Albie's first slideshow

For those of you who have never met Albie, this is what he sounds like!

Swedish wood

On my way home from my extra job today, I stopped by Home Depot to pick up some wood for a shelf I'm building.

Pine seems to be the cheapest non-crappy wood, so I picked up five 6-foot pieces that are 8 inches wide.

When I got home, I was getting ready to measure one piece to see where it should get cut. I flipped it over, and there was an annoying price tag on the back side.

The tag had a picture of a tiny little man sawing away. I pulled the wood closer to see what the label said. Next to the little man, in capital letters, it said "Made in Sweden."

Campbell - like the soup!

A local woman stopped by the newspaper office last week to drop off a press release. I was going to just pass it off to one of the reporters, but I figured it would be best to take the woman's name and number, just in case.

"It's Carole Campbell," she said. "Campbell - like the soup!"

While writing down her number, my mind wandered. I tried to recall why it sounded so familiar. Then it hit me.

"Dave Campbell," I said, under my breath.

"What?" the woman wanted to know.

"Oh, nothing," I said, smiling at her and sending her on her way out the door.

Dave Campbell was a good friend of my host father's. I only met him once, during a weekend in Vermont about eight years ago, but he was one of the nicest guys you'll ever see.

Tall and blonde, Dave had a great sense of humor. He and his wife, kids and two well-behaved golden retrievers came to spend the weekend with us in nature's paradise. I don't even think it was ski season, but there were always plenty of things to do in the family's "cabin."

We were standing right in front of the grey stone fireplace when we first met. Dave took a few long, bouncy strides towards me, stretched out his right hand and said, "I'm Dave. Dave Campbell - like the soup!"

A few days after Sept. 11, 2001, I found out Dave had his office in one of the two towers of the World Trade Center. As far as I know, they never found his body.

Back to old me

Looking through old photos, I realized that the time I was happiest and felt the best about myself was when I had short hair. So today it was off to the "Cost Cutters" salon to chop off some inches.

As you can tell in the pictures above, I still need to add some highlights and perhaps fix it up in the back a bit - you can't expect too much from a $15 haircut.

For some reason, I always let myself believe it is a good idea to let my hair grow long. Prior to eighth grade, I had really long hair and everyone would always comment on how pretty it was. Then one day I just cut it all off, and I kept it short - really short - for five years.

At times, people thought I was a boy. In fact, during my late teens I was dating a guy who had hair down to his waist. Looking at us from behind, people who didn't know us often thought I was the guy and he was the girl.

When I came to the U.S., I often heard "but you should let your hair grow." I tried, and then chopped it off again to shoulder length.

I've grown my hair for at least three years now for various reasons... Albie likes it, I want to see what it looks like, it's nice to be able to put it all up in a pony tail... but enough is enough!

Now I finally feel like I'm back to normal.

Fixing my mirror - finally!

Today was the day for a new mirror on my car. I needed one because of the hit-and-run crash a few months ago.

I found one on the internet for less than $40. It's been sitting in a box in my hallway for a couple of weeks now.

Sunday night - my only free night this week - I said to myself "This is as good a night as any to put that new mirror on."

Since our automatic garage door opener does not work, getting into the garage can be a complicated process. It involves luring kitties upstairs and quickly closing doors as well as unlocking several garage-door mechanisms and jumping out of the way.

After I drove my car into the garage, I encountered a huge problem. Our garage was so crammed with stuff that I had to pull my car so close to the left that I could barely get my driver's side door open.

I started pushing some boxes in one direction, the miter saw in the other. If only I could get that big dining room table further into the corner or up against the wall, I thought. And the treadmill really should be over here in the corner...

One thing led to another, and three hours later, our garage was de-cluttered. Albie's fascination with empty boxes has been minimized to a broken-down stack against the back wall and my obsession with neatness can rest for another day.

The best part? We can now pull one of our cars into the garage without hitting anything. And there was room to work on my mirror. Of course, once I got in the car and looked at the bolts, I realized I didn't have the right tools to get started...

Eventually, though, the new mirror found its home, thanks to a socket wrench borrowed from a guy at work. It only took about 15 minutes - not even a quarter of the time it took to organize the garage. Oh well, at least those projects are both out of the way now.

More kitchen stuff

I actually took the day off from painting today and had dinner with a friend who - ironically - is in the middle of painting her new condo. These are from a few days ago.

Overcoming stage fright

Speaking in public used to make me nauseous and give me panic attacks. When we had presentations to do in school, I often called in sick.

If working on a group project, I chose to do the research so I could pass the presentation off to someone else. Smart teachers, of course, always made sure everyone had their few minutes of fame and I had to battle my stage fright and stutter through a few lines of nonsense.

It’s really strange, though, because deep down I know I’m a performer.

In eighth grade, I played the lead role in two or three of our school plays. The idea of getting up on stage in front of our entire school of 200 people scared the crap out of me at first, but as soon as the curtain was drawn I became someone other than myself. Playing a role, everything was easy. It was being myself that was hard.

Music has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and I’ve performed with choruses and smaller groups since I was 8 years old. That, too, is easy. It’s getting up on stage alone that’s hard.

I finally had a breakthrough during my first year at Westchester Community College when I took a (required) public speaking class. I realized that the key to my comfort lies in actually knowing what to say. If I am well-prepared and speak about something I know a lot about, nobody is going to laugh or tell me I’m wrong. And after one good speech, you gain the confidence required to do another.

Of course, speaking is just the first step. Every new area creates a different road block.

I panicked again during piano class, where we were required to perform for our fellow classmates each Thursday. Oh, how I dreaded Thursdays. Once, I even had a couple of shots of vodka before class to ease my nerves. Then I realized the problem: I wasn’t any good at playing and I stopped.

My current project is overcoming stage fright when singing. I am told the butterflies in my stomach and the urgent need to pee will never fully go away, but at least I want to be able to get through a song without my voice shaking and creating an unwritten vibrato.

I took singing lessons for a year and then decided it was time for me to start auditioning. This was a few years ago. Albie and I drove up to the Mohegan Sun casino and I sang the (American) national anthem in front of three judges and some 50 other hopeful singers. The judges laughed when I said I was from Sweden and told me to get a grip because, well, “you’re in America now.”

For Valentine’s Day this year, a bar in Torrington held a local karaoke “Idol” contest. I paid the $10 entry fee and spent two weeks picking my three songs (in case I made it to the final round). Halfway through my first song, one of the judges hid his face in his hands. While I finished the song, it wasn’t with much confidence.

I am not letting these incidents stop me, though. In fact, I just performed a solo during our spring concert in April and again during our Hartford concert a week ago. The song was in Swedish, which makes it a lot easier because it feels like nobody will really know if I make a mistake. It might be “cheating,” but it’s a step in the right direction.