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For most of the years of my life that I lived in the United States of America I did so in the southeastern region.

For most of the years that I lived in the states I drank wine if I drank any kind of alcoholic beverage at all.

Since moving to Sweden I have been learning about whiskey. Trying to learn a bit about the different barrels and their effects on the taste. Blended vs single malt, Irish, Scotch, and Canadian whiskeys and the usually subtle differences.

Sometimes I looked at the American classics, Jack Daniels for example, but my assumption was that "made in America" wasn't really the best recommendation for a good whiskey.

Today we were in the state-run liquor store getting some beer for Björn and I was looking for some Bailey's Irish Cream to have in my evening coffee. Right next to the Bailey's was a display of Southern Comfort. I've never had Southern Comfort but my impression when I've heard the brand was "cheap crappy Louisiana bourbon - yuck". However, this was not the section where one would find cheap crappy whiskey or bourbon (and believe me, the state-run liquor store does not make alcohol placement mistakes). So I read the little label under the shelf. "Lätt örtkryddig smak med inslag av apelsinskal, pomerans, aprikos och vanilj." (Light herbal flavor with a hint of orange peel, Seville orange, apricot and vanilla.)

Gee, that sounded pretty interesting. I bought a bottle of Southern Comfort. Made in New Orleans, Louisiana. A stone's throw from the places in the southern United States where I lived most of my life.

Oh my homegrown yumminess! Sometimes you have to get very far from home to discover your own backyard.

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azkatraz
Harry Potter fans have a lot going on this week. Not only does The Half-Blood Prince hit movie theaters everywhere, but also the Azaktraz conference takes San Francisco by storm starting July 18. Get all the news and updates at this community.

I'm really intimidated by the flashing cursor in the white box where I'm now attempting to write my first journal entry in god knows how long. I was supposed to write something really prolific about my trip home to Ohio, but I don't know how to do that. But I have to write something, because if I don't, my blog can't survive for obvious reasons. So with that said, here's my entry.

My trip was filled with some extraordinary highs and some really devastating lows. Hanging out with my family is never dull, my parents are a blast to hang out with, and just being able to say something like that is amazing in itsself. I've not always been able to be in the same room as my mom and stepdad, which I guess is pretty easy for most people to say at one time or another. But the more I'm around my mom, the harder it is for me to live so far away. 

My mother makes me realize my own age and that I'm not exactly young myself anymore. What I mean is that my mom is the person who I can compare from my earliest memories until now. She's the first person I've ever really noticed aging from 28 or 30, when I have my first memories of her, when she was so strong both mentally and physically, to a woman in her 50's who isn't really that same woman she was 25 years ago. It makes me appreciate the aging process in all of us because I can understand it. It's interesting to actually think about how much she's changed, and it's interesting for me to see a relationship develop with her where I'm feeling like I have to take care of her, in whatever ways a daughter can when she lives so far away and can only visit once every couple of years.

As for my father, hanging around him is just complete fun, listening to old records with him and my stepmom, Lisa (who is completely hilarious, and who will get her own blog entry very soon, so keep on the lookout!). I kind of end up just melting into the furniture, like a permanent fixture there, and when I'm around, I feel like I've never been anywhere else in my entire life. There's just an insane sense of belonging for me to be around them. Sometimes when we're together, I feel an underlying tingle of sadness swell up in me as I think, why couldn't my entire life have been this way? But, I'm smart enough to understand why, and I'm okay with that too. My father spent a lot of energy making me feel bad for being so far away, and it worked. I cried most of the planeride home.

In other news, my wonderful uncle, who was sick for most of his life, a result of alcoholism that a lot of the Vietnam War veterans developed, passed away from cancer the night before I came home. I spent some time with him the weeks before he passed away, but although I promised to come back before I left, I couldn't bring myself to visit him a last time, because I didn't know how either of us would actually be able to say goodbye to eachother, knowing it would definitely be the last time we'd meet again. It hurts more than I really even thought it would, and I have really fond memories of him, the quiet, ghostly man who gave me my first fishing pole, which belonged to my grandpa (who also died of cancer when I was just a year old), the man who made us squirrel for dinner once, and mom made me eat it, even though there were some tiny hairs in the gravy, and I didn't say a word otherwise. The gentle man with the hugest heart, who spent his lifetime fighting wars inside his mind that none of us will ever really be able to understand because he's gone now.

But for the lows during my vacation, there were some other amazing times as well. I met up with friends I hadn't met for 20 years, I met up with high school friends who I love dearly and who I've become closer than ever to, I met up with cousins I've not seen since childhood, and other family I'd never even met before. I have so many fond memories of the 4 weeks I was there, it was a vacation built entirely upon my loved ones, and nothing else.  It makes it difficult to come back to Europe, but Ireland is where my home is, where Ray and I are building a life of our own together. There are a lot of things coming up just over the horizon, which I'll talk about later, but things are really great here. I do have a lot of other things I want to talk about, but I think this entry is already a bit on the heavy side. I'm sorry I haven't posted in so long, but I also promise that little by little, I'll work myself back up to normal posting habits.

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The gutters needed to be cleaned out as evidenced by the fact that when it rains the front porch is flooded by a waterfall that happens as the result of gutters full of leaves and stuff.

Björn climbed a ladder and started cleaning. I sat on the front porch playing computer games on my laptop.

Suddenly, Björn said, " Aj!"

So I looked up.

He was bleeding. A lot. His hand was, in fact covered in running streams of blood.

There was a good deal of confusion but in the end we were in my car heading for the local health clinic. Björn was trying to call them on the mobile telephone to make sure that it was okay for us to come there instead of to the emergency room at the big hospital in Lund. "You are now number 4 in line. Kindly stay connected and we will serve you soon."

Just as I turned the corner where the health clinic is (about 20 minutes from our house), the nurse answered the phone and told Björn that we could come right into the health clinic. "Come directly to the lab," she said.

We walked in about one minute later and there was a nurse standing in the waiting room watching for us. About one minute after that we were ushered into a treatment room where another nurse began taking care of Björn's fingers. Nurse number one gave him a tetanus shot while a doctor came in to take a look and decided whether or not stitches would be needed. (She was disappointed not to "get" to do stitches today.)

Björn's fingers were bandaged up and we were on our way in about fifteen minutes. We didn't even have to pay anything although I imagine a bill for about 20 dollars will come in the mail next week.

I hear a lot from other people about the horrible Swedish health care system, but honestly - while today was unusually excellent I have always experienced Sweden's health care to be really really good.

Björn is napping now. He has one nasty gash on his right pointer and one less nasty one on his middle finger. He will be taking Ibuprofen and NOT working on the gutters. I will be making chicken panang for dinner because he likes it.

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Residents, visitors, French speakers, English speakers—anyone interested in Montreal is welcome here. Find out everything from where to buy a tart burner to how get around on public transit, but be sure to check the memories and tags before you post.

My beautiful daughter eloped yesterday with the young man who has twinkly eyes.

I love them both and I'm just delighted! 

Björn is in the kitchen.

One of the items which gets to live fulltime on the kitchen counters is a CD player.

That is so that Björn can play Italien opera music at full volume while he makes tagliatelle.

I adore him. 

I'm in deep, deep East Texas.

I bet you can hear the twang from way over there...

I love this town, I love this location. The weather is a bit hot for anybody's tastes, but I grew up here so it forms the ideal to which I have compared everything else in life. It rains a lot, it's muggy / humid / oppressive / steamy / downright unbearable ... but I've never been happier with my environment (ok, Colorado and Georgia were nice, too.)

What gets me is the down-home mentality of the people. It's charming at first - I remember Beverly telling a story about how everyone called her mother "honey" in Texas; but the eccentricities pile up and, well...

Nacogdoches is a small town. Apparently what church you go to is as important as your name, and everyone knows everyone. We still have the tradition of surnames being well known. "Oh, he's a Stott, they're all trouble. Not like the Binghams, nosiree. Why I knew a Stott one time, he..."

I've been wanting to write about this for weeks, but now it's kinda late and I feel like I should just post something, anything, so you get this slapped-together mess.

But it's just as well, 'cause instead of writing a ton I can just sum it up with a quick example (which is what inspired me to finally write this down)

Walking through Wal-Mart tonight, JD tells me "You see how the aisle sign says 'ketchup, salad dressing, mustard?"
Yeah?
"Well it used to say 'condiments', but WalMart got complaints that they were being vulgar, and folks finally made 'm take it down."