The first day of Christmas . . .

Berlin! Why did I go? My friend Siobhan (pronounced Shivaun) had been told about the Christmas Markets there and asked if I wanted to go. Of course I said YES! We both only had the weekend so we knew from the beginning it would be a short trip. After a weird incident with the airlines, we landed Friday night. The taxi man was so funny full of "yes madam's". He sang a song for us while waving his maestro hand around to keep the time. We asked for help finding a hotel and that inspired him to spend his time jogging between hotels to ask for prices etc. He would say, "Wait. I will find one. Come madam, come." Finally we found one for a reasonable price (which is a lot higher after traveling all day and ending at midnight) and he kept saying, "but tomorrow on Internet you find, you find. Less madam. Less."

So we went to a club which was not really what we expected, but it was fun. An Italian friend there said that it was funny because the German people literally go to listen to the techno music. She said that in Italy men go to find a girl. In Berlin, they go to dance and hear the music. It was better in her accent and the way she said it, but use your imagination.

The next day we did a bus tour. We saw the remaining part of the Berlin wall, which was really cool. But the weather was so miserable we just stayed on the bus. I was missing my leopard rain boots. I will put more pics of that on facebook, but the shot that says BERLIN up above was the wall. Every part was painted by different famous artists.

Then we did the market thing which was so much fun. I ate this magnificent glorified hot pocket. It was so hot when I was cold and I almost marched straight back for a second one . . . When you buy a hot drink there you pay for the mug, but if you don't want it you can return it and get some money back. It was there at the hot chocolate stand that I decided I loved zee German men. Beautiful. I almost forgot what blonde men look like. Generally I am into the dark guys, but the Italians have put me off a little and the tall light-haired guy behind the counter laughed at my jokes. That is such an easy way to please me.

I didn't even buy much, but it was fun to look at everything. Every other stand was a sausage stand. Mmmmm. I thought about Malia Duffin, a friend from Boise, who said that at the state fair she and her companions have a "no judgement" policy when they arrive at the food booths. Definitely thought about that as I almost stopped at every one.

After we went to a party with my friend's friends. I was bored at first because it was a birthday party for a class member so we were crashing on a bunch of intimate friends. But then this cool German guy decided to try to entertain me and it worked. We had a fun conversation. Then of course it always comes up why I am not drinking. He and this other guy (who was a foreign exchange student in Iowa. He said 'yes I know Ohio' when I told him the name of my state-most Americans think the same thing) were asking me questions about it. I was so relaxed talking to them. They were so cool about it all and the first guy made me repeat the church's official name until he had it memorized. He was trying to figure out the German translation. Chris, Mr. Iowa, said, "It is just Momon (accent implied)." And the first guy (who refused to tell me his name because he said it wasn't important that strangers know a name) said, "If she sayz thiz iz zee official name I want to know zee official name." I really enjoyed conversing with them. The Italians always act so shocked and usually end up asking something like this: "You believe in Christ . . . but you are not Catholic?" Yeah, thanks for that. And the last time you went to Mass was . . .?

This all brings me to the first day of Christmas. A partridge in a pear tree symbolizes Christ. Our true love, God, first gave us Jesus Christ. One thing traveling is teaching me is that there are so many different ways to believe and to live that people have repeatedly told me, "Well, I am glad you found what works for you." I have come to respond with "This is what is really important. Are you trying to improve your life? Are you working to always be a better person? Are you kind? (and I think the most important one) Are you true to your self-established values or the values of your faith?" I am always amazed that some of the core doctrine of non-Christian religions are what I know of as ways to come unto Christ. I think anyone (German, Italian, Catholic, Buddhist, Muslim, Atheist, Pagan, or whatever) who can answer these questions with a yes is being Christlike whether they believe in him or not. So this Christmas: Are you loving? Are you better than you were a year ago, a month ago, a week ago, a day ago? Are you true? If you are these things, than there is no way that the Christmas Spirit can be gone from you.

Some people are meant to be nannies . . . and some aren't.

I am the latter. I am not enjoying my job at all.

SO

I AM QUITTING.

I have decided to try teaching for a while. I had researched a program before I decided to nanny and I thought it would be cool to try if this other plan didn't work out. So now that Plan A hasn't worked out, I am going to go to plan B. I will live in Florence for four weeks while I go through the program. Then I am in the job market. The good thing is that I will be certified to teach anywhere in the world. So no matter what I will always have this certification. Too bad I have to work for another month before I can give my two weeks notice. Just the timing of it all.

I finally have started to smile freely since I made this decision. I don't know how it will all turn out, but I am so ready to get out of here.

My reasons for quitting are two-fold. Meaning that I am at fault and the family is at fault.

I am at fault because I had no idea how independent I have become since I graduated from college. I thought it would be nice to become a part of a different family. Post-graduation Megan has learned that her family is the only family that can ever be family. I had no idea how much I would hate living where I would have to ask permission to do everything. I also feel like I have been nannying for a whole year because I worked for Helen for so long. I think I am just tired of it.

The family is not very nice to live with because the mother is always angry at me, at the kids, at anyone. I constantly feel like I am walking on eggshells. I have developed really weird complexes and I lie a lot now. I feel like if I am honest about where I am going or what I did in the day I will get in trouble and put in "the boo boo box" or something. I lie about checking my email, or going to my friend's house. Does that seem normal to you? I don't like being dishonest. I don't eat the same, go to the bathroom, use the internet, talk on the phone, or do anything with freedom. I can't even have my room a mess if I want to because she goes in there! When I feel controlled I stop cleaning. So my room is almost always a disaster and that bothers her. I don't feel like there is room for me in this family. It is like the idea of having someone was nice for them, but the reality of it is that they don't even have time for me to be with the kids. There are whole days that pass that I don't see one or the other kids because of the schedule the parents give them. Sometimes when that happens they say, "you were free Wednesday so you should work for us Saturday morning." That makes me really angry. They don't remember that I waited the whole day Wednesday for them to tell me what to do only to be updated minutes before each canceled task.

Before I came here I had a lot of goals. I wanted to learn the language, travel, try all kinds of food and resturants etc. None of my goals are being accomplished, mostly because of the nature of this job. I feel like I might as well be working in some corner in Idaho. The truth is that this job does not advance my career, gives me extraordinary skills, or allows me to have any friends. There is almost no benefit for me to stay in this job. So I am getting out. I just feel like I don't have time to waste being unhappy.

The first month I just thought I was homesick. The second I thought that I was still just learning everything. This third month I just realized I was not in a happy home and I have no desire to remain there. I feel no dedication to the family and I am just ready to cut loose. I would rather spend Christmas alone than with this family. Hopefully I will. That all being said . . .

IT IS ALMOST CHRISTMAS! I am going to have Christmas surprises coming soon on the blog so check back on Monday!

Thanks for supporting me, being on Facebook chat (Nicki) the day I decide to quit, missing me, thinking of me, COOKING (both Lindse/ay's, Rachael- the little perfect hostess, Nicki the beautiful classic chef, Ashley or is Scott the chef- I saw that bread he made!) i know the cooking is for me. Mom, I miss you. I so want to watch A Good Year and The Grinch and LOTR (trev and linds have them if they haven't returned them) with you. Sisters- I am so glad we have our own secret sisters page on Facebook. Beau: there is no single chess piece in Italy. Bryce & Beckah, prayers are with you. Keep the faith. Dad, I wish I could tell you to stop eating half a block of cheese.


Love you all,

Megan

Happy Birthday Miss 24!!

Today is my best friend's birthday. Because she is my senior (one day she will regret rubbing it in my face that she is SOOO much older than me--like one day after she turns 30). For the first time in 5 years we haven't lived together in over a year. That being the case, this December 5th has made me realize the Lingan-ness I have been missing.

Memory:

Pond. Every day. Need I say more? No, but I will. Remember when I dove (in the four foot pond) and swam underwater and came up with mud all over my face? Now ya do. "A pond!" run run run. Jump. splash?

Does everyone here realize that we have known each other for 13 years?

Memory:

After playing together nearly every day at recess for the first year that Lindsey had been living in Rupert, I invited her to come over to my house. We were sitting on my bed and she said, "I want to tell you something. I have been thinking that, after my mom and Ariel, you are my best friend."

I was so overwhelmed, having lost my first best friend to a family move. I had no idea how far this friendship would go.

I was re-reading a note I wrote to Lindsey and Trevor when I moved away from Provo that said, "Lindsey: I don't know what it is about you, but I just miss you when you are gone." I realized that it was so true. I am so used to having her around that even after a year I still don't think I comprehend that we are separated.

Memory:

When we were in sixth grade Lindsey and I STARRED in the school play "Treasure Island". When we auditioned (of course together) she said, "I am auditioning for Molly." I looked at the script and saw the only other girl name and said, "I am auditioning for Jaime." It wasn't until after we scored these two roles and went to the rehearsal that I realized Jaime was a boy. We were playing brother and sister. I decided to role with it. We got to fight a lot, which somehow set the stage for the rest of our friendship. She got to play the cute girl who kept everything together. I got to play the boy who knew something as bizarre as pig-latin, as if I even had to study to learn it for the play. I already spoke pig-latin. Kami was the pig-latin king. haha. When I asked my mom if we were good actors she said, "It sounded just like you normally do." Do you know how many times we were told in our freshman year how much we sounded like a married couple. I did the cooking and Lindsey did the slapping. So abusive.

We have just got so much history. I mean, playing the band, owning the river, ordering Mchicken's with "no shred" and driving in the white escape. Watching movies our entire freshman year, sleeping in our cave, complaining that our roommate was too clean, eating burritos, storing drumsets and DDR in our tiny apartments, going to Vegas, finding Rachael James Mulder which led to the fantastic magic of 113. The fact that if I wanted to keep writing for three pages and still not coming close to all that we have shared is giving you a glimpse of 13 years of fortune.

Memory:

Following Mark (now our old roommate's husband) at the first ever inight because we thought he was soooo beautiful. Remember running around trying to avoid Spencer whatshisname because of how you ditched/broke up with him. Or I think, rather, you avoided his phone calls and stuff thinking that you wouldn't run into him in Rexburg. You know, since he was from Idaho Falls far, far away.

Did you guys know that our teachers our freshman year still remember us? Brother Baron thought I would try to bring up polygamy when I told him she was getting married. We took almost every general class together. I mean why not? We had to take them anyway. Why not take them with someone who will help you procrastinate your homework even more--American Idol was on.

Memory:

Before you had a laptop, remember when I sat with the Darth Vader mask and a blanket over my head while using the computer in Rachel and Hannah's room? What a weirdo.

Remember hanging out at the Ridge's lounge because we wanted to play pool?

The truth is I could be here all day. The truth is that when Lindsey and Trevor finally started dating, I started going a little bit crazy. She kept saying stuff like, "I really like him" and she kept wearing his best friend necklace. I never consciously thought, "This means that we are over and I am not her best friend," but it must have been a underlying force in my overprotective tones of bitterness. That is when I formulated my plan to graduate and abandon her before they got married and abandoned me.

None of that is true, it just turned out that way. Here is the truth about Lindsey.

My best bday surprise was when she called me and after years of bantering and denial she said, "You are my best friend. I love you."

I can't shop with anyone but her because it is too weird. We have a system. It works. I can't figure it out with anyone else.

Lindsey is the reason that I walked up to a few street musicians in Italy and sang 3 songs with them. I didn't post the video because I cracked on a note and was embarrassed to play it for you. She always told me, "You should do it," when I mentioned something I was too scared to do like join a volleyball game or hit on a guy or something. I was alone in the street when "Dream a little Dream" came from the sound of their guitars. I walked up and just started singing. I even made them a few euro. She has always been an enabler. Which has not always been a good thing, but mostly.

Lindsey is not only a great listener, but also a great pseudolistener. No matter which skill she is using, she makes me feel like I can talk about the phytl tail in chlorophyll which makes green plants change colors if cooked in acid. She has had to put up with a lot of wild ideas and fantasies, and yes a lot of "I love Aragorn, not Viggo Mortenson, but Aragorn" and Harry Potter talk. But I never really felt stupid. I mean, I felt stupid from doing stupid stuff that she enabled me to do, but not when I was expressing anything to her. I love this. And then the sucker married Trevor. Deep down, she can't live without the fantasy either.

I am so glad she married Trevor. The person I thought would take her away from me forever ended up adding to the relationship. I think I am still messed up a little from graduating without her, moving away, her getting married, then leaving all of my 113 girls (or being left by them) to come to a country all alone. But in the end, Trevor made the transition pretty smooth (maybe because it took three years, but I am not complaining).

Lindsey poo poo pie, here's looking at you, kid. Stand up and take a bow.


Do you know how hard it was to find a pic of just us? We seriously need to remedy that. there was only this one & I had to cut everyone else out.


Well, or there was this one, but I don't think it shows your best side.

This one is nice.

With love from a different time zone,

magster da . . .
mags
maggot the (really, you made me say it)
G
double G

The things you see in the forest

>I met a man in the woods today. When I say I met a man in this time that I live in Italy, I do not mean a muscled man with dark wavy hair, a strong mustache, and a good 4 inches of height on me. I mean an 83 year old nonno who wants to find some earthy delicacies in the forest.

I thought he was a hobbit. I walked closer to him as he intrepidly started going straight up the steepest part of the hill. He was too far away for me to have a reason to demand his attention. So I walked on with my eyes on him. He had a basket in one hand and a cane in the other. His green trousers, so typical of the older generation, had a red plaid shirt tucked into them. He had a great green hat with the brim half-folded up with a camel colored jacket on top. I was certain he was searching for mushrooms. I was so impressed with the way he hopped up that hill. I thought he was a hobbit because he was short and wide as a kettle. But not short like in the “he is a midget” kind of way, but in the “his legs look like they stopped growing at 12” kind of way. Automatically my heart belonged to him.

I walked on and soon found a different, much easier path that went up the same hill. Of course I hoped to meet him somewhere up there. I had a pleasant walk through the paradise of fall and after 15 minutes decided to go back home. My hopes were rewarded. As I reached the midpoint of my path I SAW HIM! I talked to him and he immediately asked me if I had found anything. Yes, he was searching for the mushrooms of the forest. I told him I was just walking. I asked him how to see the mushrooms, as the ground was covered with leaves, mud, etc. He answered. Understanding his hands and only one word (piantas=plants) I figured it was as hard as I imagined it to be. You probably have to move every plant.

He walked on and I stood there contemplating why I didn’t go with him. You know how indecisive I get. I stood longer still asking myself if I really wanted to go with him. Finally, I decided yes and RAN in pursuit of the old man. Probably scared him a little bit as I came crashing through the forest. Wild boars dwell here and I might have sounded just like one. He looked surprise and said something like “it is you!” when I approached him. I asked if I could stay with him for five or so minutes, but he said he was finished and ready to leave. So we walked down the path together. I know my accent can’t be too great, but he thought I was from Italy. He was so excited when I said I was from the United States. He was so sweet after and said, “I will talk slower and easier for you!” I am always so grateful when people find their own initiative to help me. Not that I really understand. I just laugh when he does. His is funny like Spur's in The Man From Snowy River.

We walked and talked of age, life and death. Heaven and Hell and if there really is a difference. We talked of my work and that we might see each other again because he picks up his grandson from school. When we reached his car he bid me to be careful as I returned home. I walked with a new spring in my step, wondering if all the words I didn’t understand were of the Piemontese dialect. Forever he will be my hobbit. I am sure that when J.R.R. Tolkein envisioned short, stout, wide, roundish people who venerate food he was talking about the old men in the hills of Torino. I very much hope to see him again.

Mag's rag's to Boot

Welcome . . .

To the Megan Whitlock pants' expo. These pictures are of the pants I made before I left for Italy. Gaia & I had a little bit of fun taking pictures so there may or may not be more to come of other clothes later.

Notice the detail. If we ever have the chance to be in the same room again when I wear these I will let you feel the texture.

One of the reasons for this design was to explore alternative means of closure. Ergo: no zipper.
These pants are . . . well take a look.






The finale is actually not my own work. But there is a story there. About 1 year ago I had a mad desire for brown, non-slouch, tight-fitting, knee-high boots. I searched for hours on the internet. I found the perfect pair on Zappos.com and ordered them for $80. They even inspired a shirt design. (below) I even have a facebook quote about them- "Can the perfect boot really bring about a surge of creativity that cannot be suppressed and causes me to design shamelessly at 3:00 in the morning?" Dove Davich had a "like" on this status. (It was also the night I designed my dress that was the basis for the first mags-rags blog post).

When they came in the mail my horror and shock was beyond belief. Anna can attest to my confusion and anger when I found out I had ordered thigh-high, non-fitted boots that looked like expensive galoshes. The circumference was 17 inches!! Not the 9 that my calves needed. That is what happens when shoe companies do not show pictures of boots with legs in them!

So there I was, bootless. I had given painstaking hours to the search and my heart couldn't do it again. My hopes had flown to the moon and were then sucked into a black hole in a matter of 3-5 business days. Of course there were other boots. I could not justify giving my feet a $300 look when I was entering my last semester of college. It was one of the most depressing fashion disappointments of my entire life.

Because the topic of black holes was introduced, we can time travel and come to the present day. Walking the streets of Via Roma it is impossible not to notice the 15 shoe stores, the long bits of leather, the gleaming toes calling my name. One day I saw them. The right height. The right price. The right size. The right look. The right toe, the right color, the right back, and the right fit. It was like an allegory of Bhudda's eight-fold path to reach Nirvana of shoe shopping.

I walked past them several times. A week later I tried them on. I was unsure. There were so many shoes. Maybe there could be a better one. I window searched. I spent a day at H&M. I returned. I tried them on again. Refusing to take them off, I walked up to the counter. These were the ones. Thwarted yet again, I stood with an aching realization that I was 10 euro short. The faces of the ladies fell. "Me despiace." I am sorry. "Anche Io." I replied, I am also sorry. They helped me take them off (we all know boots are a little difficult) and offered to find another pair for less. "No. NO." With resolution I said, "Un altro giorno." Another day.

The time that passed between Saturday and Tuesday was filled with anxiety. What if the price jumped? What if they ran out of my size? What if the shop magically disappeared or went out of business? What if . . .?

No. The day could not have gone smoother. I happened to be wearing my new, funny euro pants that I am sure Dove will not like (similar of Jodhpurs). When combined with the boots, I look like I should hop on a horse with one of those great equestrian hats to search for a fox. But there are so many ways to wear these boots. And I have the perfect dark skinny jeans to pair them with (right now drying on the line). I invite you to look and glory with me as I come to the end of a year long search. Ladies, with all of the things you buy and love: Wear them well.





Love always,

Designs by Jean Lock
Designer Megan Whitlock
M.J. Whitlock
Mags
MJW
m. jean

but always I write with LOVE,

megan jean

One Month Later

Yes, today I have been in Europe for one month. I know I just posted, but I felt it was important to mark this day with a post (even if it is a boring one, I don't have time for heart & soul right now)

I feel like I have to apologize to everyone. I got a lot of worried calls/comments/emails after the last post. I have to say that I have FELT everyone's prayers on my behalf. I know it was your prayers that have set me in my new attitude. Nothing has changed, but everything has changed. I made no effort to change my attitude, but it is changed. I feel a fresh and new start coming on and I can honestly say that I know it was your prayers that made it possible. I have always been a little too vocal with my complaints (and I will probably think twice before blogging about them again to save you all a little worry). Thank you for having me in your thoughts, all of you are in mine.

So one month later I have rededicated myself to the cause. Starting today, learning Italian is my number two goal. The number one goal is to follow my mother's wall quote: "Put God first & all other things will fall into their proper place or drop out of your life." My scripture study has been a great comfort to me for my entire life. I want to memorize the articles of faith in Italian.

I am going to try to eat out somewhere in this next month (this has been hard to do because my lunch & dinner time is spent with the family). I want to do some more shopping to prepare for the cold that is coming. And I will continue my once-a-week gelato regime. I think in November I will be able to go to the Switzerland temple to do baptisms for the dead. Also, this Sunday is the ground breaking for the Rome Temple! I will once again be on the same continent as President Monson. In my mind, I meet him in Rome and he tells me something cool about my life and gives me a special assignment to work on while I am here. But I will be watching via satellite like everyone else. Sono contenta.

Like I said, this was an extremely boring post and I write it apologetically. But if you really want to share something with me today look up one of my favorite songs on you tube called "The Man That Got Away" by Judy Garland from the movie A Star Is Born (sad show). It is magical. The passion. The voice. The song I would sing next if I were on Glee.

Here are some pics of stuff:

This is a Gothic church in Chieri, the town that is my lover.
This is a castle on the Po. You walk around a park one day and happen upon a castle. It could almost be a book like The Magic Attic Club.
I just think this one is so weird. In case you are wondering, yes, the priest IS holding the leg of the horse. I wonder what he is saying: "Hey, you dropped this. That is ten hail Mary's and forty push ups."

This is another castle on the Po & this one is a University. I am not going to lie, I wish I went to school in a castle. I just know that my Hogwarts letter got delayed . . .
I just like these bridges.


I love you.

Megan J.

Lost In Translation

You know you are in a foreign country when . . .

1. You mistake a missed call as being from your Italian friend so you call her back. When she sends you emails, messages, facebook responses explaining that she is busy in class so she can't call you. No matter how many different ways you try to explain that it was a mistake, she can't understand why you called just to chat when you know how busy she is at University. (Don't underestimate this friend though, she is the sweetest thing and kept asking if I was ok, even if she couldn't talk to me.)

2. When the mother of the family that you work for expects you to know that cooking pasta, picking veggies from the garden & cooking them, and preparing meat is not considered cooking in Italy. Unless you are cooking the entire meal, you should be able to provide all of these things without being asked. Likewise, why can't you buy bread and automatically know the magic hour that the bread store is open along with which specific bread we all want? After all, "You have to work for us. We are paying you." A simple "to-do" list would, you are certain, clear up the confusion, even if you did not come here to fail at making dinner for five.

3. When you ruin your favorite cookies that you have had mastered ever since that one semester when you cooked them once a week in 113. Even though you always say, "these cookies never turn out right" and slam the pan on the stove, this time it really is true. And now there is a picture to show it.



And you can't even hide it by burying it in a dumpster because everything, down to the tissue that you wipe your nose with, has a specific garbage can and the compost can just happens to be unjustly empty.

4. When, as supported by the above evidence, you realize you have lost all skill. You don't recognize ingredients. Every sewing machine is ancient. You can't cook rice. You don't know if sweetened condensed milk exists. You can't find a supermarket because what you imagine as a supermarket (a large store with an actual parking lot) is actually a tiny box of a shop on an obscure corner. You don't know where to find baking powder. No one knows what oatmeal is. Things that shouldn't break just snap in your hands.




If something tastes slightly off, the Italian children give it back and head for the entire box of cereal. You feel like a failure and constantly ask yourself "What am I doing here?" only to answer yourself with, "If I wasn't here I would be wiping an old lady's bottom." And then again you say "What was I doing before that and when was the last time my life had direction?"

5. When all you want to do is hear your sister's, grandmother's, father's, or the one and only sacred mother's voice you remember that even though it is noon here it is 4 a.m. in the States. By the time they are even awake, you have to sit without wireless as the kids use the one ethernet cord after school.

You know the world is an ok place and that home is not so far away when . . .

1. You have a French mother's shoulder to cry on, even if only hypothetically, and she wants you to make a custom Jumper for her. Then her son's girlfriend says "You can make me a dress & I will pay you."

2. You join a volleyball team and know that when the other players say "GRANDE" after you slam a ball to the floor you are being accepted and complimented.

3. You find an international book shop and buy a book you've never heard of (The Year of Magical Thinking) when you hope for something beautiful and are not disappointed, a classic (Jane Eyre), and request "The Taming of the Shrew" so you can read constructions of words and relish in the written eloquence of authors dead and alive.

4. You eat chocolate after trying to cry without being able to when you feel like. . . a word I don't use . . . and it works even better on this continent because the bite-sized therapy was invented in this city.

5. You go to church thinking you can teach a thing or two to these late-life converts, only to come back knowing your pompous thoughts were sweetly humbled. And you stand right there and thank God for everything in your life. Then you listen to Pres. Monson's talk and do it again.

6. When you realize little things like how beautiful your sisters were on their wedding day, how much you and your mother look alike, how lucky you are to have cousins (one expecting twins which gives you an immense feeling of how precious and special families are) and to have lived close to them , how amazing it is that your brother-in-law found the gospel and actively lives it. You realize that you have lived with the greatest friends in the world, that they are rooting for you, that people read your blog, that you EVEN MISS YOUR LITTLE BROTHER. You realize that you still get to watch Glee and Bones! Your best friend helps you out with secret online technicalities. And you get to sing all day because you are home alone.

And then after writing this entire post, you happen to catch your dad at home when he was taking a sick day.

Life can be pretty bitter-sweet, like an 85% dark Lindt chocolate bar. But the most advanced chocolate eaters can tell you that the darker it is the better.

love always,

megan jean