#narrow meat soup my beloved

[paintuesday]

YOU ALL KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS !!!!!

merry almost christmas!

[ceravisiae]

THE STREAM

Mona Van Duyn

for my mother

Four days with you, my father three months dead.

You can't tell months from years, but you feel sad,

and you hate the nursing home. I've arranged a lunch

for the two of us, and somehow you manage to pinch

the pin from Madrid I bought you closed at the neck

of your best red blouse, put on new slacks, and take

off your crocheted slippers to put on shiny shoes,

all by yourself. "I don't see how you could close

that pin. You look so nice!" "Well, I tried and tried,

and worked till I got it. They didn't come," you said.

"Mother, I'm sorry, this is the wrong day,

our lunch is tomorrow. Here's a big kiss anyway

for dressing up for me. The nurse will come in

tomorrow and help you put on your clothes and pin."

"These last few days her mind has certainly cleared.

Of course the memory's gone," your doctor said.

Next day they bathed you, fixed your hair and dressed

you up again, got a wheelchair and wheeled you past

the fat happy babbler of nonsense who rolled her chair

all day in the hall, the silent stroller who wore

a farmer's cap and bib overalls with rows

of safety pins on the bib, rooms of old babies

in cribs, past the dining hall, on down to a sunny

lounge in the other wing. "Where can I pee,

if I have to pee? I don't like it here, I'm afraid.

Where's my room? I'm going to faint," you said.

But they came with the lunch and card table and chairs

and bustled and soothed you and you forgot the fears

and began to eat. The white tablecloth, the separate

plate for salad, the silvery little coffee pot,

the covers for dishes must have made you feel

you were in a restaurant again after all

those shut-in years. (Dad would never spend the money,

but long ago you loved to eat out with me.)

You cleaned your soup bowl and dishes, one by one,

and kept saying, "This is fun! This is fun!"

The cake fell from your trembly fork, so I fed

it to you. "Do you want mine, too?" "Yes," you said,

"and I'll drink your milk if you don't want it." (You'd

lost twelve pounds already by refusing your food.)

I wheeled you back. "Well, I never did that before!

Thank you, Jane." "We'll do it again." "Way down there,"

you marveled. You thanked me twice more. My eyes were wet.

"You're welcome, Mother. You'll have a good nap now, I'll bet."

I arranged for your old companion, who came twice a day,

to bring you milkshakes, and reached the end of my stay.

On the last night I helped you undress. Flat dugs

like antimacassars lay on your chest, your legs

and arms beetle-thin swung from the swollen belly

(the body no more misshapen, no stranger to see,

after all, at the end than at the beloved beginning).

You chose your flowered nightgown as most becoming.

You stood at the dresser, put your teeth away,

washed your face, smoothed on Oil of Olay,

then Avon night cream, then put Vicks in your nose,

then lay on the bed. I sat beside your knees

to say goodbye for a month. "You know I'll call

every Sunday and write a lot. Try to eat well--"

Tears stopped my voice. With a girl's grace you sat up

and, as if you'd done it lifelong, reached out to cup

my face in both your hands, and, as easily

as if you'd said it lifelong, you said, "Don't cry,

don't cry. You'll never know how much I love you."

I kissed you and left, crying. It felt true.

I forgot to tell them that you always sneaked your meat,

you'd bragged, to the man who ate beside you. One night

at home, my heart ringing with what you'd said,

then morning, when the phone rang to say you were dead.

I see your loving look wherever I go.

What is love? Truly, I do not know.

Sometimes, perhaps, instead of a great sea,

it is a narrow stream running urgently

far below ground, held down by rocky layers,

the deeds of mother and father, helpless sooth-sayers

of how our life is to be, weighted by clay,

the dense pressure of thwarted needs, the replay

of old misreadings, by hundreds of feet of soil,

the gifts and wounds of the genes, the short or tall

shape of our possibilities, seeking

and seeking a way to the top, while above, running

and stumbling this way and that on the clueless ground,

another seeker clutches a dowsing-wand,

which bends, then lifts, dips, then straightens, everywhere,

saying to the dowser, it is there, it is not there,

and the untaught dowser believes, does not believe,

and finally simply stands on the ground above,

till a sliver of stream finds a crack and makes its way,

slowly, too slowly, through rock and earth and clay.

Here at my feet I see, after sixty years,

the welling water-to which I add these tears.

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 10 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

“If you don’t talk to me, I’m not going to leave you my keys.”

Annabeth looks at Piper from behind the loom, glaring through the threads. “Then you won’t come back to ten bolts of fabric.”

In fairness, it was sort of an empty threat. Piper has all the good stuff: the surger, the embroidery machine, the industrial sewing machines, plus a million sources for fabric that aren’t Annabeth’s stress weaving. Annabeth only has her own shitty sewing machine at home that she’d gotten for Christmas when she was fourteen.

Also, Piper wouldn’t actually lock her out. She needs those fabrics.

“Why don’t you just not go?” Annabeth says. “If you stay, I promise to tell you all the gritty details.” She’s joking, but the second she says it, she’s hit with a strange wave of desperation.

She wants to tell Piper all the gritty details. How she had giggled and smoozed and looked so pretty on Luke’s arm, tattoos and undercut and everything else so carefully concealed. She never wanted to tell Thalia the gritty details. The dirty ones, sure, particularly when the dirty things didn’t involve Thalia’s beloved younger cousin. But she had spent two years, two hard painful years, hiding vast swaths of herself from Thalia.

She thought of the night of the gala, of Thalia telling her family she knew Luke from college. NYU. They’d been actors together.

Annabeth hadn’t been the only one hiding things.

It had stung, in all sorts of ways.

Piper stares, narrowing her eyes. “How dare you tempt me into giving up my creative retreat for gossip.”

Annabeth shrugs. “It’s one or the other.”

The glare at each other, stubborn as all hell.

Piper throws up her hands. “Fine. Just make my fabric and call Leo if you’re having another crisis.”

The truth is, she will tell Piper. Eventually. She knows she will. It will probably be in eight months, when she gets back, when hopefully the shame of her false life and the devastation of losing Percy has lessened, but she will tell her. But eight months is a long time. “I do have other friends, you know.”

“Then call Luke. Or Thalia.”

It takes absolutely everything Annabeth has not to wince at the names.

She would never have told Thalia. Not really. Even things like this, even if it hadn’t involved her. Thalia wasn’t… good at relationship stuff. Not like Piper. And she never knew all of Annabeth’s romantic history--not like Piper did, anyway.

And it wasn’t just romantic relationships.

Annabeth might have been able to share her pain, and share her pain with Thalia, but it had, in many ways, only been a surface level thing. Thalia saw her pain after Annabeth’s mom had rescinded her approval of her life, but she'd taken Annabeth’s silence as the end of the matter, and responded to it by acting out, and arguably drinking too much.

But they never talked about her mother. They never talked about Thalia’s, either, and if there was something Annabeth learned from Hazel’s gala beyond how unfairly handsome Percy was going to look in thirty years, it was that there was a lot going on there.

It is a little hurtful on reflection. Making her feel less close to Thalia, but also less guilty about what she never said. And less willing to accept her reactions.

Her emotions have been all over the place the last few weeks.

Piper notices, because of course Piper notices, but she is an angel, and has known her for a long time, so she doesn’t badger her too much. She also doesn’t mention that Annabeth’s measurements all seem to be off. Not even to say something about beauty at every size or her well publicized efforts for diverse bodies in fashion.

But it was still nice to spend time with her. It felt like the old days, staying up too late making the next thing in fashion, and then passing out together, surrounded by bobbins and bagels, Gossip Girl playing on TV.

It did make Piper’s impending departure that much harder, though.

Two weeks into November, she meets Piper and Leo for dinner, and then sees Piper off to JFK for her eight-month creativity retreat in Oklahoma. “You know, like how you decided you couldn’t have a doorman for creative reasons,” she’d said with a raised eyebrow when Annabeth had questioned the move. Piper likes to treat the last two years of Annabeth’s life like some sort of creative exercise. Her dad had done that too, once, when she bothered to answer his call.

Not that she’s not doing anything other than helping Piper pick stitches, and sewing hemlines Piper is too important to deal with herself. She wishes that earlier estimation had been true.

Since the gala she’s been living on Uber Eats at Piper’s, unless she gets bullied home, in which case it's the same but less varied selection with more meat, so the night out with Piper and Leo the night before Piper’s flight feels like a radical departure from the norm. Even though they just go to dinner.

Which does not stop her from feeling hungover the next morning.

“You had half a glass of wine last night,” Leo points out from the door of her bathroom.

“I remember,” she agrees when it lets up for a moment.

“If you get me sick,” he says, “I’m sending you the doctor's bill.”

“Fair,” she chokes out.

Leo doesn’t hug her goodbye, but he does tell her he hopes she gets better before heading back to Boston.

Annabeth, hugging porcelain, wishes she could go with him.

She was very seriously considering it a few days later. Magnus would take pity on her and Alex was always fun to hang out with. Plus, they’d probably think she was too pathetic to be called on her shit. She only did not make plans to go up to Boston because on Wednesday Luke texted her: Already a shit week, brunch this weekend? And she knew if she ran off to Boston, she wouldn’t leave Magnus and Alex’s guest room until they forced the issue.

But it would be nice to talk to someone in New York City who doesn’t hate her guts, she thought.

So, on Sunday morning, she throws up the wonton soup she’d ordered in for dinner the night before, gurgles some mouthwash, uses the expensive concealer to hide the dark circles, and over does the mascara in hopes that she mostly looks awake.

“You look terrible,” are the first words Luke says to her.

“You have no idea how to talk to women,” she says, slumping down across from him.

“I do,” Luke says, “I just know not to bother with you.” But he frowns at her, taking her in. She’s broken out a Chanel jacket, but she isn’t sure when she last washed these jeans. A real winning combo, her.

“But really,” Luke says, “you look miserable. Is it about what happened on Halloween?”

She shrugs. It isn’t not that. Percy’s words still circle through her head, his sad, defeated face as he bemoaned the, how did he put it? All the rich girls who fucked him to make a point. Made all the worse because she believes them. Probably not the same points as those princesses, but… probably not as different as she would like.

She wonders if Europe is full of very wealthy aristocratic women who are all secretly and shamefully still in love with Percy Jackson. And Frank Zhang.

It makes her feel hollow and nauseous all at once.

But she’s been feeling nauseous for weeks now, so at least it's not a new feeling. If it keeps up, she’s going to have to go to the doctor soon.

She hates going to the doctor. It feels like cheating when she just goes and pays and knows other people can’t. She had once lied to Thalia about getting money for a side gig, and then given her two hundred bucks for a trip to the clinic. Now that Annabeth has spent many hours in his cousin’s apartment, and has heard Nico talk about his yearly income on top of the money his dad gives him, she’s not sure how it came down to her.

“Not really,” Annabeth says, “I mean, I still feel just as terrible, but that’s mostly the problem. I feel sick.”

“It's been three weeks.” Luke looks genuinely concerned. “What’s going on?”

“I’m exhausted and nauseous all the time,” she says, groaning at the thought. She was okay right at this moment, but she knew it could come back at the drop of a hat.

Luke frowned at her. “That’s all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“I mean…” He looked at her, his eyes gazing lower, to her body. Luke had never really come on to her in any kind of real way. But she’s not sure he’s ever looked at her with less lust than he does right at that moment.

It is calculating. She’s gained some weight, she knows. But if Luke points it out, she’s going to kick him in the nuts with her steel toed boots. Or maybe make him explain himself and his relationship with Thalia.

“Annabeth,” Luke says, his voice lower, a frown on his face, “please don’t freak out.”

She can feel her heart pick up, just a bit. “That’s a terrible place to start.”

“Have you been feeling… emotionally volatile lately? Having a lot of mood swings?”

She frowns. She’d maybe been crying a little more than normal at sentimental hulu ads, but she always has a soft touch for that kind of thing, and she’s going through some stuff. “I don’t think you should ask a woman that.”

“You are really not going to like my next question, then.” He leans close and says, “Are your… breasts tender?”

“You’re right, I don’t like that question,” Annabeth says, crossing her arms over her chest. Even though they are. “I don’t know why you thought that, and how you knew.”

Luke looks at her with such pity, she feels like she’s suddenly eighteen years old again, and crying on his couch at the end of freshman year about the greatest heartbreak of her life. (It had moved to second place. Lucky it. The boy in that bar had only been theoretical, mostly.)

Luke reaches out, grasping one of her hands, and for a second, Annabeth is sure he is going to tell her that she’s dying.

“Have you considered you might be pregnant?”

She yanks her hand away. “I can’t be pregnant,” she says. “I haven’t had sex in weeks.”

“Have you had your period since then?” Luke asks.

“Not that it's any of your business,” she says, “but I haven’t had one in years.” They do talk about sex sometimes, but periods had long been off the Luke table.

Luke grimaces. “Well, you’ve been sexually active recently…”

“It’s been more than a month!”

“When did you start getting morning sickness?” Luke asks “You were throwing up at Halloween.”

“That wasn’t in the morning,” she snaps, “and I feel fine now.”

“You know morning sickness doesn’t just happen in the morning,” Luke says. “And with the rest of your symptoms, well--”

She shakes her head, glaring at Luke. His judgement would have been better than his patient mansplaining. “You think I don’t use birth control?”

Luke shrugs a little. “I mean… you’re… not great at things like daily medication. That’s what happened last time. And if a condom broke or you didn’t use one…”

Last time. Oh, last time. Last time had been the worst four hours of her life, in between realizing that she hadn’t been remembering her birth control pills every day, that her period was a few days late, and that she’d definitely been having unprotected sex with that boy in Luke’s cohort who was probably too old for her. Last time had been her having a panic attack on Luke’s Cambridge apartment couch while a very reluctant Leo was sent to buy a pregnancy test or twelve, and Piper reassuring her via speaker phone that it would be ok, while Luke rubbed her back and reminded her to breathe.

“I do remember what happened last time,” she says. “That’s why I got an IUD. Which, if you don’t know, from all your girlfriends' pregnancy scares, has the same failure rate as permanent sterilization, less than one percent. So…” So it would be okay. She couldn’t be pregnant. That’s why it had been okay for Percy and Annabeth to start fucking without a condom.

“When was the last time you got a new one?”

“August.” She says, thinking back. She was almost sure. “I remember because it was before the Eta thing--Leo called me to tell me about the ceremony while I was at the gyno.”

“So you were distracted and being a bad patient when they were trying to put it in?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

But she won’t give Luke, of all people, the satisfaction. “They are professionals. They should know what they’re doing, even if I was on the phone.”

Luke gives her his most disappointed dad face. It is worse than Annabeth’s own father. “You’re the one who always tells me I need to not make people’s jobs harder by being a bad client,” he quietly reminds her.

She fucking hates him.

But despite herself, she pulls out her phone, and begins googling misplaced IUDs and pregnancy.  

They haven’t even ordered yet, but Luke is already standing up, probably based on the look on her face as she manages to fight through the dyslexia and figure out what it says. “Come on,” he says, helping her out of her chair, even though she’s not an invalid. She just might be pregnant.

She pushes that thought away as she follows Luke into a cab and then up to his apartment. He makes her some tea and hands her a banana while he goes to get her a pregnancy test, because Luke’s not quite shameless enough to have one at home. She waits for him in a living room straight out of American Psycho and reads up on IUD pregnancy complications online. Which she probably should not have done.

By the time Luke gets back, she is crying again. He’s gotten her 3 tests, which is very considerate of him, as she’s going to need them.

Walking into the bathroom, she’s shaking hard enough that she needs to brace herself on the wall. He lets her use the nice one off his bedroom, though it's not like she needs the jacuzzi tub.

When she’s done peeing, she sets a timer on her phone and sits on Luke’s bed. He tries to speak to her several times. She doesn’t respond.

It isn’t the longest ten minutes of her life, because the truth is, she knows.

She already knows.

When the alarm goes off, she shrugs off Luke’s arm and silently walks back into the bathroom.

Luke got a digital readout, because what else was he going to do. And so she looks at the little screen and just barely processes the word pregnant.

She doesn’t need to take the other tests. She doesn’t need confirmation or to be convinced.

She reaches down and pressed on her lower abdomen, lifting her shirt. She had noticed a slight change. But she’d also changed a lot of her daily routine lately, had eaten a lot more ice cream. Right now, she can’t see any kind of bump, not really, but she can see a shift. Something flat gone fuller.

Annabeth is pregnant.

Annabeth is pregnant with Percy’s baby.

Percy’s baby.

She bursts into tears all over again.

An eternity later, there is a knock on the door.

“Annabeth,” Luke calls, “can I come in?”

She manages to choke out a yes.

Luke finds her sitting on the edge of the tub. He looked at the test still sitting on the counter.

“Let me make a call,” he says, sitting next to her, resting a hand on her arm. “I know a doctor. He can get you a pill or maybe even see you if you need it. Probably today or tomorrow. We can get this all taken care of and then I’ll buy you ice cream and we can watch Legally Blonde, and you can complain about how it doesn’t accurately reflect the admissions process.”

Normally Annabeth would pre-complain, and point out that given Elle’s GPA, LSAT, and extracurricular activities, she would have been a shoe in for her program, and the movie was dismissive of her prior academic achievement. But she’s too busy parsing what Luke is saying.

He squeezes her hand in support. “It's going to be okay,” he says, sweetly.

“No.” She says. But not because it won’t be okay. “No, I’m not going to have an abortion.”

“It's okay,” Luke promises. “I would never judge you. And no one else would ever have to know. This isn’t something you have to do.”

“I know that,” Annabeth says. “I don’t have to do anything.” She detangles her hand from Luke’s and rests it on her stomach, where her uterus waits under her skin. “I want to do this.”

Luke looks at her hand. “Poseidon Olympianides’ son?” he asks. “That’s the father?”

She nods.

Blowing out a breath through his teeth, he sighs. “Well, you’ll be able to get some good child support out of him at least. That family is loaded.”

“Don’t say that,” she nearly screams, and Luke actually jerks back a little. “He doesn’t have any money. He’s his dad’s bastard kid,” she says, feeling a little bad about revealing his family history, but knowing that the word would spark something in Luke. “I don’t know if I’m even going to tell him.”

It feels like something cheap and shallow, trapping a man with a lie, then a baby.

She’s still crying and tentatively, Luke reaches out and wraps his arms around her, pulls her to him.

“Come on,” he says, pulling her up. “You still need ice cream and a movie.”

Annabeth cries. And she doesn’t fight him, but it feels so strange. Half way through her Caramel Sutra and the Legally Blonde proshot, she realizes what’s different.

For the first time since Percy walked out of her apartment without a good-bye kiss, Annabeth Chase is happy.

She’s pregnant with Percy Jackson’s baby.

She’s going to have Percy Jackson’s baby.

She’s not sure if she’s ever heard anything as wonderful in her entire life.

And if she’s going to be worthy of it, worthy of her baby, then she’s going to have to get her shit together.

[tsohl]

A bit of fun...

An Interview from village magazine. 2005

A model life

Monaghan-born Caitriona Balfe was recruited shaking a charity box outside a Dublin shopping centre. Now she is Ireland's most successful international model. Based in New York and the darling of some of the world's top designers, she talks to Ailbhe Jordan

It’s just after five on a Tuesday evening in Soho. Streams of harassed-looking people scurry in both directions along Spring Street, seeking escape from the mayhem of midweek Manhattan in the form of the nearest taxi or subway station.

Nobody but me seems to notice a tall, thin young woman leaning against the wall of a grey building. We have never met in person and a curtain of long, tousled brown hair obscures her face as she flicks through a notebook, but it’s definitely her.

Since Derek Daniels of Assets Modelling agency spotted her six years ago collecting money for charity outside the Swan Shopping Centre in Rathmines, Caitriona Balfe has quietly strutted her way to the upper echelons of the fashion industry.

Nineteen years old and intent on becoming an actress at the time, Balfe modelled part-time in Dublin for a year until a visiting scout from Ford Modelling agency asked her to work for them in Paris. She decided to take a year out from her drama course at the Dublin Institute of Technology to pursue the opportunity.

In her six years as a model, Balfe has strutted down the catwalk for every big name from Gucci to Marc Jacobs. Vogue are big fans too; the fashion bible has put her on the cover of its US, French, German, Spanish and Italian editions.

After Paris, Balfe moved to Milan, where she became the darling of Dolce & Gabanna, who still hire her to work exclusively at their spring and autumn shows. Three years ago, she moved to New York to work for US based Elite Modelling agency. One of her first castings was for Cuban-American designer Narciso Rodriguez, who was so impressed, he made her his muse.

Balfe is, without a doubt, the most successful international model Ireland has produced.

On this evening she looks up and smiles, revealing a heart-shaped face, with sharp, pixie-like features and bright blue eyes. Wearing not a scrap of makeup, she looks younger than her 26 years. Her complexion is pale, clear and spattered with light brown freckles.

She is around 5ft 10”, but seems smaller because of her narrow, thin frame. Dressed in a loose, taupe-colored top, skinny blue jeans that are not as tight as they should be and red flats, she personifies that casual glamour look to which all the downtown hipsters aspire.

She suggests we go to Balthazar, a French Bistro beloved of New York models and celebrities.

As we walk, she assumes a posture so elegant and so straight it looks as though she is leaning backwards slightly.

Balfe’s family comes from Tyvadet, a small town in Co Monaghan. Her accent is neutral from years of living abroad, but every now and then, the Monaghan dialect peeps through – when she says “cool”, for instance, which she says a lot.

Weekend reservations at Balthazar are nearly impossible to make if one is not famous and has not booked at least a couple of weeks in advance.

“Go on ahead,” she says, holding the door open. The hostess directs us to a small table at the window. Balfe glides into her booth without pushing the table out first. “I’m going to have some cake,” she says, lowering her voice.“I got my wisdom teeth out on Friday, so I’ve basically been eating soup all weekend,” she adds quickly, touching her jaws with both hands.

“I was supposed to go to LA today, but I cancelled that because my face was still a bit swollen.”

Conversations between any two people renting in New York City inevitably turn to apartments and – more importantly – locations. Balfe lives in Greenpoint, a trendy Polish neighbourhood in Brooklyn. “I was about three years in the city but I love Brooklyn,” she says.

“It’s just really cute. It’s kind of European, like most of the streets are all mom and pop stores, there’s not one McDonalds. They’ve got all cute little vegetable stores, there’s a meat market and a fish market.”

She pauses to take a sip of coffee.

“We’ve got the ground floor of a building. Its got like a back garden and a basement, which is really cool. My boyfriend has his studio in the basement.”

The boyfriend she refers to is Dave Milone, a guitarist with the band Radio4, who are releasing a new album in New York this week.

“I’ve been with him for three years, he’s from New Jersey,” she says rolling her eyes as New Yorkers often do at the mention of their neighbouring and, in their opinion, less cosmopolitan state.

“It’s a bit of a cliché, I know, a model and a rocker. It’s good though.”

At 26, Balfe has said she considers herself to be one of the “grannies” of the modeling industry.

“Of my five really close friends whom I started with, there’s only one whose still modeling,” she says.

“The rest have gone off to college or have real jobs. I still feel like I’m at college,” she says, stirring her coffee and putting the spoon down on the saucer with a loud clink.

“When I see some of these younger girls who are starting at 17 or so, it’s like being at school, you know. You’ve a bunch of girls who are like, teenagers and of course everyone’s like: ‘is she doing better than me?’ and all that. I was a little bit older when I started, I was 19 and I never really experienced that. I mean, you’re always going to come across a bitch but there’s nothing you can really do about that. I’m getting older now and it does feel weird when you come across someone who tries to intimidate you in that really high school way. It’s like: ‘why am I feeling insecure because of this?’ And it’s funny, because it’s all based on weight, it’s like: ‘you put on a few pounds,’ or something stupid.”

At this point the desserts arrive.

“I feel like the girls are getting very skinny again,” she says, following the movement of the plate with her eyes as the waitress places it in front of her.

“When I started it was like, a lot of the Brazilian girls were around, it was all about being voluptuous and I think in the last couple of seasons there’s been a lot of really, really skinny girls again. I mean, you can tell when somebody doesn’t eat, you can tell by the big rings under their eyes or when they’re kind of quiet, they’re whole personality is kind of...” she slouches down and drops her tongue out in a display of lifelessness.

She picks up her spoon and digs it into the cake, then turns the plate around and spears the scoop of vanilla ice-cream that is perched on top.

“I’ve always been thin, you know?” she says, while her mouth is full.

“My aunts and uncles will be like, ‘oh do you eat?’ but I’ve always been lucky that I can. I eat more than Dave. I go through very, very sporadic, once-in-a-blue-moon fits of going running and stuff, but I’m so lazy. When shows are coming up I just do some exercises at home and maybe not have so much chocolate cake the week before. A few more salads, that kind of thing.”

Next week, Balfe expects to be working in LA for a couple of days, from where she will fly to Miami for a photo shoot, before returning to New York on Sunday to do a shoot for Spanish Vogue.

“It sounds glamorous, it’s not though, it really isn’t,” she says, holding another spoonful of cake up to her lips.

“I am moving towards retirement now – from this,” she continues. “Every year I’m asked and I’m like, ‘oh another year or two.’ But, if I’m still doing this at the end of the next two years, somebody shoot me, please. I mean, it’s really good and it allows me to live a good life. I’m building a house in Monaghan, I can do stuff like that. I can set myself up for the future and stuff. But being an actress was the thing that I always wanted to do. Before I ever started modelling.”

Balfe has not yet found her perfect role, but played a convincing seductress in 2002 when she modelled for lingerie company Victoria’s Secret during their catwalk show, an annual TV spectacle that that has propelled models like Gisele Bundchen and Heidi Klum to international fame.

“Oh God, my poor Da,” she groans, cradling her head in her hands.

“I think it was the Sun or the Mirror back home had this headline: ‘Garda’s daughter goes und-y-cover.’ I wondered what I was doing in there, this pasty little Irish girl amongst all these Brazilian goddesses. I’d gotten a spray tan and they put full body make-up on me but I was 10 times whiter than anyone there. It took very little clothes and quite a lot of champagne to get through that one.”

She shakes her head, smiling at the memory. “Its funny you know? Normally when I’m out, I don’t really dress up. It’s amazing how people will absolutely not even notice you until they hear the word ‘model,’ and then they’re like: ‘Oh.’ And I’m like: ‘what?’ Two seconds ago, I was nothing, you know?”

[xxlovendreamsxx]

Title: patience (or lack thereof) Summary: Exasperated by the slow process of Sasuke and Sakura getting together, Kakashi and Naruto discuss their relationship. Disclaimer: I don’t own Naruto. Prompt: An Outsider’s Point of View Rating: K A/N: I tried to get this out for ssmonth but couldn’t manage to before a very important visit arrived! Oh well, at least I still whipped this out ahhaa. I think many of you will love this one :)

“Those two are impossible.”

Never looking up from his forever-favored little orange novel, Kakashi merely hummed in reply, distractedly stirring his chopsticks into his miso soup’s steaming broth. “Give them time, Naruto,” he drawled. “It’s only been six months since he came back from his journey.”

But his former student didn’t seem to feel the same, throwing his arms up expressively. “Exactly, Kaka-sensei—it’s been six months!” he exclaimed. Naruto leaned his head back against the frame of the chair, groaning hopelessly. “What the hell is Sasuke doing?”

At this, Kakashi glanced at him, lips tugging lightly under his mask. Naruto only proceeded to lean forward again and shove a handful of noodles into his mouth, features annoyed. It was just like him to get frustrated that things weren’t moving along fast enough between his two best friends.

“Sasuke is healing and trying to put his life back in order,” Kakashi calmly settled to explain, returning to his beloved book. He absentmindedly poked at a piece of grilled eggplant. “He’s spent years away from us on a path that he knows now did neither him nor anyone else any good, and now he’s trying to come to terms with all that.”

A snort of pure disbelief sounded beside him. “Oh come on, he’s had two years to work through that—and you know he’s been doing great lately!”

That was true enough. Still, Kakashi simply shrugged in response. “Maybe not well enough to his standards.”

Naruto groaned again. “But his standards are ridiculous, Kaka-sensei,” he lamented. “If Sakura waits on him to get up to his own standards, she’ll be waiting forever!”

True again, Kakashi mused. Reaching to flip to the next page of his book, he simply said, “Probably.”

Out of the corner of his visible eye, he watched as Naruto scowled at him. “Stop acting like you’re fine with that!” the blond snapped, hand flying out to snatch the erotic novel from him.

Fortunately, Kakashi managed to safely pocket it in time. A sigh fell from his mouth. “I’m not,” he eventually replied, propping an arm to the table and his head onto his palm. “I called them in the office last month just to have them in the same room together, didn’t I?”

Naruto rolled his eyes. “Some good work you did…” he muttered, turning to his meal again.

Kakashi wasn’t fazed by his sarcasm. “It was,” he said. “Sasuke walked her home after that.”

Snorting, Naruto waved him away. “Whatever. It’s not like he’s never done that before, anyway!”

“True,” Kakashi replied, lone eye crinkling. A real smile finally tipped to his lips, barely visible under his mask. “But they’ve been walking a whole lot together since then, haven’t they?”

With a sense of satisfaction, he watched as his former student reluctantly crossed his arms over his chest, and frowned. “…I guess.”

Kakashi smiled wider. “Progress,” he declared, all too pleased with himself.

Naruto rolled his eyes once more, shoving another handful of noodles into his mouth. “Slow progress, you mean,” he grumbled, still chewing as he spoke. “Way too slow.”

Kakashi shrugged. “Progress anyway.”

Swallowing, Naruto gestured Teuchi for an additional order, before taking another full bite, brows still furrowed. “How long do you think it’ll take before they end up together, anyway?” he asked, nodding in thanks as his favorite restaurant owner handed him a brand new steaming bowl.

Patient, Kakashi waited until Naruto had wolfed down the rest of his ramen and begun on his new portion, before casually proclaiming, “They’ll be married by next year, most likely.”

Naruto promptly choked, sputtering on himself and hacking wet coughs. The sight almost sent Kakashi laughing.

“What!” he rasped, still coughing, blue eyes widened impossibly. “You—You’re insane! Why would you ever say that? At this rate, Sasuke will only have held her hand by next year!”

Amused, Kakashi shook his head, and took out his beloved piece of literature again, resuming his reading. “Tsk. You’re too focused on the present, Naruto,” he said, sounding positively confident despite his composure. “The two of them have always had an intensity to their bond—they just need a little push to get going, that’s all. Once they do, I’m sure things will unravel rather quickly between them.”

“No way!” Naruto replied, scowling again. “As if the bastard would know what to do!”

Flipping to the next page, and gaze never straying from his novel, Kakashi merely said, “Bet you a hundred ryos.”

There was a pause, then; slight, weighted, and transparently stunned—but completely expected, if Kakashi was honest with himself. When the moment was over, he could practically feel Naruto’s eyes narrowing at him.

“You’re sick, you know that right?” the blond said, clearly unhappy with him. “I am not making deals on my two best friend’s relationship, Kaka-sensei! What kind of guy do you think I am?”

Smiling, Kakashi turned to him, visible eye crinkling. “Two hundred ryos?”

Naruto practically reddened with anger. “No!”

“Oh—one thousand, then.”

It was almost comical how quickly Naruto stiffened at this, scandalized features receding to something more complicated. He was clearly fighting with himself.

Then: “…Alright, alright, fine,” he said, reaching out to present a hand in finalization of a bargain. Naruto’s eyes hardened with determination. “One thousand ryos says it takes them at least two years if they keep going at this rate.”

Kakashi shook his hand without hesitation, smiling wider. “Deal.”

.

.

Two weeks later, as they sat at Kakashi’s favorite restaurant on a pleasantly calm evening, Sasuke and Sakura revealed their intentions to travel.

Completely taken off guard, Naruto and Kakashi both took a moment to pause and stare at them, limbs frozen in the act of eating. After a short while, they turned to look at each other, blinking with surprise.

“For how long?” Kakashi asked, trying not to sound as curious as he felt. Had he and Naruto underestimated how close the two were already? Maybe Sasuke and Sakura spent more time together than they thought.

Naruto, alternatively, remained silent at this, seemingly speechless at the news.

“I’m not sure,” Sakura replied, cheeks reddening faintly as she glanced at the man at her side. This alone was almost enough to confirm his thought. “Sasuke-kun?”

Sasuke merely shrugged. “Don’t know. We’ll decide as we go,” he said, sparing Sakura a seemingly soft look.

Kakashi watched as her features brightened in return, blush blooming deeper across her cheeks, making her look particularly happy. He knew then that he was right: the two of them were much closer than he and Naruto previously suspected. His chest warmed contently, pushing him to throw a knowing stare Naruto’s way—one which the latter only responded with a brief glare.

This doesn’t mean anything, he knew Naruto would say to him, were the other two not here. Sasuke is still obviously moving at a snail’s pace, so you’re still wrong in your bet!

Fortunately for them, neither Sasuke or Sakura seemed to notice their muted exchange, perhaps too caught up in their own line of thoughts judging by the pensive look on Sasuke’s face and the sweet, bashful smile to Sakura’s mouth. Kakashi felt oddly pleased at this.

(they were both transparently excited, in their own ways.)

“And when are you two leaving?” he inquired to them both, reaching to nonchalantly flip over some still-grilling meat, feigning mild indifference to it all.

(after all, if sasuke somehow came to know how big of a deal this really was, there was a chance he could pull back from it all, crushing sakura’s heart once more.)

Naruto still didn’t know what to say.

Blinking out of her girlish daze, Sakura merely smiled wider and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hm. Three weeks, maybe?” she said, putting a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “I have to make sure my responsibilities at the hospital are all delegated properly. I don’t want to cause trouble…”

A noise of disbelief fell from Naruto’s mouth. Kakashi beamed beneath his mask in the hopes they would brush him off.

“That’s wonderful,” he said. “I hope you two will have some most interesting travels.”

As you explore each other, his impish mind added. Kakashi merely beamed brighter.

Glancing shyly at Sasuke, Sakura merely blushed once more and said, “Yes, me too.”

There was no mistaking the contentment painted across Sasuke’s features when he looked at her, too.

And when the waitress arrived to see how their meals were doing in the moment that followed, Kakashi took the opportunity to silently lean Naruto’s way, murmuring, “I’d like to change my bet. I say they’re going to have a child by this time next year.”

It was hard to hide his smile as Naruto made a strange sound in reply, face contorting with absolute mortification, flushing into a deep shade of red.

“Naruto?” Sakura questioned, apparently immediately taking notice of his state. “Are you okay? You look like you have a fever. Maybe you should—”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” her flustered teammate replied, voice a bit strangled. He threw a furious glare Kakashi’s way. “Just, uh, choked on my water, that’s all.”

A poor excuse, Kakashi reflected, forcing himself to cough in an effort to hide the light chuckle that escaped him.

Judging by the manner in which Sasuke’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at them, he evidently thought so, too.

.

.

Surely enough, three weeks later, Kakashi and Naruto found themselves standing at Konoha’s worn gates, arms crossed over their chests and warm smiles to their lips, watching the quietly enamored pair trekking away from the village they called home.

(side by side, brushing arms, gazes locked softly as they began an adventure of their own; a journey of trust, and peace, and love.)

It was only as they were nearly faded out of distance that they noticed Sasuke’s lone hand reaching out for Sakura, seemingly grabbing for her own.

Kakashi cleared his throat to keep from laughing; he’d never seen Naruto’s eyes widen so much.

“One thousand ryos, hm?” Kakashi mused aloud, positively pleased. He stroked his chin lazily through his mask, and threw Naruto a teasing glance. “I think that will be just enough to buy the newest special edition of Icha Icha.”

Glowering at him, Naruto’s face reddened, before he scowled. “Don’t get cocky, old man,” he warned, pointing a finger at him indignantly. “Just because he held her hand, it doesn’t mean they’re going to get married and have a child by next year!”

Swirling on his feet, he began to stomp away angrily, completely flustered. “It took him eight months to hold her hand alone!” he exclaimed, arms flailing around expressively. “EIGHT MONTHS, KAKA-SENSEI!”

Kakashi simply shrugged. “And by next week he’ll have kissed her already,” he said, unhurriedly following after him.

He couldn’t help the light laugh that left him as Naruto shouted a furious denial in response.

.

.

It took a year and a half of waiting before Kakashi and Naruto finally received a letter informing them of their teammates’ impending return. Minds buzzing, the two of them impatiently made their way to Konoha’s gates with pounding hearts, overtly eager to see their friends again—and to find out what kind of progress was made during their lengthy travels.

Fortunately for them, barely an hour passed before Sasuke and Sakura finally came to view far into the distance, spurning Naruto to jump into place, flailing about frantically as he yelled both their names. Kakashi wasn’t surprised when only Sakura responded to his call, waving a hand back happily, shouting back at them.

“Hey, Kaka-sensei,” Naruto said, then, tone dripping with smugness, urging Kakashi’s head to turn in the direction of his former student. He’d never seen him look so cocky. “I don’t see a baby,” Naruto went on, crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk.

Shrugging, Kakashi merely relented and sighed, moving to dig into his pocket for his money pouch. Oh well, he mused, flipping through his bills to amass the amount of ryos he now owed the man beside him. He gave them up without fuss. Maybe I overestimated Sasuke a little too much.

But, he found, it wasn’t really much of a loss when the two slow-burning lovers finally neared enough to allow him to discern the transparent changes to their features. There was no more bashfulness now; no more hidden insecurities. Only glowing contentment, boundless trust and an unspoken intimacy—indicative of a bond now so strong Kakashi was sure could only have been strengthened in marriage.

At least I was right about that much, he thought, smiling as Sakura trotted forward to give them both hugs, giggling most excitedly.

“Oh, I missed you two so much!” she gushed as she pulled away from them, the smile to her lips blindingly happy. She reached to ruffle her blond teammate’s hair. “Did you grow a few inches, Naruto? I swear you look taller!”

Grinning proudly, Naruto seemed to blush a little, hand moving to rub at the back of his neck. He merely felt sheepish, Kakashi knew, the crush he harbored for Sakura already long gone with the years. These days, it was clear that all Naruto wanted was to see her with Sasuke, happy and in love—the both of them.

(a wish already fulfilled, really, but he wouldn’t know that just yet.)

And then, a faint whining noise snatched all of their attentions, sending Naruto and Kakashi jerking in surprise towards Sasuke’s form, eyes unbearably wide.

“Oh,” Sakura started, before either of them could properly take in this new situation, “she must be hungry—this sounds about the right time for her next feeding.” Smile softening with such immense fondness, she made her way towards Sasuke, who was already pushing his cloak aside with the stump of his arm. “Here, let me take her, anata.”

With lightly gaping mouths and astonished minds, Kakashi and Naruto both watched as Sasuke gently transferred the barely-month old child cradled snuggly in his single arm into the arms of his (now indisputable) wife, mismatched eyes warm as ever. It was several moments before Kakashi seemed to be able to catch his thoughts again, a flurry of exhilarating feelings bubbling intensely at his heart.

He was right!

Fighting against the urge to grin, he lowered his head to sing cheerily to the still-gaping man at his side, “One thousand ryos...”

Snapping out of his stunned gaze, Naruto glared at him fiercely before quickly shoving him his money back and tossing out his frog wallet as well, feet stalking towards his two best friends. “You guys got married?” he screeched, voice shrill with a strange mix of happiness, anger, and disbelief. “Scratch that, you had a baby?” Waving his arms around expressively, Naruto went on, “A year and a half ago, you weren’t even dating! What happened!”

Amused, Kakashi watched as Sasuke simply scowled in response and moved to seemingly try and shelter his wife and baby from Naruto’s cries. His glare was sharp as he said, “Tone it down, you idiot! You’re scaring my daughter.”

For once heeding to his warning, Naruto then somehow managed to skirt and duck around Sasuke’s form, eager to peer down at his best friends’ baby girl. “Oh gods, Sakura-chan, she’s so beautiful! Can I hold her?” he cooed, wrapping a proud arm around Sasuke’s shoulders. He ignored how the latter grunted and tried to pull away in vain, clearly annoyed.

(it was clear that he appreciated the gesture, to some degree—kakashi knew just as well as naruto that had he really wanted to, sasuke could have easily slipped out of the hold.)

“Not right now, Naruto,” Sakura replied, smiling proudly at the child in her arms. “I need to feed her.”

She shooed him away, afterwards, laughing lightly as Naruto pouted, but listened anyway. Then, she turned to present her back to them, and seemed to fiddle with her shirt, her smile taking a particularly glowing shade as her husband offered her his cloak for additional privacy.

“I can’t believe this,” Naruto said, as Sasuke turned to face them once again. “What happened over there, Sasuke-bastard?” he demanded. “You need to tell me everything!”

“I don’t need to tell you anything, blockhead!” Sasuke snapped, throwing him a dirty look.

It was Naruto’s turn to scowl at that. “Shut up, asshole! I’m your best friend and you didn’t even have the decency to invite me to your secret wedding? If anyone had the right to be there, it’s me!”

Watching them bicker from his place a few spaces back, Kakashi smiled, feeling accomplished at last. Sighing contently, he pocketed his well-earned money and started walking towards them, eyes crinkling. “Now, now,” he said, “both of you settle down—you’re going to upset the little one if you keep shouting like that…”

.

.

Nothing had ever been so worth the wait.

(...and money.)

[poem-today]

A poem by Mona Van Duyn

The Stream

for my mother

Four days with you, my father three months dead. You can’t tell months from years, but you feel sad,

and you hate the nursing home. I’ve arranged a lunch for the two of us, and somehow you manage to pinch

the pin from Madrid I bought you closed at the neck of your best red blouse, put on new slacks, and take

off your crocheted slippers to put on shiny shoes, all by yourself. “I don’t see how you could close

that pin. You look so nice!” “Well I tried and tried, and worked till I got it. They didn’t come,” you said.

“Mother, I’m sorry, this is the wrong day our lunch is tomorrow. Here’s the big kiss anyway

for dressing up for me. The nurse will come in tomorrow and help you put on your clothes and pin.”

“These last few days her mind has certainly cleared. Of course the memory’s gone,” your doctor said.

Next day they bathed you, fixed your hari and dressed you up again, got a wheelchair and wheeled you past

the fat happy babbler of nonsense who rolled her chair all day in the hall, the silent stroller who wore

a farmer’s cap and bib overalls with rows of safety pins on the bib, rooms of old babies

in cribs, past the dining hall, on down to a sunny lounge in the other wing. “Where can I pee,

if I have to pee? I don’t like it here, I’m afraid. Where’s my room? I’m going to fain,” you said.

But they came with your lunch and card table and chairs and bustled and soothed you and you forgot the fears

and began to eat. The white tablecloth, the separate plate for salad, the silvery little coffee pot,

the covers for dishes must have made you feel you were in a restarurant again after all

those shut-in years. (Dad would never spend the money, but long ago you loved to eat out with me.)

You cleaned your soup bowl and the dishes, one by one, and kept saying “This is fun! This is fun!“

The cake fell from your trembly fork, so I fed it to you. “Do you want mine too?” “Yes,” you said.

“and I’ll drink your milk if you don’t want it.”(You’d lost twelve pounds already by refusing your food.)

I wheeled you back. “Well, I never did that before! Thank you, Jane.” “We’ll do it again.” “Way down there,”

you marveled. You thanked me twice more. My eyes were wet. “You’re welcome, Mother. You’ll have a good nap now, I’ll bet.” I arranged for your old companion, who came twice a day, to bring you milkshakes, and reached the end of my stay.

On the last night I helped you undress. Flat dugs like antimacassars lay on your chest, your legs

and arms beetle-thin swung from the swollen belly (the body no more misshapen, no stranger to see,

after all, at the end than at the beloved beginning). You chose your flowered nightgown as most becoming.

You stood at the dresser, put your teeth away, washed your face, smoothed on Oil of Olay,

then Avon night cream, then put Vicks in your nose, then lay on the bed. I sat beside your knees

to say goodbye for a month. “You know I’ll call every Sunday and write a lot. Try to eat well-“

Tears stopped my voice. With girl’s grace you sat up and as if you’d done it lifelong, reached out to cup

my face in both your hands, and, as easily as if you’d said it lifelong, you said, “Don’t cry,

don’t cry. You’ll never know how much I love you.” I kissed you and left, crying. It felt true.

I forgot to tell them that you always sneaked your meat, you’d bragged, to the man who ate beside you. One night

at home, my heart ringing with what you’d said, then morning, when the phone rang to say you were dead.

I see your loving look wherever I go. What is love? Truly I do not know.

Sometimes, perhaps, instead of a great sea, it is a narrow stream running urgently

far below ground, held down by rocky layers, the deeds of mother and father, helpless sooth-sayers

of how our life is to be, weighted by clay, the dense pressure of thwarted needs, the replay

of old misreadings, by hundreds of feet of soil, the gifts and wounds of the genes, the sort or tall

shape of our possibilities, seeking and seeking a way to the top, while above, running

and stumbling this way and that on the clueless ground, another seeker clutches a drowsing-wand

which bends, then lifts, dips, then straightens, everywhere, saying to the dowser, it is there, it is not there,

and the untaught dowers believes, does not believe, and finally simply stands on the ground above,

till a silver of stream finds a crack and makes it way, slowly, too slowly, through rock and earth and clay.

Here at my feet I see, after sixty years, the welling water–to which I added these tears.

Mona Van Duyn

1921-2004

[paytonspassport]

A Freudian Trip: Day 28

This morning, Olivia and I woke up veeeeery early and got all of our stuff together to go to Budapest! We rolled up to the bus just in time, got on, and off we went! I spent a lot of the ride napping even though I was very excited. Three or so hours later, we got to Budapest and our bus driver carefully guided our bus through some way-too-narrow-for-a-bus streets until we were ultimately dropped off at the Dohány Street Synagogue which is either the second or third largest synagogue in the world. We got a tour that discussed how the building was like the cathedral of synagogues, and how it belongs to the neo-orthodox sect in Budapest. We got to go to learn a bit of the history of the Jews in Budapest, specifically a bit about how the synagogue is honoring memories and helping people to find information on and honor their family members. It was both interesting and a very powerful way of exploring a part of Hungarian history. The synagogue itself was beautiful and the little museum was nice as well, and would’ve been nicer if I wasn’t really really hungry... 

The bus picked us up from the synagogue and then took us to our hotel, Hotel Hungaria. After much drama about who would have to share a room with who if they were 4 person rooms, they all ended up being double rooms with two little twin beds side by side and all the drama in the program subsided in an instant. Olivia and I stuck together as we have worked out a pretty good understanding of one another as roommates. We threw all our stuff in our rooms, then the program head gave us an hour and a half to convert money and find lunch all on our own. In Hungary, they use Forints, not Euros. They told us that 1 Euro = 307 Forints, and we figured out $1 = 276 Forints. Needless to say, these conversions boggled our minds. 

Beyond the conversions, we had no idea what prices would be like. We all pulled out around 7000 Forints (about 25 USD) and then began our search of lunch. It was a very frustrating endeavor. The Hotel Hungaria City Center was a very safe hotel but felt like it was in a weird area. Olivia and I had ventured out with two other girls, Charis and Ellie, but after only finding a place that would be a buffet for 4000~ Forints (about 14 USD, which we decided was a bit much) we parted ways because they caved and decided to go back to the Burger King we passed on the way in. Olivia and I ran into another herd of discouraged IES students, and followed them a bit, pausing while I ducked into a bakery for a little pizza roll thing that cost less than a dollar because I was in no way going any further without some sort of food. We ran into the group again at one of the many many “Doner Kebab” stands we see in Vienna, and now in Budapest. It was hot food that was readily available and the price was cheap. We ravenously ate falafel sandwiches and sandwiches with the shwarma-like meat on the sidewalk before I dragged Olivia to the nearby Aldi so I could buy snacks, swearing to never get that hungry ever again ever. 

After lunch, we all got back on our bus, now with a local Hungarian tour guide named Adam who took us on a walking/bus tour of Budapest. My favorite things I learned were 1) that Budapest used to be two cities, Buda and Pest and then they just smacked ‘em together and called them “Budapest.” It’s so simple and I love it. Also, tell me Buda and Pest (with that little “sh” sound on the s so it’s not straight up ‘pest’) wouldn’t make great cat names. Just sayin’. 2) I learned that the Hungarian people are a greatly sarcastic and self-depricating people. It’s like a whole country of angsty teens, but like the funny ones on the Internet that are very relatable. Our guide kept making jokes about how Hungary never won anything ever and was ALWAYS on the wrong side. He warned that, in the event of the (impending????) WWIII, choose the side that Hungary *isn’t* on and you’ll be good to go. He also peppered his tour with many digs at Vienna and Austria. Although it was the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Vienna totally had priority. Since the Hapsburgs lived in Vienna, it had to be the best. Sure, Budapest could have a state opera house, IF it’s smaller and uglier. Mostly, all the nice stuff in Budapest was built to entertain Sisi, the much-beloved wife of Franz Josef. 

Beyond learning that we were in a weird country full of angsty teens with an identity struggle and some resentment issues, we went to the Citadel (fortress on a hill atop the city) for some stunning views of Budapest and to see the Soviet soldier monument there. 

We learned yet another hilarious story about the Soviets after WWII, much like the Russian soldier monument in Vienna I ride by every day on my way to school, the Soviets had a sense of humor about their representation in Budapest too. During the Soviet occupation, the Soviets put up a lot of monuments to celebrate when they liberated Hungary (ya know, before occupying it again?) and after Hungary became its own thing again, they allowed their previous occupy-ers to chose one monument to leave up. Instead of choosing the one we saw (which overlooks everything and can be seen from great distances) they chose a single soldier monument that stares down the US Embassy, ya know, just to remind them who succeeded in liberating (then reoccupying??) Hungary. The Hungarians sorta changed the definition of the monument at the Citadel and called it good. (I was trying my best to remember everything, please never use my blog posts as a history lesson, also I never took AP Euro so my European history knowledge is severely lacking at best. In my defense, none of it seems to really be sensible anyways). 

We bussed around a little more, driving by the Mambo “gentleman’s club” on our way down the Citadel. It used to be run by the Hungarian secret service which was just very amusing. It is no longer used to obtain blackmail or share government secrets, but the signs outside will let you know it is still serving its other function. We then went to the hero’s square to learn a bit about Hungary’s history and great leaders. It seems tumultuous at best, and like our guide said, they need a little more work in defining a national identity. It was very hot out and I was still in the dark jean capris I wore to be appropriately dressed in the synagogue so some was lost on me, but it was interesting to see who the Hungarians chose to have as their “heroes” in light of their interesting and frequently-occupied political history. Before I got too hot, I did know that the pillar in the middle houses the archangel Gabriel and the 7 men on horses below are the leaders of the 7 tribes that originally came to Hungary. 

After our tour, we had about an hour at the hotel to apply more deodorant and quit sweating (hooray for AC! Living the luxury life). Then we went to dinner at the Trófea Grill, where there was an unlimited buffet for all of us to eat which was the nicest gift of all. I tried so many things (I even tried to eat my vegetables) including Hungarian beef goulash (yum!) and their sour cherry soup--which is not actually a dessert but was eaten with my dessert plate because that’s when I had a hand to carry it. It was really good, it tasted as pink as it looked but not in a sickening sweet way. It was a good tart-sweet. Also I got lots of dessert but come on people, I had to make up for the horrible rum cake incident in Semmering!

The place was also chandelier goals for the future. After dinner, I hung out in Crystal’s hotel room with her roommates Chelsea and Catie and our friend Erika. We wanted a quiet night and to get some sleep early because we have a busy day tomorrow.

[soul-in-the-bowl]

Turtle Lake - a place to eat in Saigon!

|pl| Moja miłość do Wietnamu zaczęła się na ulicy. Tu się mieszka, bawi, gotuje, je, kłóci, targuje, randkuje, dłubie w nosie i w zębach. Uwielbiam to! Takie życie poza domem (w którym zwykle ciasno i tłoczno) jest domeną większości azjatyckich krajów, ale to tu zgrało się z idealnie wpasowanym w moje gusta jedzeniem i jakąś wewnętrzną harmonią, którą czuję przemierzając wietnamskie prowincje, miasta i miasteczka. |eng| My love of Vietnam was born on the streets. Here, the street is where you live, play, cook, eat, argue, haggle, go on dates, pick your nose and teeth. I just love it! And although this way of living outside of home (where it’s usually quite narrow and crowded) is the proper to most countries in Asia, I found Vietnam to be particularly well tuned to my culinary tastes. Plus I seem to always find some inner harmony here, which I feel whenever I travel across the Vietnamese province, towns and villages. |pl| Po 4 miesiącach przerwy wylądowałam w Sajgonie i na powrót zanurzyłam się w jego kipiących zakamarkach, karmiących bez przerwy, czy to o świcie, czy późną nocą, miliony mieszkańców. Nadmiar - tak spokojnie można by dać na drugie tej wielkiej metropolii.

 Żeby od niego nie zwariować postanowiłam ograniczyć włóczęgę głównie do moich okolic, których okrąglutkim centrum było Turtle Lake a.k.a. Ho Con Rua. Otoczone niewielkim parkiem i rondem, z charakterystyczną kolumną, która ma być ponoć mieczem wbitym w ogon wielkiego smoka, który zamieszkał sobie dawno temu pod miastem (tenże ogon miał być wg. zaleceń mistrza Feng Shui przytrzymywany przez wielkiego żółwia, stąd nazwa jeziora i jego żółwi (czyli de facto okrągły ;)) kształt. Mniejsza z fauną, najważniejsze w żółwim skwerze jest to, że od późnego popołudnia do późnej nocy jest to wielka, skwiercząca i pulsująca życiem gospoda! Masa młodzieży, dzieciaków i dorosłych wpada tu by zajadać się typowymi dla tego miejsca i bardzo oryginalnymi przekąskami. |eng| After a four-month break I ended up in Saigon and dived straight back to its hustle and bustle, the city constantly feeding, day and night, its millions of inhabitants. Excess - that’s what you might call this enormous metropolis. Trying to avoid going nuts from its overwhelming abundance, I decided to stick to my neighbourhood in my walks - which is to say I mainly stayed near Turtle Lake at its center, a.k.a. Ho Con Rua. Surrounded by a small park and a roundabout, its distinctive column is alluding to a sword stabbed into a huge dragon’s tail. As the legend goes, long long ago the dragon used to live underneath the city and according to the Feng Shui master its tail was pinned to the ground by an enormous turtle; the same that gave the name to the lake with its turtlish - round, as turtle go - shape. But fauna set aside, the most important thing on the Turtle Square is that whether on late afternoon or late at night it resembles a gigantic inn, fizzing and pulsing with life. A crowd of teenagers, kids and adults gather here to eat very original snacks, typical for the place.

|pl| Jedna z wielu sprzedawczyń mojego ukochanego przysmaku - banh trang tron. 'Wymieszany papier ryżowy' jest pocięty nożyczkami na paseczki i wrzucony do torebki z wiórkami młodego mango, ziołami (głównie moim ulubionym rau ram czyli wietnamską kolendrą), drobnymi kawałkami suszonych mięs, przepiórczymi jajami i sosem chili. Jest to przepyszne, wymaga długiego żucia (papier i mięsa głównie), w trakcie którego powoli uwalnia się miks smaków. Uwielbiam! Wielka przyjemność za 15.000 vnd (0.65$). Te same stoiska sprzedają zwykle również banh trang cuon (20.000 vnd) czyli rolowany papier ryżowy, który skada się z tych samych składników co powyższa "sałatka", zwiniętych w rulon i pociętych nożyczkami na małe kęsy. Uważajcie w trakcie przygotowywania bo zwykle chlusta się na to sosem chili i majonezem, przed czym ja się zawsze bronię. |eng| One of the many saleslady of my beloved delicacies - banh trang tron. The mixed rice paper is cut into stripes with scissors and thrown into a pouch together with shredded green mango and herbs (mainly my favourite rau ram - the vietnamese coriander), tiny bits of dried meat, quail eggs and some chilli sauce. It demands some extended chewing (mostly because of the rice paper and meat) to release all the aroma and the mix of tastes and I simply adore it. A great pleasure for 15 000 vnd (0.65$). Usually at the same stands you can also find banh trang cuon (20 000 vnd) - a rolled rice paper taco containing the same ingredients than the “salad” mentioned above, except in this version they are rolled into a roll and cut into smaller bits with scissors. Be careful during the dish preparation as they often like to slosh it with chilli sauce and mayonnaise - which I myself always try to prevent them from doing. |pl| Kolejne z najpopularniejszym przysmaków - banh trang nuong (10.000 vnd) zwane też Vietnamese pizza. Znów papier ryżowy, tym razem grillowany (nuong) ze szczypiorem, jajkiem, maleńkimi suszonymi krewetkami, odrobiną mielonego mięsa i chili. Wychodzi z tego chrupiaca, gorąca jajecznica i jest szalenie dobra. Na małej patelni smaży się banh trung nuong (15.000 vnd), rodzaj omletu z przepiórczych jajek. Posypany tymi samymi dodatkami co 'pizza' i serwowany z liśćmi rau ram, majonezem i chili (ja znów omijam ten zestaw) parzy podniebienie i smakuje obłędnie. |eng| Banh trang nuong (10.000 vnd) is yet another delicacy, sometimes also called Vietnamese pizza. It is made from rice paper as well but grilled this time (nuong) with chive, egg, tiny dried shrimps, a bit of minced meat and chilli. This results in a crunchy, hot scrambled-egg-like dish and is insanely good. An omelette-like dish made of quail eggs, the bang trung nuong (15 000 vnd) is stir fried on a small pan. It is sprinkled with the same additives as “pizza” and served with rau ram leaves and mayonnaise and chilli (which I avoid again). It is served steaming hot and tastes heavenly. |pl| Dwie ciekawe pozycje - trung cut lon xao me czyli przepiórcze embriony smażone w tamaryndowym sosie (20.000 vnd) i bap xao - wietnamska, biała kukurydza (ma nie tylko inny kolor, ale też konsystencję, jest bardziej kleista/gomowata co szalenie w niej lubię), smażona z susznymi krewetkami i sporą łyżką margaryny (ta zresztą wpada też do jajeczno - tamaryndowego dania). |eng| Two other interesting positions: trung cut lon xao me which are quail embryos fried in tamarind sauce (20 000 vnd) and bap xao or Vietnamese white corn (it differs from the one we know not only by its colour but also by the texture, which is a bit more gluey/gummy and which I am personally very fond of) stir fried together with dried shrimps and a generous amount of margarine (which also ends up in the egg-tamarind dish). Hot ga nuong to ciekawa wariacja na temat jaja, której zrobienie ma element zabawy w wydmuszki więc świetnie się to wpasowuje jako wielkanocna atrakcja. Przez małą dziurkę w skorupce wylewa się jego zawartość i miesza z sosem rybnym, pieprzem oraz... miodem. Potem wlewa z powrotem i grilluje. Gotowe jajo je sie z mieszanką soli, pieprzu i soku z maleńkich kumkwatów oraz z dodatkiem rau ram - wietnamskiej kolnedry. Sup cua to kubas gorącej, gęstej (zagęszczona dodatkiem mąki z tapioki) zupy z wiórkami krabowego mięsa i grzybami shitake (15.000 vnd). |eng| Hot ga nuong is an interesting egg variation. It makes it a perfect Easter attraction as in order to prepare it you have to make an eggshell first. Then you pour out the egg through the tiny hole in the shell and mix it with fish sauce, pepper… and honey. Finally you have to pour the mix back into the eggshell and grill it. Once it’s ready you eat it with a mix of salt, pepper, some tiny cumquat juice and rau ram.Sup cua is a mug full of hot, thick soup (thicken with tapioca flour) with shredded crab meat and shiitake mushrooms (15 000 vnd).

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How a Non-Dieter Survived a 5-Day Raw Vegan Clean-Eating Plan

Image Source: Juice Press

It was 11:00 a.m. and I was viciously chasing a concoction of kale, spinach, green apple, and lemon with exaggerated amounts of water. While I'm one to normally be chasing a tequila shot with lime, this was my reality, for the moment at least: I had committed to a spartan five-day raw vegan diet and, admittedly, I'm better for it.

The months leading up to my de facto diet overhaul weren't great. After indulging a little too much, I was beginning to feel unlike myself. Though I still regularly worked out, I somehow always felt bloated and overstuffed. After my coworker and deskmate, Perri Konecky, expressed feeling the same way, we decided to actually do something about it . . . after the holidays, of course.

We ultimately landed on Juice Press's clean-eating plan. Though most customers opt for the three-day plan, we were up for the five-day challenge. The day before the diet began, Perri and I stopped by the nearest Juice Press to list our personal preferences and customize the diet to our liking. Now, this doesn't mean that I was able to add pasta or a juicy burger to the diet plan — hard as I may have tried — but I was able to narrow down the juices, ingredients, and even the salad dressings that I did and did not like.

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Details of the Clean-Eating, Vegan Cleanse

As an overview, the clean-eating plan consists of entirely raw vegan food. The daily caloric intake ranges from 1,340 to 1,510 calories, with the final day being the lightest. The daily amount of protein varies from 32 to 69 grams. Since it's recommended that women consume 46 grams of protein per day the plan pretty much meets that quota, with just the first two days falling below that recommended number. While artificial trans fats are definitively absent, healthy fats are included in the use of avocados, almonds, oil, and the like. Similarly, carbs are included with the addition of quinoa, which is used in many different menu items. Sugar is scarcely used and is really only present in the fruit-based juices, chia seed pudding, and oatmeal. Vitamin A and Vitamin C are the more prominent ones derived from the diet, while the level of iron is relatively low given the absence of meat.

Related: 1 Way to Hit Your Weight-Loss Resolution Every Month

Every day was pretty much a variation of the menu. Here's a sample menu, below.

Image Source: POPSUGAR Photography / Perri Konecky

While the above menu is the one that Juice Press recommends for starters, remember that you can still customize the diet. For me, I quickly learned that I did not appreciate the texture of the raw oatmeal. Instead, I asked for a smoothie for the remaining breakfasts. I also must confess that, generally, I'm not too comfortable with downing earthier juices. In fact, I'm a wimp. While I was drinking two juices a day, I narrowed them down to the lighter, more citric juices that wouldn't make me gag. As someone who loves to snack throughout the day, I also found that the kale chips, raw almonds, and chia seed pudding were pretty essential.

At the start of the diet, I was pretty pleased with the amount of food — and veggies by way of juice — I would be consuming. By eating or drinking something every two hours, I didn't feel like I would go hungry. I did, however, have my reservations about the obvious lack of meat, carbs, sugar, and all those other things I'm used to eating on a regular basis. Following the diet, I found the opposite to be true.

Surviving the Real World on Kale Juice and Chia

There was an initial withdrawal that I felt from sugar in particular, however, that lessened after the second day and I found that Juice Press's chia pudding and sweeter juices ended up satisfying any cravings I had. I know that people may typically experience headaches or other negative reactions when cutting out sugar — something I had certainly expected — but I was relieved to know that it wouldn't be the earth-shattering shock to my system I thought it would be.

Image Source: Juice Press

On the flip side, I did feel hungry often despite the amount of food and liquid I was consuming. Each meal was so light that I frequently felt like I could have gone for seconds . . . or thirds. By the end of the day, the rich soups felt so nourishing and satisfying, however, there were many times where I fell asleep with my stomach growling, still feeling like I was missing something. A slice of bread, perchance?

Then there was the inevitable effect it had on my social life. Now, I know that five days isn't a very long time to simply abstain from dinner dates or nights out with girlfriends. What I didn't take it into account though, was that the final two days of the diet happened to fall on the weekend. I clearly did not think that one through. So, while my friends drank wine and indulged on Chinese takeout that Friday night, I brought along my Kelp Me! Summer Noodles, took a deep breath, and told myself that everything would be OK. If I had to do it all over again — which, hey, I might — I would definitely consider starting the diet on a Sunday so that my final day would be a Thursday.

Benefits of a Buddy System

I must say, I don't think I would have been able to commit to the entire plan were it not for the fact that Perri was also doing it. (Read about her experience, here.) Though we both struggled at varying times — like really, really struggled — we both motivated each other during our respective low moments. When I couldn't stomach another earthy juice, Perri encouraged me to chug it and reminded me that it would all be over soon. When she started to seriously miss her beloved pasta, I would note how delicious the salad dressing was. OK, so maybe that wasn't always so effective but, regardless, we leaned on each other in the healthy and supportive way that is actually reminiscent of our professional relationship. I recommend trying the plan with a friend or close co-worker — emphasis on "close." In my experience, strict diets like this one tend to elicit grumpiness or the occasional mood swing, both of which might put off an acquaintance.

What I Learned

From a weight loss perspective, the diet was successful. I lost five pounds in the process and felt significantly less bloated after months of indulging. While my weight has since fluctuated, I have gained a newfound appreciation for meatless meals and I'm even trying to stick to a vegetarian diet on weekdays. I've also tweaked my daily eating schedule to reflect Juice Press's lighter yet more frequent meals and snacks in place of larger meals straddling each day. In the end, I learned to listen to my body more, nourish it when I'm hungry, and not ignore signs that I'm full. It's all about balance, meaning I can now appreciate the right type of green juice with a some good tequila . . . although maybe not at the same time.

Related: 9 Things to Cut Out in 2017 to Be Healthy

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Choosing a restaurant at Walt Disney World can be a difficult task. There are so many amazing places to choose from. One way to narrow down your options is to read dining reviews. Here’s one I think you will enjoy. If you like Asian food you absolutely need to try Kona Cafe’ at Disney’s Polynesian Village Resort. 

Kona Cafe is known for its famous Tonga Toast. Photo Credit: Christen Francis

Dine with Asian Flair at Disney’s Kona Cafe’

Kona Cafe’ is my family’s go to spot for a relaxing and delicious dinner. While the restaurant is best known for their breakfast and famous Tonga Toast, we absolutely adore their dinner menu which is diverse and cooked with an Asian flair. There are options for both meat eaters and vegetarians alike.

Disney’s Kona Cafe’

Located at Disney’s Polynesian Village Resort

Located on the second floor of  Disney’s Polynesian Village Resort, “This relaxed café infuses a bit of Asian zest into traditional American meals and features an onstage sushi kitchen.” (Walt Disney World Website Description). Kona Cafe’ is often overlooked as it is located next to the very popular restaurant ‘Ohana. 

Once you arrive and check in at the podium, you will be given a buzzer and you are free to explore the beautiful resort.

Checked in and waiting for a seat at the restaurant. Photo credit: Sara Witteck

Sweet Bread & Drinks

Once seated at your table, you receive complimentary warm Sweet Bread and Macadamia nut butter. Believe me when I tell you, this is as good as it looks!

Sweet Bread and Macadamia Nut Butter is absolutely amazing. Photo Credit: Philip Schoen

If you are a coffee lover, don’t forget to try the Kona Coffee Pressed Pot. At $9.00 it is expensive for a couple cups of coffee, but it is delicious and the way coffee should taste! Kona Café also has a great bar menu and includes some unique IPA’s, sake and wine flights. You can also get the beauty that is the Lapu Lapu! Just beware this baby packs a punch!

The Lapu Lapu packs a big punch! Photo Credit:Sara Witteck

Appetizers and Sushi

Appetizers at Disney’s Kona Cafe’ range from $8.00 to $13.00 and include many seafood and non-seafood options. My family’s favorite are the Pork and Vegetable Pot Stickers served with a Soy-Ginger sauce. Very similar to the pot stickers found at ‘Ohana!

Kona Cafe’ Sticky Wings are amazing! Photo Credit: Philip Schoen

One of the best features of Kona Café is their large selection of Sushi options at their Onstage Sushi Kitchen. Sushi selections range from $11 (Vegetable Roll) to $16 (Lava). I find the portion sizes are large for the prices, and very fresh! I recommend the California Luau Roll, which has Jumbo Lump crap, pineapple and avocado!

Amazing Lava Roll at Disney’s Kona Cafe’! Photo Credit: Philip Schoen

Entree Selections

I am getting hungry just thinking about this food. Entrees at Disney’s Kona Cafe’ range in price from $19 to $34. Whether you are in the mood for seafood, pork, beef, lamb or even tofu you can find a delicious entree here. My husband swears by Kona’s Grilled New York Strip Steak, but he would never turn down their Kona Coffee-Chilli Rubbed Pork Tenderloin either. Both come in huge portion sizes and in our experience cooked to perfection.

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Personally, I’m not a big meat eater, so my favorite meal at Kona is the Pan-Asian Noodles which is a great vegetarian option with seared tofu. Delicious! The portion is so big I can never finish it!

Pan-Asian Noodles Tofu at Disney’s Kona Cafe’ is my favorite! Photo Credit: Sara Witteck

 Kid’s Menu Selections

The best part of dining with kids at Disney’s Kona Café is that they have as many options as you do! My kids are very picky when it comes to food, but they can always find something they like here.  Whether you have a super picky eater who only eats hot dogs and pastor or one who likes more adventurous options like shrimp skewers or grilled fish, they can find what they like here. They also offer more child appetizer options than most table services restaurants such as two different salads, fruit salad, Chicken Noodle Soup and carrots and celery sticks!

Kids chicken_Photo Credit Philip Schoen

My daughter is a hot dog eater, but is very particular about her hot dogs. She loves the Kona hot dogs, which in our family speaks volumes.

Hot Dog Kid Meal. Photo Credit: Sara Witteck

 Save the Best for Last – Dessert!

Finally what you’ve all been waiting for, what all meals at Disney should end with, a wonderful dessert. Desserts do change often, and even though I miss my beloved Pineapple Upside-Down Cake, the options are always wonderful. As a cheesecake lover my husband loves the Jasmine Tea-infused Cheesecake, which is a light option to end your meal.

Jasmine Tea-Infused Cheesecake. Photo Credit: Sara Witteck

Me? I prefer the Kilauea Torte, Kona’s version of a chocolate lava cake. It is to die for!

Kilauea Torte. Photo Credit: Sara Witteck

DIStracted Tip:  ‘Ohana’s infamous Bread Pudding with Banana Caramel Sauce can be ordered for dessert (even though it isn’t officially on the Kona menu)! Just ask your server.

‘Ohana Bread Pudding can be ordered at Kona Cafe’. Photo Credit: Philip Schoen

With healthy options like fruit salad and yogurt parfait, or my kid’s go-to dessert –  the ice cream sundae, your kids will love their dessert options!

Kid Dessert Ice Cream Sundae. Photo Credit: Sara Witteck

Next time you are looking for a dining location that is great for the entire family, take a chance on Disney’s Kona Cafe. You will love it.

  Dine with Asian Flair at Disney’s Kona Cafe’ Choosing a restaurant at Walt Disney World can be a difficult task. There are so many amazing places to choose from.