucky water will no longer drip on me from above as I pass below window A/C units).

Also, I can finally drag my knitting bag out, which has been holed up behind the couch all summer, and now drinking yummy tea, besides being comforting/delicious, keeps my fingers warm and soothes the throat! I’ve been thinking about ways I can commemorate what may be (if all goes according to plan) my last fall in NYC/the US (for the foreseeable future). Day trips upstate/Hudson Valley? More apple-y/squash-y dishes? More leaf-crunching walks? All of the above are in order, I think.

. . .

I’m tempted to start off just like that, but whenever I come across a new blog I always scroll back through the archives to the first entry to get the “How it all started” story, so it would be fairly sneaky of me to try and get away from doing it for myself.

So, here’s me in a nutshell: Born in NYC, grew up in VA, had a brief hop in the D.C. area post college, started a multi-year transatlantic courtship with R, a Sicilian/Swede whom I met on vacation in Italy, moved back to NYC, married my Sicilian/Swede (twice!) and have now decided to move back to Europe next year.

Not Sicily, mind you, which most people assume I would do, but the gloriously cold, organized, efficient, minimalist, sensible, soothing Stockholm! (It should be noted that I am notoriously always hot, have little patience–hence can’t deal with inefficiency/bureaucracy, and work in branding/advertising, so a major city is a necessity, which puts Stockholm miles above Sicily in my affection). PS. More on my love of Stockholm/Sweden.

Plus, if we ever want to start a family/have a dog without making drastic career changes, we need to leave NYC. And there’s nowhere else in the U.S. we'd like to live right now and I do want to live abroad at some point in my life, but don’t want to go to R’s hometown in Sicily, so Stockholm it is!

Other things to know about me?

+ I’m a first-generation American (of Portuguese/Indian descent).

+ The color purple (and its relatives), golden retrievers, anything ridiculously spicy, and all things cozy and candle-lit make me happy.

+ It's not that I'm anti-social, it's just that I like time alone or in (very) small groups. Huge parties give me hives, but intimate dinner parties, those make me super happy.

+ I don’t like horror movies (but love fast-paced international thriller spy-type ones).

+ I'm in the natural, sometimes raw, wholesome foods camp (which for me means steering clear of gluten and sugar. The former for a sensitivity and the latter for a desire to avoid toxins, which I feel sugar is, and which I suppose gluten is, too—at least to me). If you're interested in other things I do, all in the name of being gentler to myself, this post's for you.

+ I am enamored with Anne Shirley and Lorelai Gilmore.

+ I talk very, very fast (hence kinship with Lorelai).

 + My husband says I eat books because I zoom through them so fast. You can imagine he was thrilled when I carried a thousand-page book on Cleopatra's life with me on our honeymoon. Here's what I'm reading now.

+ I can be a bit bossy...and also very feisty. Poor R.

+ I like makings things with my hands—be it food, my own stationery, knitted doodads and other crafty bits and bobs (which doesn't preclude me from buying pretty things).

+ I think I like writing...but not actual writing. I love the IDEA of keeping a written journal, but I think I’ll have better luck in the digital realm vs. creamy paper and inky pen (which sound delicious in theory).

+ And the name? Well, I have a thing for sparkly things—wit, wine, water, jewels, lights, to name a few.