Two Spaces........Or One?

So do you place two spaces or just one between your sentences when you are typing? Until recently I used two. Why? Because that is the way I had been taught so long ago in high school typing class. I never questioned the logic behind this but rather accepted it as the "rule". But somewhere over time the rules seemed to have changed, or reverted back to the way they were originally meant to be, and as such, these changes were recently brought to my attention. In the big scheme of things this might seem like a trivial issue to most people but for writing professionals and punctuation perfectionists, this is a pressing issue.

An article posted on Slate discusses the history of the use of space. Although I found the author's tone highly condescending against those of us who tap out two spaces, once I read through his opening pompous statements I found myself nodding and agreeing with his overall argument. According to this article, and several other sources cited by the author, hundreds of years ago typographers originally laid out their sentences without a set number of spaces; some used single spacing while others used double. By the early twentieth century, Europeans followed by Americans, settled on a single space rule but that didn't last for long. Apparently it was the manual typewriter that created the shift from "proper" single spaces at the conclusion of a sentence to two. (I learned to type on a clunky electric version but was taught the two space technique). Because the font of a manual typewriter was monospaced type, two spaces inserted between sentences made the text easier on the eyes. But then along came the personal computer with a bevy of proportional fonts making the argument for two spaces obsolete. But somehow this message never got widely sent. In fact, even amongst people who knew of the new rule, many persisted with inserting two spaces because that is what they had been taught and that is what they were comfortable doing.

So does it really matter? Some people do think so and their arguments for the single space are quite amusing. Perhaps my favorite section of the above mentioned Slate article is as follows:

                       Forget about tolerating differences of opinion: typographically speaking, 

                       typing two spaces before the start of a new sentence is absolutely, 

                       unequivocally wrong," Ilene Strizver, who runs a typographic consulting 

                       firm The Typo Studio once wrote. "When I see two spaces I shake my 

                       head and go, Aye, aye, aye," she told me. "I talk about 'type crimes' and 

                       in terms of what you can do wrong, this one deserves life imprisonment. 

                       It's a pure sign of amateur typography." "A space signals a pause," says 

                       David Jury, the author of About Face: Reviving The Rules of Typography. 

                       "If you get a really big pause--a big hole--in the middle of a line, the reader 

                       pauses. And you don't want people to pause all the time. You want the 

                       text to flow.

After reading this article I found myself scouring the internet counting the spaces between sentences in the articles I read. It wasn't something I would have picked up on had I not been looking for it but the majority of the items I read, posted on the websites of everything from well respected news outlets to commercial enterprises and personal blogs had two spaces between their sentences. In my (novice) opinion, it didn't look bad until I did a side-by-side comparison with a single space article. Much to my surprise, the difference was noticeable. Did I find myself pausing for longer between sentences with more spaces? I'm not sure but the way the words were spread out over the page did look different. Who knew? I liked the way it looked.

So, in my quest to be less of an "amateur" I'm now placing just one space between my sentences. Or at least I am trying to. After all, old habits die hard but I'm working on developing a new, one space habit. How many do you use?

(Mostly) Wordless Wednesday: Chocolate In The Raw

Chocolate in the raw

(Consumer) Culture Shock

I remember the first time I stepped foot in an Albanian grocery store. Looking around me I felt overwhelmed and out of my element as I didn't recognize any of the items I saw. At first glance the shelves were filled with a variety of items with foreign labels written in Italian, Greek, and sometimes Albanian. Items were not organized the same way they were in American stores leaving me wandering aimlessly through the aisles unable to find what I was looking for. At first I wasn't sure whether the item was simply unavailable in Albania, I was searching in the wrong place, or I was looking right at it and not recognizing it. After awhile, by looking closely at items, thanks to pictures, I was eventually able to figure out what was inside of most cans and jars but I still erred every once in awhile. I remember thinking I was buying capers and once they were added to my chicken piccata discovering that they were actually green peppercorns. Oops! Over time, however, my comfort level at Albanian shopping grew to the point where I knew what was located where and what was available, meaning on a good day I could be in and out of the store in a matter of minutes.  I learned to love the products that were available and became incredibly innovative in making substitutions when needed. And then we moved...............

I'll admit, here in Belgium, I'm once again feeling a bit overwhelmed about stepping foot in a grocery store. After living in a second world country, the choices available to me are stymieing me from the moment I grab my shopping carriage. Because we are now located in close proximity to an American military base, I now have regular access to commissaries. For the unfamiliar, commissaries are essentially military grocery stores that sell American grocery products. Regardless of where you are in the world, whether you are in Virginia, San Diego, Japan or yes, Belgium, the store layouts are the same and you can buy your Oscar Meyer Bacon, Old El Paso Taco shells and Bounty paper towels. (It is like having a little piece of America in your shopping cart). Stepping into the commissary for the first  time I felt like I was immediately transported back to  northernVirginia. But I was overwhelmed just the same. I was simply not used to having so many options.

By the time we left Albania many of the most popular American brands were available in the stores. Heinz ketchup lined the shelves and it even came in a "spicy" version which wasn't all that spicy. Coke was always available but the European version was made with sugar rather than corn syrup, which produced a drink with a totally different flavor. Pringles were readily available in every store in Albania but the flavors were different and limited. Sidney's favorite in Albania were called "spicy" which in reality was a red pepper flavor. Here the choices are endless; while not including red pepper you can even buy pecan pie and guacamole or one of many other varieties. Who knew?  Looking for an easy dinner option, I selected boxed pasta and Barilla sauce from the shelf. First, the number of brands available to me was overwhelming. While the pasta tasted the same as the Albanian version, the sauce, one that I regularly bought in Albania, was different. Despite being the same brand, what was in my jar was sweeter and thicker than what I had bought in Albania. Looking closely at the label I saw that my Italian Barilla pasta sauce had been imported from the United States. I suddenly found myself longing for my European sauce. And rice for risotto, my go-to meal? None could be found on the shelves but I could have bought ten different varieties of instant or quick cooking white rice. But some of the differences in products were wonderful. My name brand paper towels purchased from the commissary were soft and absorbent rather than the flimsy yet stiff paper products I had grown accustomed to. My hands actually felt soft rather than shriveled and dry after washing a sink full of dishes with my American dish detergent. These are a few of the "luxuries" I had been missing.

But my options don't end there. In addition to the American commissary, there is a whole variety of European grocery stores in Belgium. The most prevalent appears to be Carrefour, a French grocery chain that also established a small footprint in Albania during our final year there. But all Carrefour stores are not created equal. I know stores cater to their market and in that respect I suppose that the Albanian Carrefour stores meet the needs of their clientele. In fact, the items they carried were not all that different from those sold in the other grocery store chain in Albania. Choices were limited but somehow it seemed to work. But Belgian Carrefour stores? They are a whole other beast that are

overwhelming in their own (good) way. Looking for cheese? Forget one aisle, there are several. Do you want crackers to accompany your cheese? There is an entire aisle of different varieties dedicated to just this. In Albania you might find an entire aisle of crackers but they were all the same saltine-style cracker. Juice? With the exception of the red orange juice that Sidney loves, this Carrefour has every variety imaginable. And yes, there are American brands as well. In addition to European brands, the cereal aisle is filled with Kellogg's varieties that again, I never knew existed. Need to fulfill your Mexican cravings? You have choices here too. And the options just go on and on.

Honestly, at the moment I feel as though I have too many choices. While I still love certain American products, I've grown used to shopping in local markets and for the most part, buying European products. (For all you bakers out there, those gourmet European butters that cost an arm and a leg in America are everyday inexpensive here!). Even in the midst of my cultural shocked daze, I'm realizing that I now have the best of both worlds. I can buy the American products I love (cleaning and paper products) and the European brands I've grown to prefer all while discovering items unique to Belgium. Once I recover from my initial shock, this is going to be fun. And if history holds true, I'll soon be in and out of these stores in a matter of minutes as well.........or maybe not since I do have a lot of options.

Its A Small, Small World

The American interstate system
(in miniature)

During our recent stay in Hamburg, when it was simply too cold to spend an extended amount of time outside, we were desperate for an activity that would get us out of the hotel room while staying warm and allowing Sidney to burn off pent up energy. On a recommendation from ciaobambino.com, one that was enthusiastically seconded by the hotel concierge, we found ourselves at Minatur Wunderland, a truly German gem of a museum/exhibition space that entertains kids of all ages. (If fact, on the blustery Saturday we visited, over half of the visitors were adults-young, old, and in between-without children in tow). So what exactly is Minatur Wunderland? Honestly, we weren't one hundred percent sure ourselves as we bundled up and headed out into the cold. My only desire was that it be warm. Sidney wanted to see trains. Glenn said we were going to see a model railway. But Minatur Wunderland proved to be all this and so much more.

Housed in a renovated 1,300 square meter warehouse on a canal, this museum is a fantasy world for big kids and little kids alike; a place where no detail is too small. The three museum floors bring eight distinct communities and countries to life in miniature form moving from day to night-complete with dawn and dusk- every fifteen minutes. I felt as though we were giants as we wandered from the Swiss Alps to Austria and Germany to Scandinavia and back again taking in the most minute of details. Whether it be trains, buses or airplanes, all modes of transportation were fitted with tiny passengers toting even smaller pieces of luggage. And speaking of airplanes, the Knuffingen Airport includes planes landing and taking off (with sound effects of course), baggage carts and trams whizzing around the tarmac, and a parking garage complete with traffic jams. It was virtually impossible to pull Sidney (and Glenn) away from the airport but the enticement of more trains winding through the Alps, complete with snow capped mountains, hang gliders, and avalanches did the trick. In Scandinavia we saw a cruise ship navigating the fjords and a busy commercial port filled with barges and container ships all floating atop real water. In Germany we saw modern cities complete with lights and traffic jams as well as snow rural hamlets with grazing livestock.

And then we had America. It is always interesting to see what American stereotypes Europeans use to portray my motherland. And the stereotypes were all there. Naturally there was the Florida exhibit complete with palm trees and a space shuttle that launched every few minutes. And what American scene would be complete without throwing in a big of Vegas? Yes, Las Vegas was recreated in miniature form right down to the flashy casinos, Elvis impersonators, scantily clad dancers, and the neon filled Strip. Rounding out the American scene were the red rocks of the American southwest with a winding interstate snaking its way through the cliffs. A close look at the red rocks revealed ancient Hopi settlements, cowboys astride horses, and even a pioneer wagon. Yes, the creators took some historical liberties and blurred the centuries with the depiction of America but it was impressive none the less.

For me, the best part of each montage was finding the hidden bits of whimsy. It actually became a challenge to find them all. On a mountainside slope a woodsman used an axe to chop persistently at a tree until it fell. A naked couple frolicked in a field of sunflowers in another scene while a scuba diver was attacked by a crab in a Scandinavian harbor. Traffic clogged bridges and firefighters rushed to douse the flames in a burning building. Each urban montage seemed to include at least one traffic accident complete with ambulances, police officers, and tow trucks. These are just a few of the details that could be missed if you didn't look carefully. And despite all of the time we spent there, I know we missed numerous other details. The hotel concierge was right when he told us that we could get lost in the museum for hours. (Or as he said, I hope you don't have any appointments for the rest of the day).

Scandinavia, complete with real water

The parking garage and tower of the Knuffingen Airport

Trains meandering through the Swiss Alps

Glenn and I decided that working as an engineer (or in any position for that matter) at Minatur Wunderland would have to be one of the coolest jobs ever. Or how about spending a summer there as an intern? The thought almost makes me want to go back to school. And maybe they will be hiring in the future; scenes depicting Italy, France, Great Britain, and parts of Africa are all being planned. But even if you can't work there, make it a priority to visit if you are ever in the neighborhood. Regardless of your age, I promise you won't be disappointed.

(Temporarily) Living In Luxury

Turn down service for a 4 year old includes stuffed animals
being tucked in and slippers laid out

We are a single income family whose breadwinner is a military officer; therefore we are by no means wealthy. We are comfortable but not rich. We like nice things but understand that in order to have them we must make sacrifices. This means picking and choosing what we spend our money on and this was especially true for our time in Albania. On a day to day basis we drove an old twice-used car and lived rather simply but one of the things we splurged on in the past couple of years was nice hotels whenever we traveled. I chalk it up to the fact we lived in a house that was lacking in many of the creature comforts others took for granted. Yes, we had a lot of living space but it was by no means luxurious. Our house was drafty when the weather was both hot and cold and it was leaky when it rained. Power surges were a way of life and water pressure left a lot to be desired. Our only heat source in our bathrooms was a plug in space heater (and don't even get me started on the lack of air conditioning in the summer months). So yes, whenever we traveled we splurged on our hotels. Glenn developed a knack for selecting nice hotels and even nicer hotel rooms. For us, they were always our little bit of heaven in an otherwise chaotic and often ugly world.

I'll admit, the prospect of staying in high end hotels with a four year old (or younger) often makes me nervous; after all, people are paying good money for their rooms and don't want to be disturbed by rambunctious children. Some hotels have been more welcoming than others; anyone that offers babysitting services (although we've never taken advantage of this), special children's rooms service menus, or other child friendly options is definitely child friendly in my book. Requesting a "child's bed" often proved to be interesting.  In Ljulbjlana, Slovenia we were provided with a newborn sized cradle while in Prague, Czech Republic Sidney had his own queen sized four poster bed. Usually, however, the bed falls somewhere between these two extremes. But regardless of the sleeping accommodations, these hotels welcomed children. Prior to our most recent trip, our favorite child friendly hotel was the Sofitel Chain Bridge in Budapest, Hungary where Sidney was greeted with not one, but two, stuffed bears awaiting him in our room. These bears affectionately became known as the "Buda twins" and are now a part of collection of favorite stuffed animals.

But the nicest hotel we have stayed in to date was on our recent move from Albania to Belgium. While in transit we spent three nights in Hamburg, Germany at the Atlantic Kempinski Hotel. When it comes to hotels we are not brand loyalists; rather we select hotels that are in the right location (for us). And as it turns out, we lucked out in so many ways when it came to staying at the Atlantic. First, as is the case with all Kempinski hotels, they are incredibly child friendly.  But none of that matters at the Kempinski where even the sternest of Germans welcomed Sidney with open arms. Second, there is something to be said for staying in a true five star hotel.  The service is truly exceptional in every way. Even when this travel weary, raggle-taggle family checked in amidst a black tie reception, we were greeted with friendly smiles and warm welcomes.  As we approached the reception desk they already knew our names and the doormen remembered us each and every time we went out the door. (I'd like to think that it wasn't because we made such a spectacle of ourselves). I can't remember a time when I was treated with such respect and called "Mrs. Brown" so many times. And only at a hotel of this caliber do the doormen spin the revolving door for you so you don't have to exert the effort.  From the evening turn down service where even the smallest of guests are treated to robes and slippers to the radiant floor heating in the bathrooms, complementary mini-bar and concierge desk that makes reservations for you and then asks whether or not you enjoyed the experience, this hotel was top notch. And I loved, enjoyed, and appreciated every moment of it.

And now we are back to our new reality. We are still staying in a hotel but this one does not have five star accommodations. Rather this hotel is our home for the foreseeable future until we can move into our new Belgian house. It has neither a concierge desk nor valet service but we do have a coffee pot and a heated bathroom. Our family of three is living in a family suite which is actually a bedroom and a living room/kitchenette space. We are staying in a hotel on a US military base. It is nothing if not utilitarian.  But that is OK. We knew what we were getting into which is why we enjoyed our time in transit so much. You don't know how much you appreciate simple luxuries until you don't have them (i.e. heated bathrooms) so when you once again have the basics you really appreciate them. And when you have the opportunity to experience the luxuries, you enjoy them at the moment then remember them fondly after they are gone.

Home.....Sweet Home?

Here are a few pictures of the place we will call home for the next few months:

Our "master" bedroom

My kitchen (sob, sob, sob)

and Sidney's bedroom/our living room/dining room/study

Yesterday we arrived at our temporary (for the next two to three months) home at Chievers Army Lodge in Belgium which, from what I've seen so far, is little more than a few buildings in the middle of a whole lot of fields. Because we have a child we are entitled to a family suite which is really just a hotel room with a microwave and two hot plates. It makes me shudder to think that this is considered a spacious room and I am wondering how the much larger families I've seen are packing into their compact spaces. But we were also fortunate enough to get the key to one of the few storage cages which is allowing us to store our suitcases and other items that don't fit in our room. (Apparently these storage cages are coveted so we are lucky to get one).

No sooner had we arrived and checked in then I set to work making our space "homey." Suitcases were unpacked and stowed in the a fore mentioned storage cage. Closet and dresser space was allotted and a home was found for Sidney's toys. We made a quick run to the nearby commissary to shop for a few essentials to get us started. It has been a long time since I was in an American grocery store and I found myself wandering the aisles in amazement at what I saw. Some items I didn't even recognize and other brands had introduced new flavors that were completely foreign to me. I felt like a fish out of water. Upon reaching the checkout I was greeted with sticker shock--yes Zosia you are no longer in Albania. Our few items cost more than a week's worth of groceries in Albania.

Back "home" life took on a very normal routine. Groceries were crammed into our one cabinet, the refrigerator was immediately overflowing, and two loads of laundry were done in the stackable washer and dryer at the end of the hallway. Once we mastered the microwave, dinner consisted of Stouffer's macaroni and cheese for the little one and Chinese rice bowls for the adults washed down with tepid German beer that hadn't yet had the chance to chill completely. Following dinner Glenn washed our three dishes one at a time filling both the sink and the drainer as he did so. The routine felt like home but with the added bonus of breakfast served to us buffet style downstairs each morning and daily maid service.

Obviously we are not living in the lap of luxury but we will survive. After all, this is a part of the fun and adventure of being a military family; every few years you pack up and relocate never being quite sure of what you will encounter. Sometimes it will be fancy and other times less so; some moves are a breeze while others are a struggle. If nothing else this experience will make us really appreciate our new house once we move in. But in reality, for me home is where the heart is so as long as I am with my family that is home enough for me. So yes, this is home sweet home (until we pick up and do it all over again).

Who What When Where Why?

Who, what, when, where, why? These are all questions we were taught to ask in elementary school English class. I distinctively remember sitting in class-either in fourth or fifth grade- and having to write sentences that both asked and answered these questions. At the time it seemed like a fun exercise but now as a parent of a four year old all of these questions are coming rushing back to me. Why you ask? (No pun intended). Because my oh-so inquisitive, perpetual question asking son asks these questions of me on a continuous basis. Who is over there? Who is my friend? What does a bus do? What is pasta? When will we be there? When is tomorrow? Where are we going? Where is Belgium? Why does an airplane fly? Why is she a girl? Over and over and over again. If you are a parent or have spent any time around a four year old, you know exactly what I mean.

We've spent a considerable amount of time driving over the past week and these are the questions that Sidney has been peppering us with during every waking moment of car time. At first the questions were fun and often silly (What is good? What is bad? What is funny?) but over time many of them grew to be marginally annoying. After all, there are only so many times that I can answer the same mundane question. The phrase "when will we be there?" grows old after the first fifteen minutes. After an hour we were tempted to just stop the car so we could say yes, we are here already. But other questions really made us think. Why is the sun yellow? (Good question). What is a broken road? (I sarcastically answered that it is an Albanian road). Why are we going to Belgium? (Because of daddy's new job). The questions went on and on and in hindsight, many of them provided me with a window into what my little boy was thinking. Why are we moving? When will we go home? Where is home? Who will be there? Where are my books? Where is Nene (Sidney's beloved nanny)?

My question is how do I answer all of these more serious questions in a non-overwhelming way that a four year old can understand? How do I allay my son's unspoken fears? What are the correct answers? Are there correct answers? How will I even know?