tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16791678058290527952024-03-05T00:27:36.280-08:00Voyage to VicenzaSuzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553836167183258299noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-56012213313260137082016-05-26T02:08:00.000-07:002016-05-26T02:08:32.893-07:00Starting Down the Home Stretch!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Wow, it’s been over a year since either Suzanne or I have
posted to our Italy blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, we
have only posted 5 total entries since the start of 2014.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A big part of that for us has been due to our
shift from a written journal to more of a photo journal to which we continue to
contribute hundreds of photos every month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Part of that is due to time constraints of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truth be told, part of that may also be due
to the worry that we have exhausted the curiousity that
our friends and family have had about our life here. Despite all of that, we expect to have 6-12 months left on
our tour, and I hope Suzanne and I will be able to write a little more often “down
the home stretch”.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Certainly, there continue to be stories, travels, and
adventures to write about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is also
the perspective of having lived here 4.5 years now and the shifting mindset we
have as we look towards returning to the U.S.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe this last series of posts will be
interesting in comparison with posts we made at the start of this adventure. It seems like yesterday when we started this blog in early November 2011 during
an anniversary weekend in the Blue Ridge Mountains, with all the anxiety and excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe writing about this last year will be something the kids look
back upon years from now and enjoy reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe it’s just about writing the final chapter to the
best book I could have ever conceived for our family.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So in the theme of continued discoveries with some
historical perspective, I offer you the following….</div>
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<br /></div>
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We bought our house in Arcugnano, Italy just over 4 years
ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within days of signing the
settlement papers and moving into the house, my parents arrived for what would
be the first of their four (soon to be five) 3-week visits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day after they left, Suzanne’s parents
arrived for a 3-week visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days after
they left, we flew out to circumnavigate Spain for 3 weeks including too many
highlights to revisit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days after returning
from that, Chase and Annie arrived for their visit that summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And somewhere in all of that, we started to
unpack all of our belongings, prepare to send our children to Italian schools
not knowing a word of Italian, and oh, then there was me and Josh planting a
50-plant vineyard in our backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
on Earth did we manage to pull all of that off that first summer?!?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I really need to take this moment to thank Suzanne for not
only tolerating this crazy dream adventure, but to add to it and thrive within
it. Back to the story....</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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At several times along the past 4.5 years, there have been
construction projects in our neighborhood, not unlike any other residential
neighborhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the early projects
we noticed was a rehab of the fortress/castle/villa-looking property on the
opposing hillside from us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, at some
other point, we heard a bunch of rock-drilling at a property just down the hill from
us. We couldn't see what was going on, but it continued for a long time, and we kept wondering what the heck was going on down there.</div>
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<br /></div>
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One day early last Spring, we learned that the
fortress/castle/villa on the opposing hillside was also a commercial winery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Me being me, I walked over one evening to
investigate, saw the gate open, and decided to go in and stroll up the very
long driveway to introduce myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns
out, the property owner was conducting a wine tasting with his Norwegian
guests, who were staying in one of their newly renovated B&B-style rooms
for rent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The owner’s name is Misha, and
he is truly one of a kind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
Misha has a small frame and a big personality; he is stylish, embarrassingly hospitable, middle-aged, and is impeccably
fluent in at least 3 languages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His attire is high-end casual chique that looks great on him, but would like like costume attire on me. He's witty and well educated, and he sports a
curly-que mustache that rounds out his Great Gaspy character.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I remember correctly, his mother was a
heiress to some Russian nobelity, who escaped or was exiled or some exotic
thing like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His Dad was from a
wealthy Italian family, who become wealthier after becoming some notable
physician/scientist/something-or-other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Misha spent many years living in Paris and had come back to the family’s
Italian estate only recently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was maybe 10 years ago that his father
planted part of their estate with vines and now Misha was running their modest wine business. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Misha insisted I join his guests and sample his wine, to which I dutifully obliged. It was a spectacular Spring evening out on his large terrazzo, with great views in every direction, and I remember shaking my head in disbelief
of yet another ‘how did I end up here’ moments. While surveying the area, I looked across the
valley that separates our properties and saw our own house for the first time from
this perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One thing that stood
out to me was the fairly major construction project that was underway not too
far from our backyard.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On a good day I could throw a baseball from our
backyard to this construction site, but despite its proximity and noise, we never had any idea what was being constructed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Misha informed me that it was the work
of some eccentric retired music conductor who was building an open-air amphitheater.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An open-air
amphitheater?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, and when it’s done,
he intends to host concerts and operas and events like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Concerts in our neighborhood? In an
open-air amphitheater? On the hill just below our yard?…uh, ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How funny
would that be, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little did we
realize what was actually going on... </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A year goes by and this Spring, one of our other neighbors
tells Suzanne what this project is really about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This guy is not building anything new, he’s
excavating an ancient, marble amphitheater that they discovered some years ago when
doing some soil testing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently, the
valley below our house used to be a lake, and apparently there was a naval
passage from Venice to the former lake below our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently,
some 700 years ago or so, boats would pull up and dock, and then
the nobility of the day could stroll up the hillside to attend the opera or
theater performances here in our little town of Arcugnano.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go figure!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Now, there is a big excavation and restoration project happening on site, to include the amphitheater itself along with what is apparently a number of ancient marble statues. And when they’re done, it will become a venue for performances and concerts.<br />
<br />
Apparently, the ancient Italians know what they’re doing when it comes
to such things, because we have always marveled at the acoustics of where we
live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a cool summer evening, the town will
have little parties maybe ½ mile down the
valley, much further away than the site of this amphitheater, and you can hear people
talking almost as if they were in our backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It reminds me of the acoustics on Stoney Creek back home where you could
hear the watermen in the early mornings as if they were in your living room,
even though they were crabbing clear across the creek.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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How cool. Now I have visions of Suzanne in an evening gown,
strolling with me from our house to our neighborhood amphitheater
on some stary-sky summer evening for the Wednesday night opera series.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, maybe we won’t even need to go anywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Maybe we’ll pull out the yard chairs, pour
some mohitos over ice, and listen to the concert from our own backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Better yet, maybe we’ll pour some of our own
TaylorMade Vino and listen to the concerts overlooking the vines in our backyard that produced
the very wine that we are drinking! Why not?!?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Check out more at this website if you’re interested:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://anfiteatroportodegliangeli.com/structure/structure_history.html">http://anfiteatroportodegliangeli.com/structure/structure_history.html</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Always more to learn and experience. Always more to
discover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not an endless amount of time
left though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Better get back to it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ciao for now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ci
vediamo!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
ct</div>
cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-6099815898259069512015-03-29T02:36:00.000-07:002015-03-29T02:36:12.227-07:0021 February 2015 – Stammtisch<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have recently become friends with a new family to our
neighborhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have two kids who are
about the same age as our kids and we all get along well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wife is American, the husband is German.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The husband recently suggested we start following a German
tradition called “Stammtisch”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is
when the men of the village get together at the local pub or biergarten, have a
beer, and discuss important (and unimportant) matters of affairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I want to participate in an old German
tradition of drinking beer with the guys?...Uh, ok, that kind of seems like a no-brainer.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The taverns in the little German villages and towns set
aside a specific table for just the occasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This table, the “stammtisch”, is always left open for the locals no
matter how busy the place might be.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There is also a kind of unwritten protocol about who participates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t just
sit down and declare yourself “a regular”, you have to be invited or maybe “accepted”
as such.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often, the group is comprised
of the 60-and-older men of the town, who have probably lived in the town their
whole lives, probably just as generations of their fathers before them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is discussed at these important gatherings of the “tribal
elders”?…..women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Shocking, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">) </span>Also local politics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Property disputes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Old family
grievances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Local sports teams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Planning for local town festivals and
fundraisers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Status of their children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if this is fact or not, but I
strongly suspect that what is discussed at stammtisch, stays at stammtisch.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I looked up the translation of “Stammtisch”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Tisch” translates to “table”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Stamm” has many translations eg. stem, root,
trunk, tribe, clan, regulars, regular patrons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s interesting to me that the same word can be used for those different
meanings and connotations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that probably
says a lot about the meaning of the “stammtisch” tradition.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This tradition is more common in Southern Germany, where it
seems most traditions are more commonly found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The same type of thing is seen in a lot of Italian towns and villages
too, although it seems like it’s usually more a couple of benches in the
central piazza, or maybe a small table at the local coffee bar.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We started our little stammtisch in our local town of
Arcugnano.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just up the street from where
we live is our local birreria/pizzeria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s a 2-minute walk for both my new German friend and I, even though we
are coming from opposite directions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
come home from work, have dinner with our families, do the kid-nighttime
routine, take a quick walk up to the top of the street for a beer or two, and
then walk home.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I say that like we’ve been doing it for awhile – we just had
our first stammtisch the other night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it was a pretty modest one at that, being just the two of us and all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>{Since writing the first draft of this post,
we’ve met again and have started to expand the circle with some new blood.} </div>
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<br /></div>
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Also, as I write about the proximity of our local birreria,
it dawns on me that having “a bar/restaurant” in a residential community could
be seen as a detractor in the U.S.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here,
it’s a really nice benefit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s clean,
smoke-free, and quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t
generate tons of new car traffic, people don’t leave trash in the street, there
are no neon signs out front, there is no graffiti, and there are no piles of
cardboard boxes anywhere to be seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s a family-run restaurant where we’ve come to know most of the people
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the sisters who works
there has children who go to school with Isabel and Josh, so we often see her
at school-dropoff in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
not uncommon for some of the neighborhood kids to go there on their own to play
cards, grab a gelato, or pickup their family’s carryout order of pizza.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just a chilled-out place that serves
good food, offers good beer, charges family-friendly prices, and has a very
‘part of the neighborhood’ feel to it – the perfect kind of place to host
Stammtisch.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
ct</div>
cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-73100593228382540412015-03-29T02:26:00.001-07:002015-03-29T02:26:26.174-07:00Josh's Asillo Class Jan'14<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love all the names.<br />
ct<br />
<br />
<br />
<span id="goog_485419521"></span><span id="goog_485419522"><br /></span>cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-18839748633155967212015-03-29T02:21:00.003-07:002015-03-29T02:21:44.458-07:002Mar2015 – Lunch at Da Angelo’s<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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It was one of my favorite trattorias when I lived here from
1995-1998, and it is one of my favorite trattorias today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The place is virtually the same, with only
some recent renovations including a few new fresco-type paintings on the
wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The food is the same – delicious,
authentic, and awesome.</div>
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The people are all the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The same family who ran the place then, runs the place now - same women
working the coffee bar, same guy preparing meals in the kitchen (one of the
owners/brothers), same guy working the pizza oven (another one of the
owners/brothers), same guys serving the tables (the nephews).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are three generations of “Angelo’s”
working there.</div>
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The family is from Amalfi and they are very, very proud to
be from Amalfi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, Amalfi has
the best food, the best sea, the best life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And oh, mamma mia, if they ever have anything on the menu “al Amalfitana”,
order it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust me.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Like a lot of places in the area, they offer a fixed lunch
menu for 11 Euro.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For 11 Euro you get: ½
liter of bottled water (natural or frizzante), ¼ liter of house wine (always a
bit more for me, because they know me), a basket bread, a first course (usually
pasta), a second course (usually meat or seafood), a side (which can be a large
mixed salad, cooked/roasted seasonal vegetables, or potatoes prepared different
ways), and an after-lunch coffee (Italian style, of course).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No tip, no tax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Total</i>
= 11 Euro.</div>
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Now, let me try to explain what that really means.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, I ordered one of my favorite pasta
dishes, penne alla arrabiata.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It comes
out on a huge plate, perfectly made pasta (not too soft or chewy like too often
in the U.S.), plenty of sauce with actual chunks of cherry tomatoes and a
healthy amount of olive oil, and piping hot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s served with freshly grated parmigiano – not the uniformly-grated
supermarket stuff, but the fresh stuff that has little chunks and flakes of
cheese in it from being grated by hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And because they know me, they automatically bring me some of their
homemade olio piccante – spicy olive oil that comes in what looks to be a
re-used olive jar, which has been marinating with a bunch of hot peppers still
in the jar, where you use a teaspoon to spoon out as much as you want and
drizzle it over your plate of hot, flavorful pasta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So good!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So good, in fact, that it is only natural to take some of that fresh
bread and sop-up all of the oil and tomato sauce and essence that’s left behind
after the pasta is gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh my Lord, I
am going to miss that simple dish when we leave here.</div>
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That’s just the first course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also remember that we are still talking about
a random, weekday lunch.</div>
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The salad is delivered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is a big glass bowl of fresh, green lettuce - the kind of green
lettuce you’d see coming out of your grandmother’s garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Flavorful tomatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shredded carrots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No need for a bath of dressing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just lettuce, tomato, and carrot with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real</i> extra-virgin olive oil and a little
splash of balsamico.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why does a simple
mixed salad taste so much better here?</div>
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Now the second course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Normally, I order the mussels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
big, hot plate of plumb, beautiful mussels that have been perfectly prepared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally, I save room to take a couple pieces
of that delicious soft bread and soak-up as much of that lemony, garlicy, peppery,
seafoody scrumptiousness of liquid that sits in the bottom of my plate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s normally a Friday special and today is Monday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Today, my friend and waiter, Pasquale, started given us our
choices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fixed menu doesn’t come
with a menu, but usually 3 or 4 choices for each course given to you verbally
at your table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first choice he
offered was “Pesce Almafitana” which is fish served with roasted black olives,
roasted cherry tomatoes, olive oil, lemon, capers, and roasted garlic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him he could stop right there.</div>
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What he delivered was a thing of beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a plate the size of a small pizza with
a large salmon fillet, a trout-like fish served whole (head and tail attached),
another large chunk of salmon, and another large chunk of white fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The olives were to die for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The roasted garlic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The capers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The cherry tomatoes that just oozed flavor so well-suited with the olive
oil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fish was perfectly prepared,
not over-cooked, but flaky, tender, moist, and full of flavor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a feast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That plate alone, served at any decent
restaurant in the U.S. is at least a $22 entrée, and I doubt that it would be
prepared that well and taste that good.</div>
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The table wine isn’t great, but it isn’t awful, and there’s
plenty of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after lunch comes
the obligatory coffee, an Italian style espresso that is believed to be a
digestive (digestive), but also serves to coat the palette like melted dark
chocolate.</div>
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Speaking of chocolate, lunch doesn’t come with dessert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The strange part, though, dessert doesn’t
even occur to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just not
needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it’s only now that I
think about how healthy that meal was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was the classic “Mediterranean Diet” meal, but without the label or
promotion or trendiness or marketing.</div>
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I gave big “complimenti” to Angelo (the elder) and he gave
me the wink and the nod and the pinched fingers to the pursed lips sign
meaning, “yeah buddy, I hooked you up, didn’t I?”</div>
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How many meals do you finish and think, “I can’t let these
people charge me so little for what they just served me”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>11 Euro…for everything?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come on!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The kicker is that for these folks, their real gratification comes not
(just) from the profit, but instead from the appreciation of their effort and
their craft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They enjoy serving good food,
made in the style of their home region, and have it appreciated by the people
who come to their restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For all of
the American in me, it is so nice to have this simple joy of anti-commercialism
woven into the day.</div>
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And my description of Da Angelo’s cannot be complete without
two other side notes:</div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>My friend and waiter, Pasquale – his name
translates to “Easter”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His brother is
named Natale for “Christmas”.</div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Giovanni is the big, loud, ultra-gregarious
cook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is the prototypical large
Italian personality in a family restaurant, who everyone knows and who treats
you like a favorite Godfather from the moment he meets you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With so much love and generosity and
Almalfitana pride, you are forced to excuse him for the big, double-cheeked
kiss greetings he gives you (men too!) that leaves you a little scratched from
the stubble on his face and sopping wet from his sweat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Summertime is particularly bad with the
sweat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time I took my parents
there and introduced them to Giovanni, he made such a production out of
greeting them, and took my Mom by such complete shock with his bear hug and
big, sweaty kisses (it was summertime), that I honestly thought she was about
to scream and/or pee herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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ct</div>
cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-39628947498944501692015-03-02T23:22:00.002-08:002015-03-02T23:22:36.070-08:00No Work Talk -15Feb2015
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Imagine the scene: Friday night, after a week of work and
school, a group of parents from the 1<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup> grade class bring their kids
to a class gathering at the local pizza parlor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe 8 or 10 families are there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All the kids gravitate to the playroom inside the pizza parlor, the
adults sitting at a long table with a beer or glass of wine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The men generally congregate toward one end
of the table, the women to the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
random selection of public school parents hanging out, getting to know each
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A couple of hours later we pull our over-tired kids away
even as they cry bloody murder that they are entitled to five more
minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We finally get our kids in our
cars, they instantly crash, drive home, piggy-back rides up to bed, pretty
typical scene.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back in the kitchen recuperating in the quiet, a few things
dawn on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, the past 2.5 hours of
socializing was done in 100% Italian language, for the kids and the adults.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were 0 other Americans present and most
of the Italians spoke little to no English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was no hesitation or trepidation from anyone in our family to
attend an event like this, knowing it would be all in Italian, which is pretty
cool by itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is still pretty
exhausting to have to concentrate for that long, especially at the end of an
already long week, and doubly especially with so much noise and distraction at
the party. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>{I lag behind everyone else
in the family with Italian language skills and I am far from fluent.}</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The second thing that dawned on me is that for the past 2.5
hours of conversation between 7 or 8 first grade fathers who don’t know each
other very well, there was not one minute spent talking about work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a matter of fact, besides their curiosity
of me and my role on “the American base” (which always generates a lot of
curiosity among the locals), no one asked anyone so much as what they did for a
living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never came up…in 2.5 hours of
random conversation…ever. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t
tell you what most of them do for work and not because of a lack of
comprehension.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think one guy worked
with the mechanical parts that are used in drilling equipment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only reason there was any reference to
that is because Italians (most foreigners we’ve met) love to tell you about
their travels to the U.S.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This guy had
been to several places in the U.S. like Kansas and Texas and Louisiana – not
exactly top 3 U.S. tourist destinations – which generated the question of why
he went there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His trips to the U.S.
were work-related and I finally figured out the part about the drilling
equipment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There was never any declaration of “no shop talk” either.
It’s not as if someone said, “Please guys, let’s not talk about work
tonight.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t even as if there was an unspoken understanding
that this wasn’t the place to discuss work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Really, it was more as if it never even occurred to them to talk about work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t on their radar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That would NEVER happen in the U.S.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is no way 8 random dads get together for 2.5 hours of conversation
without someone asking someone else “So what do you do?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What did we talk about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We talked about our kids, the school, the curriculum, the economy, and
the weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked about the
differences between Italian dialects and American accents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked a lot about activities in the
mountains nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One guy in particular
is an expert “powder skier” who spends most weekends in the winter exploring
some “off piste” slopes, and was full of interesting information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He showed us the “avalanche app” he had on
his phone that provided up-to-date, detailed information on all of the
avalanche conditions in the Dolomites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
never knew so much about avalanches as I learned that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked a lot about favorite vacation
spots, good food combinations, wine (which everyone here seems to know a lot
about), and extended families (who all seemed to live nearby).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I mentioned this observation to our good friend Eros,
he looked at me blankly and couldn’t understand why I thought that was
interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eros is a retired
electrician, who spent a lot of time in the past playing soccer and hiking the
Dolomites, and who is among lots of other things a regional expert in
mushrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s been married for over 40
years, spends a lot of time with his granddaughter, and keeps busy with his
“honey-do” list from his wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His explanation
was simple: for most Italians, work is something that goes on in the background
to pay the bills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is just not such a
central aspect of most people’s lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Why would it be?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We only have one
life, he explains, why spend it so focused on work and money when there are so
many other things to be passionate about?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s a generalization and I know it’s not true for all
Italians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone falls on a
spectrum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But where most Italians fall
on that spectrum is pretty far from where most Americans fall on that spectrum,
for good or bad, and it was never so evident to me as our time at</span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> the “First Grade Pizza Night”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ct</span></div>
cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-74984302059781111702014-03-19T02:00:00.000-07:002014-03-19T02:00:07.743-07:00School, Work, Life, and the Stomach Flu<div class="MsoNormal">
(Written February 25, 2014. Delayed posting due to technical computer issues.)</div>
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Life in <st1:country-region w:st="on">Italy</st1:country-region>
is beautiful. It is also life, and with that comes work, school, after-school
activities, birthday parties, house projects, and the yearly bout of stomach
flu. Josh is going on day 4 of it right now. As I am stuck at home with his
aching belly, it gives me a chance to catch up on my non-existent blogging. If
we still have any readers, I can tell you, you have not been away from my
thoughts. When I pass an enchanting scene that is quintessential <st1:place w:st="on">Italy</st1:place>,
only-happens-in-Italy, or only-seen-in-Europe, I think, “wow, that would make a
nice blog.” Usually, that’s as far as the thought gets. Sometimes I snap a
picture with my cheap, highly-inferior-to-an-iphone/galaxy phone and think
about adding it to a blog. I will work some in now!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxb5xQUm0IuVECuwP1P8KeP9nvRr316EU5oX589G3jSEONt5ZjTr8sD52LsPOJD46_C79QbZr-CA8s2svVMDV8qE-hqsvhfr22_UOsCV0B1oxKA1xZAJMFfSIwmqxGYe8zn8r9m0XnZmX/s1600/cheese+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxb5xQUm0IuVECuwP1P8KeP9nvRr316EU5oX589G3jSEONt5ZjTr8sD52LsPOJD46_C79QbZr-CA8s2svVMDV8qE-hqsvhfr22_UOsCV0B1oxKA1xZAJMFfSIwmqxGYe8zn8r9m0XnZmX/s1600/cheese+man.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite cheese man where I get the best cheese Saturday mornings. It's the freshest best cheese and so delicious.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Z3cltywXghWfguWop_Ij0Gsg84BqD5EdBDTRtBLlshNrUCOygvWrsFp7b5r-u3uvXddZn7c7XQqZddvkH4S6j0Lrg7ePz0g6ob1BYJvtGliHrTcEYCJnsNo7emLt82O6VmuoBjt9Cm9s/s1600/torri+market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Z3cltywXghWfguWop_Ij0Gsg84BqD5EdBDTRtBLlshNrUCOygvWrsFp7b5r-u3uvXddZn7c7XQqZddvkH4S6j0Lrg7ePz0g6ob1BYJvtGliHrTcEYCJnsNo7emLt82O6VmuoBjt9Cm9s/s1600/torri+market.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our town's small open air market that is held every Saturday morning. I love it. On any given Saturday morning, I might buy a tablecloth, socks for the kids, a new scarf, and definitely cheese from the guy pictured above and fruit from the stand pictured below.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-wBO9JZUCKPsFZdznmiMhd-tpQ5dqqOYT4q8o0pSpWYMdGJhCiWOaSUa0CEnWY7AhNDhi9t_dQqMLs2D2bUCF7BuO8szYGKd7jra7IguQy9Pyke96U5hmR7ma1RDCDQlGvcuI_x7cQvD/s1600/fruit+vender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-wBO9JZUCKPsFZdznmiMhd-tpQ5dqqOYT4q8o0pSpWYMdGJhCiWOaSUa0CEnWY7AhNDhi9t_dQqMLs2D2bUCF7BuO8szYGKd7jra7IguQy9Pyke96U5hmR7ma1RDCDQlGvcuI_x7cQvD/s1600/fruit+vender.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxFUdCxOy5RiBFIjAfl19FYZdG4l7vjSj0kCxH6Sjbrc40Gw23yY9lppc9lFT7VZ4zhUNey2zYU3cHk-wfWPyyzG2zkVWfBAYnnEHJbZMYNuEdlKVbhyyeIWFp9-P4v1PdtYFEJf5uNQbc/s1600/downtown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxFUdCxOy5RiBFIjAfl19FYZdG4l7vjSj0kCxH6Sjbrc40Gw23yY9lppc9lFT7VZ4zhUNey2zYU3cHk-wfWPyyzG2zkVWfBAYnnEHJbZMYNuEdlKVbhyyeIWFp9-P4v1PdtYFEJf5uNQbc/s1600/downtown.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A typical scene downtown Vicenza. I was walking back to my car after shopping the large downtown market on a Thursday morning.</td></tr>
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First, though, I must go back to my last blog from, oh, when
was that? Yea, 4 months ago. Actually, it was my second to last entry. I must
amend the entry when I talked about school. At the time, the kids had just
returned to school from a long summer break where they are mostly home with me
and vacationing with the family and it’s all in English. It took a little while
for them to get readjusted to Italian immersion life, but like most kids, they
did great. By December, when we had Isabel’s parent-teacher meeting, her
teacher was beaming and remarked how Isabel had “blossomed”. As she will keep
her same teachers throughout her elementary school time here, we should get a
true commentary on how she is developing. They will observe the full
transformation from the American who started first grade knowing two words of
Italian, to the girl who can jabber with her Italian friends and perform with
the best of her class.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH0_9VZKRTQOsNGPHqSxVyKIfHB4KnEZoxUPSSMnAoTkDGEcn_AIJRFir2XZS4TcXKqtzKgrp2op9lTACe0NGXJelFFmfrlMkMbcZaxo2zXj-cHERg4Fyp0lBAQ97-Uzigtsc3s4OI6HoH/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH0_9VZKRTQOsNGPHqSxVyKIfHB4KnEZoxUPSSMnAoTkDGEcn_AIJRFir2XZS4TcXKqtzKgrp2op9lTACe0NGXJelFFmfrlMkMbcZaxo2zXj-cHERg4Fyp0lBAQ97-Uzigtsc3s4OI6HoH/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isabel's most recent journal entry.</td></tr>
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Josh, too, had a good report. It was different, of course,
reflecting on the difference in personalities between the more reserved and
studious girl, and the vivacious and extraverted boy. Josh’s teachers remarked
how he is very good in the classroom when given a task or project. He does his
individual assignments well and with accuracy, and he also works well in a
group. His only weakness is during free time when he gets together with his
group of friends. There is a particularly strong group of boys in his class and
he is a part of this group. From the sounds of it, they can get a bit rowdy and
don’t always follow the rules. We hear, not infrequently, about pushing,
pinching, dare un pugno all’ ochio (punching in the eye – only one time for
that one thankfully). It’s playground rough-housing and at this point we’re
taking it as normal boy stuff.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqSZqAzYzSkHobvKaDVpSc9evVm0SQjdpGHkrC4mxs6muxc5jpLonz5lhontF5OuH3SE8mUnFblqt4trt-JDn8upiaHN2F5RKK-5lIR-eE4-01ZC5YMeVYSFpZlYXp5wbyCxcqPGZcocF/s1600/Alpe+di+Siusi+2014+035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqSZqAzYzSkHobvKaDVpSc9evVm0SQjdpGHkrC4mxs6muxc5jpLonz5lhontF5OuH3SE8mUnFblqt4trt-JDn8upiaHN2F5RKK-5lIR-eE4-01ZC5YMeVYSFpZlYXp5wbyCxcqPGZcocF/s1600/Alpe+di+Siusi+2014+035.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kids playing with a St Bernard puppy on the farm where we stayed in the Dolomites over Presidents' Day weekend.</td></tr>
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Josh is in the American equivalent of kindergarten, though
in contrast to American kindergarten, it is mostly play. They do lots of
drawing and painting. They are working through writing the alphabet in their
notebooks and also some numbers. They do not start learning to read at this
level. That will start next year in 1<sup>st</sup> grade. Kindergarten here is
mostly fun and getting along and learning rules and fine motor skills. Next
year, the pressure will start as they move fast in first grade. He will start learning to read (in Italian) and the homework
is impressive.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItDsJqPGkA5F_igREwr7-Dehy9Vys-hg7vlncVzYpphyphenhyphenHXIOXwSMmuJqdeXIpAtXpNWetxdBZa4J_ltprV9zyVF7EdvoqMMljibmmgZDVxPzopC27tQtTdcVKMBOe25QdfH7elgtABWjL/s1600/rotunda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItDsJqPGkA5F_igREwr7-Dehy9Vys-hg7vlncVzYpphyphenhyphenHXIOXwSMmuJqdeXIpAtXpNWetxdBZa4J_ltprV9zyVF7EdvoqMMljibmmgZDVxPzopC27tQtTdcVKMBOe25QdfH7elgtABWjL/s1600/rotunda.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh's coloring of Palladio's most famous Villa Rotonda.</td></tr>
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Josh is a bit nervous about starting elementary school next
year. His sister has already warned him about all the homework he will be
assigned and all the times where he will have a story to read 10 times. That is
one of the most common homework assignments: “Leggi 10 volte” (read 10 times).
One day I caught them together and Josh was in tears as his sister was really
laying on the scary stories of first grade. Poor guy. At least he will be going
into it having a good comprehension of the language, unlike Isabel. I asked at
Josh’s parent-teacher meeting if he was speaking in Italian in school. They answered,
yes, too much. Ok, got it.</div>
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Other than school, Isabel continues with gymnastics and she
recently started piano lessons. Josh is doing soccer with our local town’s
team. Calling it soccer does not seem to really do it justice. It’s Italian
football. It’s their most prized national sport and it’s taken very seriously.
Josh is the youngest on the team and some of these 6 and 7 year olds play like American
varsity high school soccer players. I’ll let Chris expand more on this subject.
For now, I’ll leave it like that and say it’s IMPRESSIVE!</div>
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Besides school, there is the rest of life. We are trying to
finish plans for a new bathroom with frequent meetings with the contractor, which
are all in Italian, just to add another challenge to a house project. Chris is
dealing with a crazy, demanding schedule at work right now, and we are, of
course, trying to plan our next round of travels. Traveling is still one of the
most beautiful benefits of being here. We just finished a weekend of skiing in
the Italian Dolomites and we are looking towards some great trips to come. Life
never stops, no matter where you are. We are rolling with it, and trying to
soak in as much of the beauty that is this place where we live, along the way.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsTeUCDIjLsbl3RM1XzpgX0vAqhGP77GLHqTxqc-crZvk8CWXvCiewqAPjzyLUhTPZHmTxwOYMWj66AqHAFYwrLmZViUVZ9dmoQRyF3jGFWxt0o8GqO7XmQh0pgeiBDxplU0t9_uMpjFG/s1600/Alpe+di+Siusi+2014+036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsTeUCDIjLsbl3RM1XzpgX0vAqhGP77GLHqTxqc-crZvk8CWXvCiewqAPjzyLUhTPZHmTxwOYMWj66AqHAFYwrLmZViUVZ9dmoQRyF3jGFWxt0o8GqO7XmQh0pgeiBDxplU0t9_uMpjFG/s1600/Alpe+di+Siusi+2014+036.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skiing at Alpi di Siusi. February 2014</td></tr>
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Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553836167183258299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-57883752045018706562013-12-13T19:05:00.000-08:002013-12-13T19:05:58.546-08:00Josh's bilingual stories_Pics from Paris Day1<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPvBNsuAz9MP79LFkbG3UKnL_ESaRnpU42v_NptpvUe2G2KNlxhDGlf8CQ08FSeHdrgP0KFt7orKSBISF2QbblJqVGyNB3k-83_VOBiDUCW27n0U2yaXOjrIFgUxWDWzJoziIkO5MycU/s1600/DSC_0812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPvBNsuAz9MP79LFkbG3UKnL_ESaRnpU42v_NptpvUe2G2KNlxhDGlf8CQ08FSeHdrgP0KFt7orKSBISF2QbblJqVGyNB3k-83_VOBiDUCW27n0U2yaXOjrIFgUxWDWzJoziIkO5MycU/s640/DSC_0812.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the kids were impressed with the rose windows in Notre Dame</td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here we have had all of these wonderful, incredible adventures over the
past few weeks and months and what finally brought me to my latest blog post is
a simple parental anecdote.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Josh can be quite the character.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think back to some of the yarns he will
tell from time to time and it’s pure comedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>First of all, he doesn’t lie as much these days as he used to, but you
always have to stay on the lookout for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For Isabel’s complete lack of ability to lie, Josh makes up for it in
spades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has been known to tell some
doozies, and with such passion and conviction too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In any case he certainly can streeeeeetch the
truth sometimes, especially when he gets excited, and he clearly has a more “creative
interpretation” of the world than our more literal Isabel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Secondly, his stories have considerable “bounce” to
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By bounce I mean that they jump
all the Hell over the place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This
person to that thing to over there and then this other thing and oh my then
you’ll never believe but so-and-so was there and oooooh that happened, bla,
bla”…it’s like a Robyn Williams stand-up routine - it’s hard to follow, but
entertaining as Hell.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And lately, what really makes it fun is the fact that he now
tells the story of his day with a bunch of Italian words thrown randomly into
the mix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only that, but he
pronounces the Italian words with legitimate Italian pronunciation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the other night:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ooh Daddy, I have to tell you about what happened
today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maestra Donatella told us all to
line up against il muro so we could get on the pulmino to go down to the
piscine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drew a picture, did you see
it yet?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But ooooh, Tomaso was being
molto male and Mamma Mia! you wouldn’t believe what he did!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like Catarina a lot, she’s my friend, even
though she spilled latte on my grembiule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Oh yeah, then Sofia got in the way of Matteo so Luca pushed her back
into la scuola and boy oh boy was Maestra Donatella arrabbiato!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to tell Filipo that io non fato
niente because I didn’t want to get into trouble because I’m a good swimmer
even if I don’t like to swim in aqua freddo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And did you know they have a big scivolo which is totally AWE-SOME!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s why my giorno was super-fun
today!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>…on and on, hand gestures
and all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s classic Josh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">s</i> awesome!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suzanne and I just sit there and watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Occasionally we’ll look over at each other
with the expression of “Do you know what the HELL this kid is talking about
right now?” and then we’ll shrug the response “Nope….whadya gonna do?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">….kids!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">;)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ct</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlnGisCtJiFIbeHcNEGkjuJRUQl98xScbYYB5EKrorEt1BsnOAJB-i92ayZ0V4SWBt-AyeCgXcDaCajjolYqM5jsx_cjVdQlOyM8TKe6fJfBf00cDrDEacrOjCuEotWwoqo_HOmv8_rM/s1600/DSC_0787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlnGisCtJiFIbeHcNEGkjuJRUQl98xScbYYB5EKrorEt1BsnOAJB-i92ayZ0V4SWBt-AyeCgXcDaCajjolYqM5jsx_cjVdQlOyM8TKe6fJfBf00cDrDEacrOjCuEotWwoqo_HOmv8_rM/s320/DSC_0787.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Pont Neuf</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAwkevPMyP3tk8phc8XmOTk1_5L-Lp34tLgQ14Y4sIjEM2QQjZDxAvO5TDpo5sYhoYSYniIwl1PJ6nOvpDUeIiqcdkQwYrVjaRGj__1eOpL_984Ab2lY226idh6ka_ULv6Ok1GFUj0Fo/s1600/DSC_0852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAwkevPMyP3tk8phc8XmOTk1_5L-Lp34tLgQ14Y4sIjEM2QQjZDxAvO5TDpo5sYhoYSYniIwl1PJ6nOvpDUeIiqcdkQwYrVjaRGj__1eOpL_984Ab2lY226idh6ka_ULv6Ok1GFUj0Fo/s320/DSC_0852.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birds eating from their hands in front of Notre Dame</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VntRCBv6aqIbu-tE43Wm10HFDbCd2JubRyYWXQgDGriPnY92y9zpYVXLWH-lE0qvWgAV0kbWG2FzfZoBTpBQxQg87HAeWzhbVIZv1W10U3P8bagKAAnBQAE8htkTwRKbK8CBZvJo3jw/s1600/DSC_0900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VntRCBv6aqIbu-tE43Wm10HFDbCd2JubRyYWXQgDGriPnY92y9zpYVXLWH-lE0qvWgAV0kbWG2FzfZoBTpBQxQg87HAeWzhbVIZv1W10U3P8bagKAAnBQAE8htkTwRKbK8CBZvJo3jw/s640/DSC_0900.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the top of the Ferris wheel</td></tr>
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cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-1951447665447179332013-10-31T03:10:00.000-07:002013-10-31T03:10:01.994-07:00Halloween, Italian StyleHappy Halloween everyone! Many ask if this holiday is celebrated here in Italy and the answer is, "kind of." Each year this holiday becomes more and more popular. There is still no traditional door-to-door trick or treating in Italy, but there are fun readings in school with pumpkins and bats and ghosts. This year, Isabel's school actually had a Halloween party at a local community center. The kids got dressed up and had snacks and there was even a dj spinning some dance tunes. The kids were mostly dressed as scary things like monsters and witches. That is how Italians see dressing up at Halloween. It brings one back to the more scary and spooky part of the tradition. There are no strawberry shortcakes or other cute characters. I did see a couple monster high girls, just tell you that is popular with young girls across the globe, or at least here in Europe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3loWs5IrHTX40rUe5raOhZr7cp0971moOel_2alLSd04fir-E5-WATOhCZ_P0dGChwlyR_Rjm0gLKw6WSTcvQrpoQbtQt_59woJKB4Qnt-T64DS-kTzEgCXiAR3f3UrL6S1YqJcdVrEuf/s1600/DSC_0368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3loWs5IrHTX40rUe5raOhZr7cp0971moOel_2alLSd04fir-E5-WATOhCZ_P0dGChwlyR_Rjm0gLKw6WSTcvQrpoQbtQt_59woJKB4Qnt-T64DS-kTzEgCXiAR3f3UrL6S1YqJcdVrEuf/s320/DSC_0368.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh and Isabel ready for the party.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9C6-a9ZEtK5UgS8VOA4RRZVGs21tvn-Ic2hTtgf2CJmzZ84yi6e15J1WZ0VtjSCtzkHavSSHqBHzCZVTJNLnrZb19GusSQ7QDiB8mYg_yDxPwlbcz1zu7KMD8u3_wJphOXkgtD11WN-eq/s1600/DSC_0371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9C6-a9ZEtK5UgS8VOA4RRZVGs21tvn-Ic2hTtgf2CJmzZ84yi6e15J1WZ0VtjSCtzkHavSSHqBHzCZVTJNLnrZb19GusSQ7QDiB8mYg_yDxPwlbcz1zu7KMD8u3_wJphOXkgtD11WN-eq/s320/DSC_0371.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isabel and a couple friends at the school Halloween party. The girl in the center dressed as Rainbow Brite is Isabel's American friend. She is the only other American at their school.</td></tr>
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<br />
Italian kids here in Vicenza have a special treat in that they can go traditional trick-or-treating at the Army Base Housing area. They have started opening it up to Italians. Tonight, we are bringing a couple of Isabel's best Italian friends. It should be kinda crazy as this is a small housing area and all American families, and now Italians too, will be descending on these poor people who live there.<br />
<br />
The true holiday for children to dress up in Italy is actually Carnevale. This is the time just before lent, better known to Americans in the form of Mardi Gras. During Carnevale, kids are off from school. There are parades in various towns and sometimes a costume parade at the mall. Kids throw streamers and there are special sweet cakes that are baked only around Carnevale time. The biggest carnevale celebration is in Venice where people come from all over to participate in or just observe the elaborate costumes and masked that are worn.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEjKMGKhsPW9Mx0sX_cDlWLFGLJE79cBu7Q9KSKDVFyyRUcb8F2jtLWkeMx7po8xdnHMoLBgWElpnSamoBdT69RCS-HEwlvqxwmpJBpETg_Z6loHpowkMjBRngITOksg68aTpSp170pxk/s1600/image0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEEjKMGKhsPW9Mx0sX_cDlWLFGLJE79cBu7Q9KSKDVFyyRUcb8F2jtLWkeMx7po8xdnHMoLBgWElpnSamoBdT69RCS-HEwlvqxwmpJBpETg_Z6loHpowkMjBRngITOksg68aTpSp170pxk/s320/image0.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carnevale in Venice</td></tr>
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Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553836167183258299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-47583044610083401212013-10-31T02:53:00.000-07:002013-10-31T02:53:09.523-07:00La Scuola (School)
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We have completed our first two months of the new scholastic
year. This will be our second year in the Italian school system. I had great
hopes of writing more about the school experience last year, but, like many
resolutions, it just didn’t happen. I’ll try to make it up this year. So, here
we go….<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvz3HVXaezEmK_f0EQ2q5QOx_ab88RwmT7LzZZ_qQ2QteGyVy_2Kq9MRzM62BiqmMsC1Y83eDWDnEhTl_e6Qvx67UB4EqZRo69Bs21_ChWXwTL5eUzY_T2RFCa9wePZy50pWWr45-chHv/s1600/2013-09-12+07.47.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSvz3HVXaezEmK_f0EQ2q5QOx_ab88RwmT7LzZZ_qQ2QteGyVy_2Kq9MRzM62BiqmMsC1Y83eDWDnEhTl_e6Qvx67UB4EqZRo69Bs21_ChWXwTL5eUzY_T2RFCa9wePZy50pWWr45-chHv/s320/2013-09-12+07.47.32.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isabel and Josh in front of Isabel's school.</td></tr>
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</o:p></div>
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Isabel has started second grade (seconda). Yea! She is
really excited about it. She completed first grade last June.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We threw her into Italian elementary school
with the sink or swim attitude. We figured, if she sank, she was still young
and all would be fine. If she swam, it would be wonderful. Well, we think she
did great, and she remained happy which was one of the most important things
for us. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Of course, the question everyone keeps asking is, “So, does
she speak Italian?” That is actually a hard question to answer for a few
reasons. First, kids don’t learn language like we do. She is not studying verb
conjugations and proper Italian grammar (yet). She doesn’t know what the
subject or indirect subject is in a sentence. She picks up things that she
hears. She learns some simple vocabulary from her homework. She pieces them
together and out comes some speaking, however grammatically incorrect.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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The language skill is also difficult to judge since she
definitely does not want to speak it, at all, in front of us. If I am around
when she is playing with an Italian friend, I catch a few words muttered here
and there as I am hiding behind a wall being very quiet. It’s coming along. Her
Italian is not grammatically correct and sometimes it’s just totally crazy
wrong, but I’m glad she is trying. Today was the first time I heard her mutter,
“Ma dai!” and that told me she will be picking up extraordinarily more of the
language this year since she is going into second grade with a year of Italian
school already under her belt. “Ma dai” is the equivalent in English of saying,
“come on!” in an exasperated way as if the person in front of you on line is
asking one to many questions to the cashier and taking way too much time. “Ma
dai!” is often used with an exasperated hand gesture.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Josh has also started school with one year completed. He is
in what they call “Grande”. It’s the third year of the preschool. The preschool
is basically divided into Piccoli (3 year olds), Medi (4 year olds), and Grandi
(the 5’s). In the American school system, Josh would have started his first day
of Kindergarten this year. He would have been starting elementary school. It
was a little hard for me to see him continue back to preschool, but I remind
myself that his experience is so different than most other American 5 year olds.
I have to appreciate that, and I hope he will too someday.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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In Grande, Josh will learn to write all the capital letters
and do some very simple writing and calculating of numbers. That, and the
continuation of fine motor skill development, is pretty much all the curriculum
that is covered at this level of school. I’ve heard people say it’s what
American kindergarten was 40 yrs ago when mostly you did the alphabet and some
finger painting. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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When Josh moves on to Scuola Elementare and the first grade,
he will start with A, capital letters, and 2+2. They start very basic.
Preschool is not mandatory, so some kids are coming to first grade with only 6
years of being home with grandma. When starting first grade, they basically
only assume the kids know how to write their name and know how to write all the
letters in capital. That’s it. They start slowly, but give them loads of
homework every week so they progress quickly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Isabel’s homework last year proved quite challenging for
both of us. She attends school from 8a-4p Mondays and Wednesdays. The other
days of the week, she attends from 8a-12:30. She would come home, eat lunch, and
then start homework. It was basically like homeschooling your child, with the
added challenge of everything being in a foreign language. I would sit there
with her, surrounded by Italian dictionaries and Google Translate on the
laptop. She was exhausted. One day she simply fell asleep with her head lying
on her notebook. As the year progressed, she began to understand more and more Italian,
and her exhaustion lessened. Oddly enough, I hadn’t even noticed this
phenomenon until the teachers pointed it out at a parent-teacher meeting
sometime around March.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3p0iPj1Ft8VaCXWcmIstDQAW1ETO6jKHT_lJhmdWBXDOMahUchhtyel4NBnAgYXi03F7RqK_kuAzSQCnrPCrZN0OOdSERM8zLKqDJK4iWFgGhLvmjvkONg3x3wJGySV_i7akv9OjcVD8B/s1600/DSC_0449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3p0iPj1Ft8VaCXWcmIstDQAW1ETO6jKHT_lJhmdWBXDOMahUchhtyel4NBnAgYXi03F7RqK_kuAzSQCnrPCrZN0OOdSERM8zLKqDJK4iWFgGhLvmjvkONg3x3wJGySV_i7akv9OjcVD8B/s320/DSC_0449.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One example of homework from first grade. Each week was a new letter of the alphabet and its assorted combination with the vowels. It cracks me up how sigaretta (cigarette) was one of her S words (the picture colored orange). Would you ever see that in an American school??</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgesct4VqEkZ7F0iJPR8S3hHW-psgNg2FcS4iszD3c418g6167_NEtvH4vPZJTvErGObvYZ4xof-M3HO4EaLmk6GMMu4EFIOjKAsmTbv5oUg2F9z-axwyPIbZNTyxNT-rnYzyGADOcQkHY5/s1600/DSC_0450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgesct4VqEkZ7F0iJPR8S3hHW-psgNg2FcS4iszD3c418g6167_NEtvH4vPZJTvErGObvYZ4xof-M3HO4EaLmk6GMMu4EFIOjKAsmTbv5oUg2F9z-axwyPIbZNTyxNT-rnYzyGADOcQkHY5/s320/DSC_0450.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another homework example from later in the year.</td></tr>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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I can certainly say this year is easier already. Having a
much greater understanding of the language is the biggest help. Also, the
teachers you start with in First grade are the same ones you have all through
elementary school (unless they quit or retire), so her teachers know her well
and she is very familiar with them. I think she got lucky, because we really
like them both and they call her their little amore (love). All in all, school
is going well for both kids this year. It’s definitely an adventure, but a
great one.<o:p></o:p></div>
Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553836167183258299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-79838810915867330742013-08-17T00:38:00.001-07:002013-08-17T00:38:23.200-07:00The “Boh…..” Blogpost<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8oRs59bmbDCmnrhHfTMCDIfnJUOzr8Rn4n79o4LSZmlLRG6q-9G-R7ax3K5fQ0pixi47yetW5vQcWpHagHuKXEFga66xDwIjUzmPZwtZuADARpW-zySr2E2-UGh27lxMKbPxxIRUlcI/s1600/DSC_0206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8oRs59bmbDCmnrhHfTMCDIfnJUOzr8Rn4n79o4LSZmlLRG6q-9G-R7ax3K5fQ0pixi47yetW5vQcWpHagHuKXEFga66xDwIjUzmPZwtZuADARpW-zySr2E2-UGh27lxMKbPxxIRUlcI/s320/DSC_0206.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking out from Da Sagraro to the East toward Padova</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxWm6FDKjy4V4WRwytXSndeUW99Cocf-_TVAT_yDQHcLGrkzTDUXTumgovOB6-lluG-UG4j6TpQhHGYESy3jsXhx2XWUSIwZ0yN7EMFP1UaRzAop1TRvqK1WHtTNhd8VFgkStO10XOP8/s1600/DSC_0202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxWm6FDKjy4V4WRwytXSndeUW99Cocf-_TVAT_yDQHcLGrkzTDUXTumgovOB6-lluG-UG4j6TpQhHGYESy3jsXhx2XWUSIwZ0yN7EMFP1UaRzAop1TRvqK1WHtTNhd8VFgkStO10XOP8/s320/DSC_0202.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Festa Della Trebbiatura (Threshing Festival)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Prologue: The photos in this post have nothing to do with the post itself. They are photos of just some random events from this month that I included because they are so great and they may not get included anywhere else.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are all kinds of interesting phrases, expressions, and
sayings we run across in our endeavors to learn the Italian language and
culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still trying to fully
master one expression that apparently has many little twists:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Boh….”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first time I heard it, one of the guys on my staff said
it as we were finishing a short discussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was in the process of walking away since we had stopped talking, he
said it, and I did a kind-of double-take because I wasn’t sure what he said or
whether it was something I needed to respond to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that moment, I could see that he had moved
on to something else as he said it, so I just walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then I heard it again one day by someone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For a while, I couldn’t figure out whether it was just an
end-of-conversation grunt, a form of a sigh, or what.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, like a lot of times when learning the language,
you hear something, don’t know exactly what it means, make a mental note of it,
and then you’ll hear it over and over and over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So I kept listening and paying attention and tried to figure out what
this expression was all about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally
figured it meant something like, “Uh, I dunno…” or “Oh well…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUaZCq33uayPi3BAJBJNSONLYGmKePXtBEQlZMmn-TqKWqdhgc1dOXGNT5MXSqeYNNE-GMnR6iQxuCQ75HkC7If5T4RM_abiGMkYeaA4xAdGj57gT6Ju1DoTTRNINJblbDJZE-PhMl4s4/s1600/DSC_0267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUaZCq33uayPi3BAJBJNSONLYGmKePXtBEQlZMmn-TqKWqdhgc1dOXGNT5MXSqeYNNE-GMnR6iQxuCQ75HkC7If5T4RM_abiGMkYeaA4xAdGj57gT6Ju1DoTTRNINJblbDJZE-PhMl4s4/s320/DSC_0267.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My beautiful wife at Agriturismo Ca' Bianca</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then I finally asked my guys about it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the most part, it seems, it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">does</i> more-or-less mean “Oh well…”, but I
gather it has a more exasperated, can’t be helped, there are forces beyond our
control working here – tone to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Almost like, “That’s the way things are, I guess, so what the Hell do
you want me to do about it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe a
little like “It is what it is.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>{Another
classic expression in Italian “piu o meno” for “more or less”, since nothing is
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">exactly</i> anything here.}</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Syu0Kw3t6hk1s-j1GjPOMLpp-pQdQUIGZyFB3ZgTpgYKnB5gqVmapeh809AfZE500wGGmdzzi0ErwaPL3CV4ySaaLGXlIb2rggqnPIgcnCLbOrpv9NItJUIStaUvP5jLZNgCZBYwNrk/s1600/DSC_0274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Syu0Kw3t6hk1s-j1GjPOMLpp-pQdQUIGZyFB3ZgTpgYKnB5gqVmapeh809AfZE500wGGmdzzi0ErwaPL3CV4ySaaLGXlIb2rggqnPIgcnCLbOrpv9NItJUIStaUvP5jLZNgCZBYwNrk/s320/DSC_0274.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calici delle Stelle</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But it also has little twists, I gathered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you say it more like “Buh…”, it seems to
mean more of the “I dunno.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you say
it more like “Bah…”, it seems to mean more like “What the frick?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So now I try to pull it out myself when I think it may be
appropriate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I’m still way
too eager with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll be in a
conversation, see a good opportunity to pull out a good “Buh…”, use it, then
anxiously raise my eyebrows to look at the person I’m talking to and see if
they are impressed with my mastery (cough, cough) of the nuances of the Italian
language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One time, I get the best
confirmation of all, I grunted out my best “Buh….” and the person I was talking
to grunted back at me “Buh…”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked
away from our guttural exchange very happy with myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi969nZNxCmc9HjKgC3CZ6IN2RSR1F8q8Sup_tbViSoLDK3H7YtvgbxwEm_GakvAbyEV6jSsKOemJ8PzShNkk363GraO5wLgeFKFZsxhqk-L85-GaOM5FrEQpIe8pSWqlYbzNVj-_wfOA0/s1600/DSC_0276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi969nZNxCmc9HjKgC3CZ6IN2RSR1F8q8Sup_tbViSoLDK3H7YtvgbxwEm_GakvAbyEV6jSsKOemJ8PzShNkk363GraO5wLgeFKFZsxhqk-L85-GaOM5FrEQpIe8pSWqlYbzNVj-_wfOA0/s320/DSC_0276.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh was totally jivvin' with the live jazz performance!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUTnQtyqC7Set_BklRuM_Jw7yom7uQcyvbP79uTri0vM3GFCoF4yeWMGl2FT4rp_H47Wr4-znkyGBM2f_vck1JQabk2q6iwyO_ajadGHv8pjsvDKJR1qyUzMzhEEAf0T52u3gl2dCdLk/s1600/DSC_0272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUTnQtyqC7Set_BklRuM_Jw7yom7uQcyvbP79uTri0vM3GFCoF4yeWMGl2FT4rp_H47Wr4-znkyGBM2f_vck1JQabk2q6iwyO_ajadGHv8pjsvDKJR1qyUzMzhEEAf0T52u3gl2dCdLk/s640/DSC_0272.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yet another spectacular evening with the family!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ct<o:p></o:p></span></div>
cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-91432064294060906172013-08-05T22:11:00.000-07:002013-08-05T22:11:20.767-07:00Sicily...in summary.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Q-cXCjNFRgY5oWEhFqbK_Z7NsgiCtax5ygQiU8SbUtx6dCrW8kI9FRI90D8tljhdIqCQ5o2L4rDv0YNHLjY27CumFuqvmSgDe_7HSreav4m_JyYyDeGMu2IIogx312pF9WSn1dawXMs/s1600/DSC_0393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Q-cXCjNFRgY5oWEhFqbK_Z7NsgiCtax5ygQiU8SbUtx6dCrW8kI9FRI90D8tljhdIqCQ5o2L4rDv0YNHLjY27CumFuqvmSgDe_7HSreav4m_JyYyDeGMu2IIogx312pF9WSn1dawXMs/s320/DSC_0393.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking the overnight ferry (with car) through the Straights of Messina.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUB5ZTyKzGfmTBF1RR_ZOavlShT_F7UfMs0PNkapxs7JybUUPPNSBH-68kMDUhc8al9jxFnbtLjnzBgNgqrH02OY3bs9JRQhOPtMBfYHERfsDfG1i8In0M9teVmStpV2aEtfAxunD9es/s1600/DSC_0395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUB5ZTyKzGfmTBF1RR_ZOavlShT_F7UfMs0PNkapxs7JybUUPPNSBH-68kMDUhc8al9jxFnbtLjnzBgNgqrH02OY3bs9JRQhOPtMBfYHERfsDfG1i8In0M9teVmStpV2aEtfAxunD9es/s320/DSC_0395.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise at the "toe" of Italy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8FLdS6ldNTvhcXBiV6tHGNOavNzyfDs5PIaZLvXUeqOP_LQR2FKkQQjFjBzzMT_hBgwKyT44QLETkgNiG6-ad4JLudY39ov5_z116KVP_qt8uNptzH-vt3BIX6NrGntCMwmnPGvKEKA/s1600/DSC_0396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8FLdS6ldNTvhcXBiV6tHGNOavNzyfDs5PIaZLvXUeqOP_LQR2FKkQQjFjBzzMT_hBgwKyT44QLETkgNiG6-ad4JLudY39ov5_z116KVP_qt8uNptzH-vt3BIX6NrGntCMwmnPGvKEKA/s320/DSC_0396.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first glimpses of Mt Etna and Sicily.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I quickly became overwhelmed with the task of blogging from
our vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was just too much
fun to be had to stop and write about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now I find myself in a position where I am writing one blog covering the
span of about two weeks when each day of our trip really deserves its own
description.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Overall, the trip was simply awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imagine it’ll be one of those trips we’ll
reflect on for the rest of our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
hope the kids remember something about it, anything about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If not, the 1,000 or so pictures we took may
help to tell the story for them one day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lord where to start…ok, let’s start with some overall
impressions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">First, for the record, one of my most favorite things to do
in this life is to go swimming, long open-water swims, in the salty clear-blue
water along the Mediterranean coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Quiet, peaceful, no current to speak of, no time constraints, warm sun,
gentle waves (most of the time), extra buoyant because of the high salinity,
clean water, swimming far away from the shore, just swimming until the swimming
is done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Won-der-ful!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgP1w8IVDQSl9nd1A2UclbOw30Acm6DB6XKIArqxniOI_tkjDa2wvaNk4zKYo_Ps2gXFj-1h5kP3yDCak_OEWtGnBS9o2Rsd55bTtNliDPpZc8HqsUQB-Acfa0OzT0lWDP-8AYcIn62s/s1600/DSC_0411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgP1w8IVDQSl9nd1A2UclbOw30Acm6DB6XKIArqxniOI_tkjDa2wvaNk4zKYo_Ps2gXFj-1h5kP3yDCak_OEWtGnBS9o2Rsd55bTtNliDPpZc8HqsUQB-Acfa0OzT0lWDP-8AYcIn62s/s320/DSC_0411.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Second, we ate well the whole vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d say our meals ranged from “good” to
“really damn good!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really good wine
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Nero d’Avola wine, famous in
Sicily, is tasty and not expensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a
matter of fact, everything in Sicily was either inexpensive or at least
reasonable.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKwTl-ENpgq79eQ4nNVl53VQtJh0nyeAgq5NmB-ggN8_vYSZADSZm3h5eVh4w7FUcblFX7y0a6ZI62R3w3fkVo1lmYDeDT51mabKpUOgj9HuDBL0-Kqp0dibcOyxx0X0MnOvY-cb9qrg/s1600/DSC_0431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKwTl-ENpgq79eQ4nNVl53VQtJh0nyeAgq5NmB-ggN8_vYSZADSZm3h5eVh4w7FUcblFX7y0a6ZI62R3w3fkVo1lmYDeDT51mabKpUOgj9HuDBL0-Kqp0dibcOyxx0X0MnOvY-cb9qrg/s320/DSC_0431.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sicily is a really interesting place in that for all its
beautiful landscape, amazing ruins, incredible beaches, and utter charm, it is
largely unmaintained to the point of being really dirty and run-down in a lot
of areas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were there in what is still
considered the “off season”, but for being early June it still felt like a lot
of places were like ghost towns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
drove through many little towns that looked completely abandoned; little
seaside towns lost in time, where there may be 6 or 10 houses that looked as if
they hadn’t been lived-in or even touched in many years, another few houses
that were in various stages of halted construction or demolition, then every so
often a really nice looking place with a manicured lawn and garden tucked
behind a series of walls, gates, or shrubs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Suzanne commented that it often reminded her of rural Mexico.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6K74p2H6ecfE7Bd6SKB5AIy8y6-qU3JAwEAK1R5nBvlA7q46_VGNRig-z1WFBSjh2yDnyNqpfmJqJj82OCOAmiGyHY_aPciZAgTkQjoTXR4K3EPE5eQru3_-ZOxiG2Tn4feTIwBgR-M/s1600/DSC_0433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6K74p2H6ecfE7Bd6SKB5AIy8y6-qU3JAwEAK1R5nBvlA7q46_VGNRig-z1WFBSjh2yDnyNqpfmJqJj82OCOAmiGyHY_aPciZAgTkQjoTXR4K3EPE5eQru3_-ZOxiG2Tn4feTIwBgR-M/s320/DSC_0433.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our children have become world-class travelers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For being 6 and 5 years old, they are
perfectly comfortable hopping on and off planes, ferries, buses, trollies,
gondolas, fernunculars, cabs, water taxis, trains, or driving long distances in
the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They walk through crushing
crowds in tourist centers, scale ridiculously steep and narrow steps up a
variety of churches and castles, hike along treacherous trails with side slopes
that plunge hundreds of feet into the sea, swim in icicle-cold mountain lakes
or in crystal-clear blue seas, ski in the Alps, wait in oppressive lines or race
to catch our next mode of transportation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Josh has become our go-to guy for repeating “No grazie” over and over
and over to all of the African salesmen who often inundate us on the beaches
with offers to give us the “best price” on towels, earrings, wood carvings,
sunglasses, and a hundred other trinkets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Isabel loves to look at maps and figure out where we are and where we
should go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of them strap on their
backpacks and pull their own suitcases, hauling luggage up and down stairs “BY
MY-SELF!!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikc3kxiyi4jXh13buLkX43rtpQny3QumdFpphrMc6_tL-zXu5PzLdXf5XAtX-pkoKLYB0zZiDQcie1nhPg8OgdtpM57oYUSAPQiM8n-u2LhbPT7urz53rSjkCO9-sSr7KDUlbRpQUQ9k/s1600/DSC_0440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjikc3kxiyi4jXh13buLkX43rtpQny3QumdFpphrMc6_tL-zXu5PzLdXf5XAtX-pkoKLYB0zZiDQcie1nhPg8OgdtpM57oYUSAPQiM8n-u2LhbPT7urz53rSjkCO9-sSr7KDUlbRpQUQ9k/s320/DSC_0440.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From where we sat at dinner on our first night in Giardini Naxos.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And do they walk!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
mean, we do some serious walking, and they walk!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I distinctly remember our first couple of
trips in the first weeks we arrived in Italy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ho-ly-canoli did I spend some time walking through Venice and Salzburg
with one of the two kids on my back piggy-back style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But once they built up some stamina and
learned what the expectations were, they’ve been some walking fools ever since.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, not only does that not cover our experience in Sicily,
it doesn’t even scratch the surface.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
must find a way to come back to this trip for our blog and describe some more
about the sights, sounds, places, people, and wonderful experiences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for now we’re moving on because there are
too many other things to go do and see and experience, and the writing-about-it
part will just have to take a back seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6ZO3t4gsichyphenhyphen3bc-pB_S_Gh6X14pdqBWbGS2a4KI9N0YJ-ae_Wu8fuxVzJVNfXM6Wd9eTNfmUMibb_BVe52Hrb1LIEx8Q3JjSZsK2XXpN3r5RH3TEM1G4ef0vmqcsLy7l63z1C9ifWQ/s1600/DSC_0492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6ZO3t4gsichyphenhyphen3bc-pB_S_Gh6X14pdqBWbGS2a4KI9N0YJ-ae_Wu8fuxVzJVNfXM6Wd9eTNfmUMibb_BVe52Hrb1LIEx8Q3JjSZsK2XXpN3r5RH3TEM1G4ef0vmqcsLy7l63z1C9ifWQ/s320/DSC_0492.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the public gardens of Taormina.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfCl3Nh9eOsWU301DjK3GA2Sn2tVNepbnD-MjnUYkWs_pQvnJ2TXB1i7rOp24uoT32NpprvIfBgDqm3q1Z7qkF1OPZDFwJY25H8Jn0cJ6tama82PWR0Rqd7AZ_SQEH0oH-e9XMINuGEi0/s1600/DSC_0516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfCl3Nh9eOsWU301DjK3GA2Sn2tVNepbnD-MjnUYkWs_pQvnJ2TXB1i7rOp24uoT32NpprvIfBgDqm3q1Z7qkF1OPZDFwJY25H8Jn0cJ6tama82PWR0Rqd7AZ_SQEH0oH-e9XMINuGEi0/s320/DSC_0516.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I caught Isabel enjoying some quiet time sitting on the ruins of the amphitheatre in Taormina.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkcFq85cAzylCBvp6Fdq7o2XqgqYJjv7FoBCBlQc6H4wm6FKteXAeotiOvWUSw-2ySPiYgVVNHbQlXVm7uWkdz1G2ZfpT12UlSmBTwd7eZduz8GRo7bjq0p-d3DzhnIFq1bILIDMZzr8/s1600/DSC_0528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkcFq85cAzylCBvp6Fdq7o2XqgqYJjv7FoBCBlQc6H4wm6FKteXAeotiOvWUSw-2ySPiYgVVNHbQlXVm7uWkdz1G2ZfpT12UlSmBTwd7eZduz8GRo7bjq0p-d3DzhnIFq1bILIDMZzr8/s320/DSC_0528.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh doing his best King Arthur routine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My hope is that these experiences stay in our memories and
in our hearts for the rest of our lives; a deep well of story-telling that we
can draw from during family gatherings for decades; experiences we share
together as a family and become part of our collective history.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72I-t6MrjofOKQSRQq4XTId4p3oyiJGuOFlHrLdPwpiUWaTBd7jNmM_p2LV849mHBW2Gl-LiinP85AN2SpAlV1tqPp0b_VsvX5PlXY9lVkjaooQmklDPVZOukfDp6MTN8bPAqo3HqlxI/s1600/DSC_0537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72I-t6MrjofOKQSRQq4XTId4p3oyiJGuOFlHrLdPwpiUWaTBd7jNmM_p2LV849mHBW2Gl-LiinP85AN2SpAlV1tqPp0b_VsvX5PlXY9lVkjaooQmklDPVZOukfDp6MTN8bPAqo3HqlxI/s320/DSC_0537.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing catch on the beach below Taormina.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ct<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">p.s. The pictures I’m posting on this blog are not
necessarily the best we have of our trip or capture anywhere close to the
entire experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not by a long shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They aren’t even necessarily the best
pictures of one DAY of the trip. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most
days, we took over 100 pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Generally speaking, I have been sifting through one day’s worth of
pictures per blog, try to pick a few from that day that catch my eye, and
include them in the post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t even
bothered to sift through 500-600 pictures from our albums for inclusion in
these blog postings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’ll have to
do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ct<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-43032483306780881312013-08-03T02:56:00.000-07:002013-08-03T02:56:42.887-07:00Positano Day3(Originally written 27 May 2013)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQy04Z3G4Ls_ia-F2mUxhXnKUG7wZue3-PwTXc-u6ieRL1I7tU0iT3-hSqTKNufSv6leWCg3tDjXO5HF0zoVKbvro1rZkT8i9jIhblz5N5z1_wV2nqlJPeSy4WohyphenhyphenYHq5eiXJ2l3pUa4/s1600/DSC_0225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQy04Z3G4Ls_ia-F2mUxhXnKUG7wZue3-PwTXc-u6ieRL1I7tU0iT3-hSqTKNufSv6leWCg3tDjXO5HF0zoVKbvro1rZkT8i9jIhblz5N5z1_wV2nqlJPeSy4WohyphenhyphenYHq5eiXJ2l3pUa4/s320/DSC_0225.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhlSW7M_qxY2Zjt_DUhyIjo0ErDKSknitng75L-YRBsDDmkcReAXDU7OKmmZEBe2qnM4FApdcPTtpeUAjbYv5P2yUtY8LxDbGsZAahEHGqWQG_wLzzyyDh1XHxLASI-uLzItTPsdt-tuU/s1600/DSC_0233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhlSW7M_qxY2Zjt_DUhyIjo0ErDKSknitng75L-YRBsDDmkcReAXDU7OKmmZEBe2qnM4FApdcPTtpeUAjbYv5P2yUtY8LxDbGsZAahEHGqWQG_wLzzyyDh1XHxLASI-uLzItTPsdt-tuU/s320/DSC_0233.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Good gracious, keeping track of time has become a real
chore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait, is today “Day 3” of our
vacation?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s count.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, but wait, first somebody remind me what
day of the week it is.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We had a nice, lazy breakfast in our apartment followed by
several hours of hang-out time on the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The sun was shiny and hot today, but there was gentle breeze to cool
things down and if anyone needs an immediate cool down, all they had to do was
put their feet and ankles into the freezing cold water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our kids often remind me of our old dog, Enzo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They take to water like it was their mission
in life to find it and frolic in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
they even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">see</i> a body of water
somewhere, it is almost an inevitability that they will find their way into
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here are your choices as a parent:
take a bathing suit and towel, strip them naked, or accept the reality that
their clothes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i> become wet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does it matter that it is icicle cold?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Certainly not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And just like Enzo, there is such
unadulterated joy when they are out there playing in the water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After lunch, we decided that we would venture into the town
of Amalfi for a little touring around and dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little mix-up at the bus stop caused us
some delay and inconvenience, but I suppose it also provided an up-close and
personal view of the insane scenes that occur on the local roads throughout the
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing in the American experience
can relate to how narrow the roads are, how sharp the turns are, how fast the people
drive, how many scooters zip in and out of the flow of traffic, how many
pedestrians are out meandering around on pathetic excuses for sidewalks, how
utterly inconsequential any of these conditions matter to where people park,
and how there seems to be a complete disregard for personal property, safety,
and the value of life itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The town of Amalfi is very nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suzanne observed that the waterfront areas
are a little more like ports or marinas as opposed to the sunbathing beaches of
Positano.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The narrow, cobblestones
streets are the same though, with steep slopes and lined with crowded shops of
ceramics, lemoncello, jewelry, bars/cafes, beachware, and tobaccorias.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has a beautiful church in the center of
town, at the top of a pretty impressive set of stone steps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went inside and sat down for a while,
enjoying some quiet time and the beginning of an evening mass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suzanne asked one of the local women for a trattoria
recommendation and that led us to a small, local place where we “ate very well”
and enjoyed (finally) some more reasonable prices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHRD05Kst7Emy6ivBOX4M2VlPtXd5ekpnujFoHEwsC1USVNcBujxbuv6_GH-_k1MjfWWvKy7ppDxWEp4ZxZAG6mygxMO2iy4VReyIU552VbIHDoohqZg4NcJaIDimQU0COBSRPOqDing/s1600/DSC_0216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHRD05Kst7Emy6ivBOX4M2VlPtXd5ekpnujFoHEwsC1USVNcBujxbuv6_GH-_k1MjfWWvKy7ppDxWEp4ZxZAG6mygxMO2iy4VReyIU552VbIHDoohqZg4NcJaIDimQU0COBSRPOqDing/s320/DSC_0216.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have always found that Italian expression to be an
interesting clue into the way Italians view food and eating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Americans we would ask, “Did you have good
food?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Italian way of asking that is,
“Did you eat well?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve talked about
that on several occasions with Italians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>From the Italians’ perspective (and I tend to agree with them),
Americans view eating as more of a transaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>More often than not, you go someplace for food, food is prepared and
served, you eat the food and hope that it is good, then you leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the Italians, it’s an event, an
attitude, a way to spend time with family and friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that Americans never do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanksgiving is a good example.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With most Italians, though, Thanksgiving
happens pretty much every Sunday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here’s another example, for the first several months we were
in Italy, we were still figuring out when places were open, when people ate,
and when it was appropriate (or required) to make reservations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took us some time more to get adjusted to
the process of making a reservation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
is often the case that the person taking your reservation will not ask about
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">time</i> of your reservation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is for a couple of reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, like other very culturally rigid
things here, people generally eat dinner at about the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to a restaurant at 7:00pm and it is empty,
if it’s open at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We often eat in
restaurants completely by ourselves, wondering why more people don’t patronize
such a fantastic place, only to see the parking lots and tables become <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">packed</i> with people about the time we are
leaving at 8:00 or 8:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The second
reason you generally don’t need to state a time with your reservation is
because it is generally accepted that whatever table you get will be your table
for the whole night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From what I can
tell, it is by far the exception to “turn over” a table and have more than one
patron eat at that table on a given night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No one restaurant owner will take offense to you taking 45 minutes to
drink your after-dinner coffee, because they didn’t expect to use that table
for another patron that night anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
a lot of places, they don’t even bother taking your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">name</i> when you call for reservations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, all they want to know is how many
people are showing up for dinner tonight so they know how much food to
prepare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So you call and ask for a
reservation for 4 or 8 or whatever, and that’s it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then you show up and let them know that one
of their 4-person reservations has arrived and they show you to your
table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basta (that’s it.).</span><br />
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</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so it goes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ct<o:p></o:p></span>cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-72894069247958404622013-08-02T08:54:00.002-07:002013-08-02T08:54:51.773-07:00Positano Day2<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b></span><br />
(Originally written 26 May 2013)<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Isabel:</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mommy, maybe you should call me a Billy Goat and call Josh a lizard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mommy:</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Why should I call Josh a lizard?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Isabel:</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because lizards are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i>
fast and Josh goes like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the wind</i>!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Josh to Isabel:</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isabel, you’re the best rock climber in the
whole world!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love when the kids complement each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s really the cutest thing ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we come back from some of these awesome family trips, I
feel like I have “perma-grin” and find it hard to explain to folks how good it
was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Naturally, people ask, “What did
you do?” with this expectation that I would recite a litany of fun activities
and sightseeing adventures like a tourist’s guidebook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The truth is that some of the most enjoyable
moments are the fun we create for ourselves, just hanging out doing our thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjeHi-AiHqfKBgxt-y8Y3FPuY-cjWeKdGkpAk2awpeVSNjsKVaydm9V2jOhproFrDge5pNNifkcyO-ORJmE_gRMOccwyokgaxJOpTrPwuA95GFB-IPZbK0AkD-zLk_LRly5uK4EU7SRY/s1600/DSC_0080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjeHi-AiHqfKBgxt-y8Y3FPuY-cjWeKdGkpAk2awpeVSNjsKVaydm9V2jOhproFrDge5pNNifkcyO-ORJmE_gRMOccwyokgaxJOpTrPwuA95GFB-IPZbK0AkD-zLk_LRly5uK4EU7SRY/s320/DSC_0080.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For example, today we spent most of the morning on the
pebbly beach hunting for little bits of sea glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sea glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nothing real special about little pebbles of sea glass, and it’s almost even
sacrilegious to spend all that time looking down at rocks when there are such
beautiful vistas all around, but it has become “a thing” for us and I’m not
going to make any apologies for it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbSvNSOdxbDvIWN-hYs-POkSk6XliB8QpOUBVkgvfbqzp87XKz60eH3N6bq-V71X4jCIYs334a-EQtdeCy_HztN09B4qMADankz55QGo8VKRpXEoZNQv3dI4GuG3qAVv0Z1Qd64MRa3c/s1600/DSC_0101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbSvNSOdxbDvIWN-hYs-POkSk6XliB8QpOUBVkgvfbqzp87XKz60eH3N6bq-V71X4jCIYs334a-EQtdeCy_HztN09B4qMADankz55QGo8VKRpXEoZNQv3dI4GuG3qAVv0Z1Qd64MRa3c/s320/DSC_0101.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Later in the afternoon, after lunch back in our apartment
and a little rest, we took a bus to a neighboring town called Nocelle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there, we went on what would become a
3-hour hike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids took turns as
“trail leader” and kept a very good pace through the first two hours or
so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The third hour was a bit tricky for
all of us because we needed to descend very steep hills, navigating rocky paths
and stone steps, with rather poor lighting due to the dark storm clouds and
setting sun, but we all made it just fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, I’m certainly proud of the walking/hiking/climbing stamina
these kids have developed as we’ve dragged them all over Central Europe for the
past 18 months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are worse things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ct<o:p></o:p></span></div>
cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-92217180323617730392013-07-27T03:19:00.000-07:002013-08-02T08:52:34.918-07:00Positano Day1<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYlB85ExIX84pg3Xy5Vz0UgXGKaRR517lRhAufyXDlCayXisv2-MPZau5FP9Z68Bu2FiW1-mwz7NVb-5UTgKP4ozpuu9sY-eHVRotvL7YUXlg6N6SeZUFrSDTvUivMRSmCSKZ1AxLsbM/s1600/DSC_0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYlB85ExIX84pg3Xy5Vz0UgXGKaRR517lRhAufyXDlCayXisv2-MPZau5FP9Z68Bu2FiW1-mwz7NVb-5UTgKP4ozpuu9sY-eHVRotvL7YUXlg6N6SeZUFrSDTvUivMRSmCSKZ1AxLsbM/s640/DSC_0009.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Originally written 25 May 2013)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every once in a while back home, you may find yourself in
some little Italian restaurant and see a poster on the wall of some amazing
scene along the Amalfi Coast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may
think, “Holy cow that is beautiful! That place looks simply amazing!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may even think, “Before I die, THAT is a
place I MUST go to.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so you add it
to your “Bucket List”.</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyRw9RJquMoK-88E0t8LB_k2ilsBRZg1MYJNijorOJMaFkGKkBaZbiO7P9ElGVRUcsX3wcscqmVIot5tpp_afNeMuaqvEL74niAyKjPMqBQYnIizEjT1tXJNF7HrvL6JgbpTcMiiDMzQM/s1600/DSC_0008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyRw9RJquMoK-88E0t8LB_k2ilsBRZg1MYJNijorOJMaFkGKkBaZbiO7P9ElGVRUcsX3wcscqmVIot5tpp_afNeMuaqvEL74niAyKjPMqBQYnIizEjT1tXJNF7HrvL6JgbpTcMiiDMzQM/s320/DSC_0008.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of our first images of the coast.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We arrived today in Positano on the first leg of a 2+ week vacation
to Southern Italy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My impression of this
place: take your highest expectations of the Amalfi Coast from looking at that
amazing poster on the wall – and it’s way better than that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The posters just don’t do it justice.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-iBDVsbLmOyXpOekaeWu20NDxxTV49R6T6g3RJgBQ7QxEiDZhusbj_swdjBPOACzPwdl1S3_MzVS29xEP_L6RwVeSU8CXTi3Btby0JKJSmIc7SPamLsG4WKUKbqG0pWNv0k4iC28xThk/s1600/DSC_0022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-iBDVsbLmOyXpOekaeWu20NDxxTV49R6T6g3RJgBQ7QxEiDZhusbj_swdjBPOACzPwdl1S3_MzVS29xEP_L6RwVeSU8CXTi3Btby0JKJSmIc7SPamLsG4WKUKbqG0pWNv0k4iC28xThk/s320/DSC_0022.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone's so excited upon first arrival!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I sit here writing this, I am looking at our bedroom
window, across the terraced rooftops of the town below, and across the
turquoise blue sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> There is </span>a cacophony
of birds singing away, their sing-songy tunes interspersed with the noble chimes of
the town’s church bells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I am enjoying a moment of absolute luxury, especially for a parent - the luxury of laying down for a few minutes, closing your eyes, and just resting. Really resting. And as I lay there resting in peace</span>, the images in my mind's eye are of the most vibrant colors of flowers,
tropical flowers, and of the biggest, brightest lemons you have ever seen;
purple wisteria canopies, roses of the deepest reds, orchids, flowering vines
of every variety, and orange trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is of course the deep blue sea and a beautiful blue sky dotted
with puffy white clouds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The images are
all similar to what you might see in that travel poster, but it all comes to
wonderful life when the breezes blow the waves of the sea and the leaves on the
olive trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the difference between
seeing a Star Wars poster, then seeing it on a 40ft movie screen with Dolby
sound and full CG animation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can’t
be prepared for the real thing.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSlxDlW30jrrWbfW3GXum2G8fJSfnZDY8DaVlVWY7ZX-tTe9OmhJWVyhRBVx46aJ6SAn9eiYnpktoEc0Db4rN8Kx3YwJi5gAY3EvKR1ZUydpGQoovwuKSV-gcX6SO44zlGGTzoKQWtqY/s1600/DSC_0063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSlxDlW30jrrWbfW3GXum2G8fJSfnZDY8DaVlVWY7ZX-tTe9OmhJWVyhRBVx46aJ6SAn9eiYnpktoEc0Db4rN8Kx3YwJi5gAY3EvKR1ZUydpGQoovwuKSV-gcX6SO44zlGGTzoKQWtqY/s320/DSC_0063.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tres chic, if you ask me.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There also must be something different about the air
here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s wonderful. It feels cleansing. Maybe it has nothing to do with the quality of the air as much as just being in this wonderful place, on a long, relaxed vacation with my family. The little muscles around my eyes and cheeks
feel like their being drained of stress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Little muscles in my neck and shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
It's a light breeze with c</span>risp, cool air that gets in my sinuses, swirls around, and flushes stress and negativity out of those deep places inside where it gets trapped sometimes.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlx-f5xOtuU-WsacAGrT7k8yzMav5YnUnSKqPgJNknpTqO2jYpvuFgF5qTnHN9iGSqVfSXIqmPQ2nGtQwFoCAGcnbixpdxpdiJxbS8zv9lXSe27JpeX68mUKoQ9wm65q0iSflQy4xb2W0/s1600/DSC_0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlx-f5xOtuU-WsacAGrT7k8yzMav5YnUnSKqPgJNknpTqO2jYpvuFgF5qTnHN9iGSqVfSXIqmPQ2nGtQwFoCAGcnbixpdxpdiJxbS8zv9lXSe27JpeX68mUKoQ9wm65q0iSflQy4xb2W0/s400/DSC_0048.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our biggest concern
right now is whether we should venture out and eat fresh fish for a nice dinner
or if we will just chill at home tonight with fresh ingredients we bought at
the market and a bottle of Brunello wine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Ei6ds73Rck5T7FJcA7J3jU575VTKHbBMRvaHveIeU47pl7kK5BMznJJdUtZupUbQqhYWrpZ0XYdE0bKHmGtrfPw5E0HnF2IzRTfnqSVsdqdg4crPzEIXIKXqjshTvdR93pOe-kKoyAU/s1600/DSC_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Ei6ds73Rck5T7FJcA7J3jU575VTKHbBMRvaHveIeU47pl7kK5BMznJJdUtZupUbQqhYWrpZ0XYdE0bKHmGtrfPw5E0HnF2IzRTfnqSVsdqdg4crPzEIXIKXqjshTvdR93pOe-kKoyAU/s320/DSC_0257.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh proved to have a great knack for taking pictures.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is
really, really good.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">ct<o:p></o:p></span>cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-90720196887140209622013-07-19T22:49:00.000-07:002013-07-19T22:49:25.184-07:00Beating the HeatHere we are in the Dolomites on the first of my 4-day "Furlough Weekends". I've been fortunate to be in a department that gives us some flexibility on how we choose to take 11 furlough days between July and September. We have created a furlough schedule whereby me and a my fellow engineering supervisor will switch-off every other week with a Friday/Monday combination of furlough days. That means Suzanne and I have 3 extra 4-day weekends to plan and 2 extra 5-day weekends to plan since a couple of my Furlough Weekends also fall on Federal Holidays. With the kids off from school, Suzanne not tied to a job, and a great time of the year to travel, it's pretty much ideal for us. Of course we'll miss the income, but under these circumstances, I'd trade that income for the days off anytime they want to offer it to me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ONu2rCO_bIhgGRYe4PpQ_josfG__Xh4ga9l_lTr64GjhVaA1dOj9iv_74WWTeEJNVfEpGIgX8T1Bavn9sHPfQ67XjiYs33kHlnNgC7W4ak70Q-BF6C5EijC9FELngqESuTdRelMD2Fo/s1600/DSC_0014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ONu2rCO_bIhgGRYe4PpQ_josfG__Xh4ga9l_lTr64GjhVaA1dOj9iv_74WWTeEJNVfEpGIgX8T1Bavn9sHPfQ67XjiYs33kHlnNgC7W4ak70Q-BF6C5EijC9FELngqESuTdRelMD2Fo/s320/DSC_0014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We didn't try to do anything extravagant this weekend because it was only recently that we returned from our 2.5 week vacation to the Amalfi Coast and Sicily, followed by a 3-week visit from my parents. During my parents' time here, we took them on several day-trips and a great 5-day trip to Tuscany. Suzanne and I were also able to slip away for an amazing weekend of scuba diving and relaxation along the Croatian coast in Pula. Frankly, I think we have a touch of travel fatigue right now. So 4 days in the Italian Dolomites, about 3 hours from home, was a relatively simple and easy trip for us. But wow....I mean, WOW!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BlbyKfqoXED35tQd0T_XAszVrgJkIpicmOWPPNt3AK71aaDqPxBrXgsayMVhV-YdSw9d_wljMQgSWev36Go3MUOH9QQcyWtv8CAmAr5FSscJmGUCyMo5Ii3tjo1zPvIpLv67-TrZO3A/s1600/DSC_0017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BlbyKfqoXED35tQd0T_XAszVrgJkIpicmOWPPNt3AK71aaDqPxBrXgsayMVhV-YdSw9d_wljMQgSWev36Go3MUOH9QQcyWtv8CAmAr5FSscJmGUCyMo5Ii3tjo1zPvIpLv67-TrZO3A/s320/DSC_0017.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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When we left yesterday afternoon, it was hot and dry. It may not have been 100+ degree heat that they've been having in Maryland recently, but hot enough where a stroll down the street will make you sweat. And after a lot of snow this winter and a <em>very</em> rainy Spring, this summer has been pretty much bone-dry. Three hours later and we are reaching for every piece of warmer clothing we may have packed, along with our rain jackets. Mountain weather - refreshing, but I don't think I'd want to trade.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirkzxji6sojy9BPsHWRgGQZYxFy72Qky0t0AGlMH5HVRZ16oERx9HhIyND2xw9fV8NnmqffJWu23RGmdkDD8zOUOlTCoj1mCsQPDtVudQwWZm8Xf1UuXmRknMTHMI8hqg3FFNZmsI7UaY/s1600/DSC_0018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirkzxji6sojy9BPsHWRgGQZYxFy72Qky0t0AGlMH5HVRZ16oERx9HhIyND2xw9fV8NnmqffJWu23RGmdkDD8zOUOlTCoj1mCsQPDtVudQwWZm8Xf1UuXmRknMTHMI8hqg3FFNZmsI7UaY/s320/DSC_0018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of the differences we were prepared for is that when you come up into this part of Italy, it is as much Germany as Italy. All of the signs and menus have both languages, but more than that is the look and feel of the place. All of the buildings are that classic Bavarian architecture with steeply pitched roofs, wood-beam overhangs, white stucco facades, and wood balconies covered in colorful flower boxes. We ate at an Italian restaurant last night, but we are ready and willing to eat snitzel and drink a good weizen. German food for me is something I like to eat every once in awhile, but then after one or two meals of it, I'm ready to go back to Italian fare or basically any other fare for that matter. We haven't really had German food since our trip to Austria last January, so bring on the goulash!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7LND1DeUFRqy9qJTydNuxm7S0Qm2eRRvC02mLxJPLyFYvpkea0xeGnNF9JR_IiM2obwZuPuMNtL7hR179HBjU-09xuSyIac2gEcW9dEcdrogW-ozbjY8j9YW_AkdYF93FqEWDNNUUwQ/s1600/DSC_0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL7LND1DeUFRqy9qJTydNuxm7S0Qm2eRRvC02mLxJPLyFYvpkea0xeGnNF9JR_IiM2obwZuPuMNtL7hR179HBjU-09xuSyIac2gEcW9dEcdrogW-ozbjY8j9YW_AkdYF93FqEWDNNUUwQ/s320/DSC_0003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Then one might ask, "What is it you DO up there with two kids in the mountains during the summer?" Valid question. I asked it myself. It wasn't until we got off the autostrada and up into the mountains that it became more clear to me. The scenery all around you is simply compelling. The kids got noticeably excited and started finding ways of occupying themselves eg. making a game out of who was about to fall out of the car and plummet down the mountain as we traversed switchback after switchback. There are waterfalls and bike trails everywhere. The whole area is criss-crossed with hiking trails. As we drove through quaint mountain ski towns, we saw lots of shops we'd like to go check out, playgrounds to visit, gondolas that take you up to even more scenic overlooks, and interesting looking parks including one with a "ropes course" for kids. We are looking forward to going for bike rides along the water-water streams, like we did last weekend a little closer to home. And it's also nice to just hang out in our awesome apartment and relax with a coffee, some fresh bread, and beautiful mountain views in every direction.<br />
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My gracious, just reflecting on it a moment, in the span of a short few weeks the amount of traveling and diversity of traveling that we have done as a family - it's staggering. Our kids don't have the first clue about how unique and special this is. For them, they go hiking in the Italian Dolomites or swimming in Sicily or sightseeing in Tuscany not because they are incredible special vacations, but because it's the weekend.<br />
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cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-52838417072417005692013-04-27T09:32:00.000-07:002013-04-27T09:32:05.227-07:00PrimaveraSpring has finally arrived. March was a long, cold and rainy month and it stretched into half of April, but now, finally, the Italian sun has made some appearances, leaves are on the trees, and flowers are blooming. We are coming to the end of the school year as I realize there are only about 5 weeks left. The kids are finally able to wear shorts and flip flops, but you will not see any of the Italian kids wearing such a thing this early in the year. 70 degrees, or not, some people are still dressed like it's January. Actually, I would be amiss to not add something to this blog about Italians and their fear of the cold and fevers.<br />
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My local mom friend, Ketty, who lives across the street has been one of my favorite new friends. Her daughter, Sofia, is in class with Isabel and we often swap pick-ups and drop-offs for school, and I consult her when I really don't understand the homework. Ketty believes, as do other Italians, that Americans are simply made from different stock. We are hearty and can withstand the cold and the sickness that comes with going outside without a scarf in the winter. Italians audibly gasp when we lift our arms to put on a coat and a bit of skin on our belly peeks outside and is exposed for the brief 3 seconds. No undershirt??!? Unheard of....especially with children. I overheard a preschool classmate of Josh telling his mother in astonishment while we were getting coats on to go home, "la pancia e fuori!" It means the belly is outside. He saw Josh's belly peek out while he put on his coat. The undershirt has a couple names in Italian, but one is la maglietta della salute, that is the shirt of health. Surely if your child develops a fever or sickness, it's because he was not wearing one (or he was walking barefoot in the house on the cold marble floors as is usually Ketty's theory).<br />
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One of the other essentials is a scarf. <i>Everyone </i>wears a scarf in Italy starting around October and going through March and some longer. The kids are <i>all</i> wearing scarves when they go to school.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two greyhounds strolling with their owner in Bergamo, Italy. November 2012.</td></tr>
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This picture may be a bit extreme in terms of the everyday scarf wearing one sees, but I couldn't help but include it as an illustration of the ubiquitous nature of scarves in the cool weather. Isabel has come to like her scarf in the cold weather. The only time she hates it is when the weather is cold in the morning but mild later in the day. After school is done, the kids are all bundled up tight in whatever outerwear they wore to school that morning. It could be 65 degrees when I pick her up from school and she will have on her hat, gloves, and scarf wrapped tight. The first thing she does when she sees me is whine about being hot and start ripping off all her outerwear piece by piece until she finally sighs with relief.<br />
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We have finally stopped wearing scarves, even in the mornings. I am ever conscious of the way the kids are dressed, though. I have started to let Josh wear shorts, though not to school. I have an American friend that took her family to a near-by historical town a few weeks ago. It was a day that was mild and sunny, though still the temperature was only around 60. She and a couple of her kids wore flip-flops. She said they would not have gotten more stares if she was wearing a purple wig. It's just not done.<br />
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In a couple weeks, when the temperature stays more consistently above 70, we will see more sandals and fewer scarves. I think the magliette della salute can finally be moved to the back of the drawer. Soon everyone will start complaining about the heat. Right now, I'm looking forward to it. Last summer, we survived.....even without central air which nobody has.<br />
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In a few weeks, we will be embarking on our summer trip to the Amalfi Coast and then on to Sicily. That will probably be our first taste of some real heat. Luckily, there should be plenty of beaches available to help cool us off!<br />
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Happy Primavera (spring), everyone!<br />
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Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553836167183258299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-31818256517919657192013-03-04T03:49:00.000-08:002013-03-04T03:49:01.369-08:00Sciare (skiing), Ciaspolate (snowshoeing) and More Winter FunAs we wrap up the winter season and days become longer, we are thankful for the fun winter we had. Yesterday, we took our final (we think) ski day for the season. It was a gorgeous sunny day and the kids did great. There are a few decent size ski areas within a 1 1/2 hour drive from where we live. Yesterday, we headed out to Folgaria, one of the more popular places nearby. It's great for families and we stayed in the beginner area so the kids could continue some of the skills they learned earlier in the season.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isabel skiing on a sunny March day at Folgaria</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isabel skiing with her Italian classmate and friend, Sofia, in Gallio</td></tr>
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Back in January, we were fortunate to have a wonderful week of skiing in the Stubai Valley of Austria, just Southwest of Innsbruck. This valley is a snow-covered, picturesque winter wonderland, and only 3 hours drive from where we live. We skiied on the Stubai Glacier which lies at the Southwestern most tip of the valley, where it starts to descend from some of the tallest of the Austrian Alps. On a clear day, one can see across a good part of the Austrian and Italian Alps. The kids did two consecutive days of ski school there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready for Ski School</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The nice covered magic carpet and Isabel's class getting ready to practice turning around the planted gates.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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We give a big thumbs up to the Stubai Glacier ski school. The kids loved it and both came away considerably improved after only two days. The way I see it is, these Austrians take this skiing thing very seriously. I mean, what other sport is Austria known for? Yea, that's it. Skiing. So, when it comes to teaching it, that's their thing. They were great with the kids and used lots of props for getting the kids to turn on skies. They gave them plastic hoops which the kids were to use like steering wheels. When the kids turn their "steering wheel" to the right, guess what? That's right. Their body weight shifts to the right and so do their skies. Brilliant!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11HyPwJJXZpBKPmdXyXOvkYLqjTdhy1BVaeaXULmFVZEGTRpz6hNKN69nZXEjm1Y7ntvtC4Fkc6i6ORl6VOCbJWcTTA1CG8ikTKA-68N8hjnBcWDikD1s-r-Om16UfJl8QkSlDLmyMbk1/s1600/Settimana+Bianca+in+Neustift+227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11HyPwJJXZpBKPmdXyXOvkYLqjTdhy1BVaeaXULmFVZEGTRpz6hNKN69nZXEjm1Y7ntvtC4Fkc6i6ORl6VOCbJWcTTA1CG8ikTKA-68N8hjnBcWDikD1s-r-Om16UfJl8QkSlDLmyMbk1/s320/Settimana+Bianca+in+Neustift+227.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris all ready for a X-country ski morning</td></tr>
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Our week in Austria also included a few trips down an 8 Km sledding trail where you use those old wooden sleigh-type sleds, a day in the indoor pool, and cross-country skiing. All wonderful.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isabel and I take a break during our long sled run</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Back around Christmas, we also found ourselves skiing in Austria at a place called Ehrwald, just over the border from where we were staying with friends in Germany. Isabel did well as she for the first time skied a long easy run instead of just staying on the bunny hill. It wasn't a good ski day for Josh as he was fighting off an ugly bronchitis thing that had him wiped out. It was still a good day on the mountain.<br />
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February skiing was my gift. At Christmas time, my friend Catherine, with whom we stayed, gave me the scoop on a ladies' ski trip to Italy. It was being organized by the American military base in Garmisch where they have an outdoor recreation office. I was more than a little interested. After moving off the wait list and landing an actual spot on the trip, it was a ski weekend for me!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing on my snowboard in front of Cinque Torri, a rock formation called the 5 towers near Cortina D'Ampezzo</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ladies I roomed with, Victoria, Denise, Catherine, Valerie, and Christine, standing at the top of Lagazuoi</td></tr>
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I took a three hour drive up into the Dolomites on a Friday evening. Just past the infamous Cortina D'Ampezzo, I drove up a pass which peaked at around 2100 meters where our hotel was located. Up in these mountains there are many small places that are more like B&B's than a true hotel and they are called Rifugios. Some are high up on a mountain where they are reached only by cable-car (unless you want to hike). This rifugio was just off the road at the top of this pass and it was great. Nothing fancy, but a great location with friendly people and good food and a chair lift just outside the front door. They started us off our ladies' weekend with a nice dinner followed by many shots of sweetened grappa, and some good ole' dancing to YMCA. This was followed by three great days of skiing, an evening snowshoe hike to an old restored WWI bunker and headquarters, drinking Prosecco and dancing in an igloo, and an amazing long ski run with gorgeous scenery that ended with a horse-drawn sleigh that has a rope off the back that pulls skiers from a flat area to the next place they can get a chair lift. Amazing!<br />
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As another added bonus to our winter adventures, the area here where we live received quite a few substantial snow falls. According to the neighbors, this was more snow than what they have seen in at least 5 years. The kids very much enjoyed sledding on the driveway and making snowmen. This winter we did a lot of hot chocolate drinking, snowball throwing, sledding, skiing, and overall winter fun. Now we are ready to usher in Spring, la primavera. We are looking forward to nice sunny weather and all the beautiful flowers that bloom in Italy. Happy spring everyone!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1rpxtQx7Jx9bXWh2XjOVe7Svwl2kvvJyUcnvpN5M_dtQqGSm0nbJNTo_9zUwsm8FvtLR14G8no36oerS0Kws-6ZlptZRLRf3EqBYNA2yfcPWhLxP07y3nx-LXpWYyd8pNeW-gZLw_iGM/s1600/Settimana+Bianca+in+Neustift+035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1rpxtQx7Jx9bXWh2XjOVe7Svwl2kvvJyUcnvpN5M_dtQqGSm0nbJNTo_9zUwsm8FvtLR14G8no36oerS0Kws-6ZlptZRLRf3EqBYNA2yfcPWhLxP07y3nx-LXpWYyd8pNeW-gZLw_iGM/s320/Settimana+Bianca+in+Neustift+035.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking silly pictures to pass the time during the long gondola ride down from the Stubai Glacier</td></tr>
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<br />Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553836167183258299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-10138415195192297012012-12-20T23:57:00.001-08:002012-12-20T23:57:56.687-08:00<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Buon Natale!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That would be Merry Christmas, in Italian, of course. <span style="font-size: small;">T<span style="font-size: small;">hey also say buone feste and tanti auguri which are similar to happy holidays and <span style="font-size: small;">season<span style="font-size: small;">'s gre<span style="font-size: small;">etings. Christmas is different here, for sure, but many things are also the same. I would say things a<span style="font-size: small;">re a bit <span style="font-size: small;">tamer than the out-of-control, bright lights everywhere, commercialism, o<span style="font-size: small;">ver-the-top, A<span style="font-size: small;">merican style Christmas. As I drive down our street, I do not see any Christmas lights on houses, but if you look closely, you can see a lit tree or a few strands of lights in a window, that is if you catch the view before all the shutters have been closed for th<span style="font-size: small;">e night. There is a<span style="font-size: small;"> house up on the corner<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">where our street meets the more major thru-street, and they have a good set-up of blinking lights and a large lit star.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We have packed away the blow-up <span style="font-size: small;">Santa, r<span style="font-size: small;">ei<span style="font-size: small;">n<span style="font-size: small;">deer and sl<span style="font-size: small;">eigh, icicle lights, and all the other Griswal<span style="font-size: small;">d-style outdoor holiday decorations and have instead opted for <span style="font-size: small;">only inside lights on</span> a nice tree (first artificial one<span style="font-size: small;"> ever) and white lights on the <span style="font-size: small;">lemon tree, which has been brought inside for the winter. I have also hung a str<span style="font-size: small;">ing of lit stars across the kitchen window which are visible from outside until we shut down our<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>shutters for the night<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC9vISAdZmNLt0sOvCwGj7p0-vUBAaiW0xb5lLycN0qourga1OzusH9qwzhZ8QeUR6VkhrFR2xkx0krHOL1Ix9RFKbwcUJBJ5SyriSaRC_S2Z4Ou9Z76QAAd3kxhy_-l7dfbalIbks7HN2/s1600/Christmas+recitals+and+asiago+026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC9vISAdZmNLt0sOvCwGj7p0-vUBAaiW0xb5lLycN0qourga1OzusH9qwzhZ8QeUR6VkhrFR2xkx0krHOL1Ix9RFKbwcUJBJ5SyriSaRC_S2Z4Ou9Z76QAAd3kxhy_-l7dfbalIbks7HN2/s320/Christmas+recitals+and+asiago+026.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh at his Christmas show.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The children have had their Christmas shows at school. Josh had an adorable little singing and dancing show <span style="font-size: small;">in our town<span style="font-size: small;">'s tiny <span style="font-size: small;">theater</span>. It was great. The boys all wore little santa outfits, and the girls were <span style="font-size: small;">reindeer. The show concluded with a<span style="font-size: small;">n appearance <span style="font-size: small;">from Babbo Natale (santa in Italy) and he proceeded to apologize for being late because he was hitting the Vin Brule (hot spiced wine) outside the <span style="font-size: small;">theater. He handed out to<span style="font-size: small;">ys</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> and we all headed over to the school to get <i>our</i> Vin Brule and biscotti.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Last week<span style="font-size: small;">end, we also had the privilege of <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">accompanying</span> Isabel <span style="font-size: small;">to her ballet recital which was held in <span style="font-size: small;">Padova, a <span style="font-size: small;">city about 25 minute<span style="font-size: small;">s d<span style="font-size: small;">rive East of us. The ballet school rented buses and w<span style="font-size: small;">e all went as a big group.<span style="font-size: small;"> Apparently<span style="font-size: small;">, the ballet instructor has a friendship with <span style="font-size: small;">a</span> person who runs a beautiful s<span style="font-size: small;">mall museum/theat<span style="font-size: small;">er</span> located in the <span style="font-size: small;">center of</span> Padova. <span style="font-size: small;">It was a beautiful location. T<span style="font-size: small;">here was a <span style="font-size: small;">ball room with parquet floors<span style="font-size: small;"> and high ceilings with <span style="font-size: small;">ornate gold molding. Two gi<span style="font-size: small;">an<span style="font-size: small;">t crystal chandeliers hung down to light the room. <span style="font-size: small;">We dropped <span style="font-size: small;">Isabel</span> off so that the girls could practice and then headed out to walk around the center. <span style="font-size: small;">Sunday is market day in Padova so it was bustling with people. It was cold and brisk<span style="font-size: small;">, and there were plenty of extra vendors given the Christmas season. We warmed up with some more Vin Brule.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkLi1RnIROSwBn_Dt_dKBRDa-gS5ybS7XM1u9ZWc85U_3FY31PIxcT4L00U-eX019MwFqVG57CSmNHs4F7jZ-V7MSQi0myx6QpasOsdCzLCAQXxWImcerjmN-BPlo5JT1cAtykarw4O-X/s1600/2012-12-16+15.28.21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxkLi1RnIROSwBn_Dt_dKBRDa-gS5ybS7XM1u9ZWc85U_3FY31PIxcT4L00U-eX019MwFqVG57CSmNHs4F7jZ-V7MSQi0myx6QpasOsdCzLCAQXxWImcerjmN-BPlo5JT1cAtykarw4O-X/s320/2012-12-16+15.28.21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isabel (and Isabella) ready to dance.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg26vUYpC3vNJGcsm3hHJDECgfxrKHC67_NrrrPjklDF0IBzq19D2zAu6A29VrpYTgSlDkzGHyXuKheBMkfaY5RHdIVV86m0E5x6AiM4QB5MzD-2yrMjczMMx3RvV199tU-IMg0vCg_m_D1/s1600/2012-12-16+17.10.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg26vUYpC3vNJGcsm3hHJDECgfxrKHC67_NrrrPjklDF0IBzq19D2zAu6A29VrpYTgSlDkzGHyXuKheBMkfaY5RHdIVV86m0E5x6AiM4QB5MzD-2yrMjczMMx3RvV199tU-IMg0vCg_m_D1/s320/2012-12-16+17.10.34.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A small shot of the beautiful room.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We are now packing up for a Christmas trip to Bavaria. <span style="font-size: small;">W<span style="font-size: small;">e are very fortunate to have Americ<span style="font-size: small;">an friends living there, <span style="font-size: small;">and they are hosting us for<span style="font-size: small;"> the holiday. We plan to ski as much as possible! <span style="font-size: small;">That<span style="font-size: small;">'s what they do there in the winter. <span style="font-size: small;">Our friends have a<span style="font-size: small;">n 8 year old boy in the lo<span style="font-size: small;">cal American school. Every Wednesday afternoon <span style="font-size: small;">the kids have ski lessons<span style="font-size: small;"> through the school. Is that great, or what?!? We have actually packed snowboards, sno<span style="font-size: small;">w shoes, and xcountry skis. These are the times when having a Ford Exp<span style="font-size: small;">lorer <span style="font-size: small;">is great<span style="font-size: small;">! We are <span style="font-size: small;">also ready to enjoy some Glu<span style="font-size: small;">wein, Beer<span style="font-size: small;">, and pretzels. Good <span style="font-size: small;">ol' German<span style="font-size: small;"> food.<span style="font-size: small;">.....we won't expect to see any vegetables until we arrive back in Italy.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Today is the last day of school for the C<span style="font-size: small;">hristmas break. It's pretty typical, I think. We haven't done the American elementary school t<span style="font-size: small;">hing yet, but here they have the usual little party with the class, gifts for teachers (some do, some don't) and some parents bring little things for all the kids in<span style="font-size: small;"> their <span style="font-size: small;">child<span style="font-size: small;">'s class (not so common but I saw a couple mammas do it). I will say that it sounds like the American schools (at least here) have more parent <span style="font-size: small;">involvement. You may h<span style="font-size: small;">ave read the now infamous<span style="font-size: small;"> "Why French Parents are Superior"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> article that appeared in the WSJ last year (<a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204740904577196931457473816.html">http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204740904577196931457473816.html</a>). <span style="font-size: small;">I can't remember if it was in the original article or the follow-up, but they touched <span style="font-size: small;">on parent involvement in schools, or rat<span style="font-size: small;">her non-involvement. T<span style="font-size: small;">his is not a negative thing, it's just a different way of doing things. It also does not mean the parent is not involved in the child<span style="font-size: small;">'s learning and homework, activities, <span style="font-size: small;">etc. It just <span style="font-size: small;">means when you drop off your child at school, you drop off your child. <span style="font-size: small;">Parents do not come to the classroom, they do not come to parties<span style="font-size: small;">, and they are not encouraged to volunteer<span style="font-size: small;"> in the classroom. If you need to talk with <span style="font-size: small;">the teacher about something, there is a communication <span style="font-size: small;">book that is carried in your child<span style="font-size: small;">'s back<span style="font-size: small;">pack and <span style="font-size: small;">you would request such a thing there.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I love both kids' teachers. They exude the usual Italian love for children. It's some<span style="font-size: small;">thing so characteristic to Italians and it's great. Josh's teacher will cup his cheeks in her hands and give him a big kiss. If she did that in America she would be getting a <span style="font-size: small;">letter from some<span style="font-size: small;">one's lawyer. When I drop off Josh in the morning, it's usually into the care of a nun who looks to be about 80 years old with the e<span style="font-size: small;">nergy of someone 40 years her junior. Suora Flavia is alw<span style="font-size: small;">ays wearing her perfectly whi<span style="font-size: small;">te habit. (As an aside, I saw another nun the other day riding her bike. It was about 30degrees<span style="font-size: small;"> outside and she had on a full, perfectly white habit and a white scarf that she was holding o<span style="font-size: small;">ver her mouth with one hand, and she was steering the bike with the other. It was a very busy road and she was about 7<span style="font-size: small;">0 years old. It's just another one of those scenes that makes you say, "only in Italy.") Getting back to the story, Suora Flavia <span style="font-size: small;">takes <span style="font-size: small;">Josh into the big room where all the kids gather in the morning under <span style="font-size: small;">a l<span style="font-size: small;">arge statue of the Virgin Mary holding Jesus. It's another reminder that we are <span style="font-size: small;">in Italy and only a few hours away from Rome.</span> I will be <span style="font-size: small;">touching on the</span> <i>non</i>-separation of church and state in another post.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Time to finish the packing. <span style="font-size: small;">The k<span style="font-size: small;">ids have become good travelers. <span style="font-size: small;">So far, they have been to Spain, France, Germany, Austria, and of course, all over their new home of Italy.</span></span></span> Not so bad. We hope to lengthen that list over the next couple years. F<span style="font-size: small;">or now, it's back to Germany. Not a bad place to go for C<span style="font-size: small;">hristmas.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tanti Auguri and Buon Natale to all our friends and family! We miss you!</span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553836167183258299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-3202212455390170132012-11-07T07:03:00.000-08:002012-11-07T07:03:39.247-08:00I vote for OD GreenMan, I tell you, sometimes the reality stops you in your tracks like you just walked into a brick wall.<br />
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As I was leaving the office tonight, I saw a guy jogging on post. It was dark and I couldn't see him that well, but I could tell his was tall and had a very muscular upper body. That is not an uncommon scene around post by any means since our military community is largely made up of some pretty high-speed paratroopers.<br />
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The thing that really stood out though, is that he was jogging along pretty slowly (which is rather unusual for the guys) and he was hobbling pretty badly. You see guys hobbling sometimes too, but not like this. Watching this guy would make you want to wince like "damn, that kind of hurts me to just watch."<br />
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I got closer and realized why the slow pace and the hobbling. The guy was running on an artificial leg, one of those blades you see on paralympic athletes. I'm guessing this was a new leg for him, especially by the way he was running.<br />
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It made me think, here on Election Day, how most Americans voting today will never have any real, up-close and personal interaction with the members of our active duty military. It's wonderful to hear how so many people "support the troops", but I regret that most people will never truly know how good these men and women are. Being integrated back into this community, it is remarkable to me the sacrifices these soldiers make. It is remarkable to see the sacrifices these families make. <br />
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I wish everyone could attend the Memorial Services I've attended and hear the stories of these men who have died, and the words said about them from their fellow soldiers, and the testimonies of men who wanted to be of service to the country and to their fellow man. <br />
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Last week, Suzanne and I had the pleasure of hosting a friend for dinner who is the wife of a deployed Army Officer. While her two daughters were laughing and playing in the other room with our kids, we asked her how her husband was doing and how she was doing. I wish every American could feel the palpable and mixed emotions from a woman whose husband is currently working in some very dangerous places, who has the pride that comes from that kind of service and sacrifice, and who has the fear and responsibility of raising two daughters whose father is deployed. Wow, that sure does put our "challenges" into perspective.<br />
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So to the paratrooper jogging last night on his alloy leg, and to the woman who is holding herself and her family together during this latest deployment, and to all the men and women serving American in dangerous and foreign places - I vote for you! You are true American patriots and heroes.<br />
<br />
ct<br />
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cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-17588795038086552592012-11-06T10:08:00.003-08:002012-11-07T01:32:37.648-08:00Doing our thing on Halloween<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We sure missed our friends (the Garrett Family) and our family this Halloween. Luckily, we were invited to what is apparently a annual party at one of our new friends' houses here. Suzanne did a good job with our costumes, going as Ceasar and Cleopatra for me and her. The kids, of course, did all the normal flipping-out with excitement bit.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0jw-H_cCFdfyqIa-2KRffmL37Nei1NYKhYG2p1LPPKVjNvByZnCOeFTCaPkj31u-kQUtAjQTl9ELBagMUv0pKQ-9fDk3SLIsT2K7rJMW7xxFCEbhgPMUhQVz0G7icSq5JYuYBAzK0dk/s1600/DSC_0401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0jw-H_cCFdfyqIa-2KRffmL37Nei1NYKhYG2p1LPPKVjNvByZnCOeFTCaPkj31u-kQUtAjQTl9ELBagMUv0pKQ-9fDk3SLIsT2K7rJMW7xxFCEbhgPMUhQVz0G7icSq5JYuYBAzK0dk/s320/DSC_0401.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The party was at this really amazing villa/house of our friends, with great views, surrounded by vineyards, and close to a neat old town. Everyone had great costumes. There were tons of kids there and the hosts had lots of games and activities specifically for the kids.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHTQW3g2Cb9mSsEllWppSKVkMpJTjuCB-TygSqDvZczM9Tgs_Im8T9bovHObn8XpmH4LhlkMUTBY-TOXwQEsFwB4OCjVCgLZDa7SIyFpAT0ETU9sEpTH-JyABUE8yvXl5rrQn6QpzPbY/s1600/DSC_0413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHTQW3g2Cb9mSsEllWppSKVkMpJTjuCB-TygSqDvZczM9Tgs_Im8T9bovHObn8XpmH4LhlkMUTBY-TOXwQEsFwB4OCjVCgLZDa7SIyFpAT0ETU9sEpTH-JyABUE8yvXl5rrQn6QpzPbY/s200/DSC_0413.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dudes from Pulp Fiction</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht98zlBGPj0GyT5tlkFnqD4qnvFlQJPNSyNI1J6fxT5d-oAJ42RE44EQya57iBVSXP7G1fbNAxFWdKWm7qWxvsC31e0jnnpF-ioAFhDpy0Cp3trpnRmegutFh9e_1ap2ytUU09BMpvrCU/s1600/DSC_0405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht98zlBGPj0GyT5tlkFnqD4qnvFlQJPNSyNI1J6fxT5d-oAJ42RE44EQya57iBVSXP7G1fbNAxFWdKWm7qWxvsC31e0jnnpF-ioAFhDpy0Cp3trpnRmegutFh9e_1ap2ytUU09BMpvrCU/s200/DSC_0405.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool place to have a party.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isabel competing in the donut eating (no hands) contest.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgdd5P628Qvmw84Na0AdliOMmbQls0HhxA_lO1vyXC3uv-YOUD3VbLYRlR3yQ1W0k78vcw8fJRtZscqaj_2sfR5IEvwK61ReURT_EmMK566unJiJhDMwQR_IdhdT4anlBp78Edtoeo58/s1600/DSC_0426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgdd5P628Qvmw84Na0AdliOMmbQls0HhxA_lO1vyXC3uv-YOUD3VbLYRlR3yQ1W0k78vcw8fJRtZscqaj_2sfR5IEvwK61ReURT_EmMK566unJiJhDMwQR_IdhdT4anlBp78Edtoeo58/s320/DSC_0426.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This dude had my favorite costume of all and annoyingly stayed in character for most of the night.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLF2h4W5kgrJg3Ho2FpzFHz0Rjxv1w-PWKnVWpMQKOrDyOSoHyEEv1pKJOazwdN9ey6pwnDG-w5CFQMNQAN75TbpESCpJYKrSYkryUj-02EmxgAjaiZRQEYG5Z4BBgt8YbAHbXIZTWKg/s1600/DSC_0416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLF2h4W5kgrJg3Ho2FpzFHz0Rjxv1w-PWKnVWpMQKOrDyOSoHyEEv1pKJOazwdN9ey6pwnDG-w5CFQMNQAN75TbpESCpJYKrSYkryUj-02EmxgAjaiZRQEYG5Z4BBgt8YbAHbXIZTWKg/s320/DSC_0416.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty ladies</td></tr>
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I had plenty of fun myself. Here are the stages of party development:</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stage
1 - Volunteer to sign karoake in order to win party gift for wife.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stage 2 – Get bailed out by wife.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stage 3 – Provide support as wife rocks an awesome
rendition of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stage
4 - Really working the karaoke stage.<o:p></o:p></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stage
5 - getting my Caesar on!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stage 6 –
I don’t really know what that is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All in all, a really great time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ct</span></div>
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cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-79809552564886863562012-10-23T12:22:00.000-07:002012-10-23T12:22:19.750-07:00Sanguinetto JoyThe family recently returned from a 5-day trip to Tuscany over Columbus Day Weekend. We stopped in Florence for the day on our way down to our destination. We spent Day 2 in Montalcino, the home of the famous Brunello wines. Day 3 was spent touring the fantastic town of Orvietto. And on Day 4, we had an amazing experience touring a winery outside of Montepulciano, followed by a wonderful lunch, ending in a tour of the hot-springs town of Bagno Vignoni. (Day 5 was a leisurely breakfast in our apartment, followed mostly by packing and then traveling home.)<br />
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I will save descriptions of the whole rest of the trip for another blog (maybe by Suzanne?) and focus this blog on just one of the remarkable events of our trip to Tuscany: the tour and tasting at Sanguinetto Cantina.<br />
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Understand first that when visiting wineries in Italy, it is certainly not always obvious where you should go. One time we have accidentally showed up at the winery owners' actual residence in town instead of their cantina that was located in the middle of nowhere. Another time we traveled down some remote dirt goat-trail of a road which led to the farm, only to find out that their cantina was in the middle of town. Clearly, it's not always obvious.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The entrance to Sanguinetto Cantina</td></tr>
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In this case, we had directions to a winery in Aquaviva, just outside of Montepulciano (where we were staying). There weren't many, if any, signs for this place. We pulled into a gravel driveway of this local farm and parked in an empty gravel parking lot. There was an old house, a barn, and a few other structures that looked typical for an old working farm. I told Suzanne and the kids to stay put, and I'd go see if we were in the right place. A woman stepped out of one little house, looking at us like we must be lost. I took a couple of hesitant steps closer, not wanting to impose ourselves anymore than necessary. Another woman came out of another building, and now I had two women staring at us as if to say "why are you people here? what do you want with us?" I asked gently (in Italian) if this was Sanguinetto Cantina and they replied with a very curt "si". .....ok.... I told them we were looking to taste some wine and asked if we were in the right place. They said yes, but kind of had this expression of "we would have been fine if you had never come here, but since you're here, we may as well drink some wine." Ok....so we unloaded the crew and were then escorted into one of the little farm houses, still not sure of what we were getting ourselves into.<br />
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From that point on, from my own perspective, I may have well have been taking a 2-hour orientation tour of Heaven. Even now, two weeks later, I am overwhelmed just thinking about it.<br />
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We have been to a lot of wineries by now and we've seen the gamut. This place was perfect. Simply perfect. First, the place was as much a working farm as it was a winery. They have 50 hectares planted with corn, soybean, grain, etc, and 4 hectares planted with grape vines. One hectare is about 2.5 acres, so it's not a huge farm (~150 acres) and a very small winery (~10 acres of grapes). They are, however, one of the oldest producers of Vino Nobile wine in the area.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the cantina.</td></tr>
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The owner of the place was this wirey 72-year old woman, who was as weathered as she was friendly. She was raised on the farm, working on the farm since she was a girl, eating bread with butter and wine as main staples of her diet. She had long, thin, mostly grey, free-flowing hair. She was always smiling and had this big, wide smile that showed all of her bad teeth as well as this wonderfully genuine friendliness. She was proud of being an independent, single woman, and she walked around with this swagger like she would happily kick your ass if it came down to it. Yet, in a matter of minutes, it felt like we were the closest of friends. The thought came to me pretty quickly that this woman was a force of nature in many respects and definitely someone I connected with.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guilia and Suzanne</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guilia featured in an article about authentic, traditional, unpretentious wine making.</td></tr>
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Stepping inside the first part of the cantina was so interesting because for all the rustic nature of the outside of the farm, the inside of the cantina was a totally charming, immaculantly clean cellar. The inside had brick walls and archways. The space was filled with big wooden caskets that had natural finishes and ordorned with shiny black metal or bright red-painted trim. It was beautiful! So cozy. So natural. So authentic. Just beautiful.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simple elegance</td></tr>
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Guilia, the owner, then gave us a tour of the fermentation room. We were visiting during the harvest season, so she showed us large vats that had been recently filled with grapes and had started the fermentation process. Josh came over to feel the heat on the vats from the fermentation process. Guilia asked Suzanne if she wanted to climb this old wooden ladder, that looked like it belonged in a museum, so that she could look down on the vats filled with crushed grapes. Suzanne braved it, and even took some pictures from up above. I then asked if this ladder might withstand my weight, considering the fact that I probably weighed more than Giulia and Suzanne combined. It did.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2a291OEiHrxqvJjVsAaTZEzmNp5wRsFbqEJPgPHJWPwE01fLCVEijWB_RlQiwy_4R5hboTv_b5Gxzwh6wTiUbydiwOHk3tQl13CMokt0yQ3yHqnSsF99nfo2fnqhDQgjoBaUQUyzdOQk/s1600/DSC_0294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2a291OEiHrxqvJjVsAaTZEzmNp5wRsFbqEJPgPHJWPwE01fLCVEijWB_RlQiwy_4R5hboTv_b5Gxzwh6wTiUbydiwOHk3tQl13CMokt0yQ3yHqnSsF99nfo2fnqhDQgjoBaUQUyzdOQk/s320/DSC_0294.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ladder we climbed to peer down into the fermentation containers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1N5g6QdoLDerZ7BwYuXZGG4iAJdwvpyAT3Ga3yzkcpBuB5mTT5ZHLi4ALamotb9A3M8k-rObA1n8TK1cJ5AAEZzNQ2vopO3TFUoOYFYIyWl1tNSuj1DtaHJeNvy_xouH1WEZzMx7TarU/s1600/DSC_0293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1N5g6QdoLDerZ7BwYuXZGG4iAJdwvpyAT3Ga3yzkcpBuB5mTT5ZHLi4ALamotb9A3M8k-rObA1n8TK1cJ5AAEZzNQ2vopO3TFUoOYFYIyWl1tNSuj1DtaHJeNvy_xouH1WEZzMx7TarU/s320/DSC_0293.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh was feeling the warmth created from active fermentation.</td></tr>
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She gave us a full tour of the place. Meanwhile, Josh and Isabel are having free run of the farm outside. They were running around with full abandon, tending to the dogs, trying to get close to the geese, marveling at the roosters, making up games, being kids. Sometimes they'd run into the cantina with us for awhile, then go back out and find some other kid thing to do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdBTIMsWam9B0kKd-xj20dcXKmGkEy4Pd4sZydm2cK8myLGccl-vREiXdH6xvCZQ2tKUa7IiSoWyMuSEhwnRuULXy2pVDIh4VJ8itE5K0ZzlAqEE_H3ZXVm2yMzpUNcmucZ8uKYmhNIts/s1600/DSC_0306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdBTIMsWam9B0kKd-xj20dcXKmGkEy4Pd4sZydm2cK8myLGccl-vREiXdH6xvCZQ2tKUa7IiSoWyMuSEhwnRuULXy2pVDIh4VJ8itE5K0ZzlAqEE_H3ZXVm2yMzpUNcmucZ8uKYmhNIts/s320/DSC_0306.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kids having fun on the farm.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZObQIAjopOu-qcOSOUMCU7Wxd9ZIbM9K6Y75-xQD6BieOZpxnsQoJdpA7uoyrqZA8bVE4XsW5LFBXWlJ-m4tRR4YpuS5xXLQqlJdYFiJCnCEA5Ie-do7STBdAQ69qUM3Pq_tT69IPKuA/s1600/DSC_0301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZObQIAjopOu-qcOSOUMCU7Wxd9ZIbM9K6Y75-xQD6BieOZpxnsQoJdpA7uoyrqZA8bVE4XsW5LFBXWlJ-m4tRR4YpuS5xXLQqlJdYFiJCnCEA5Ie-do7STBdAQ69qUM3Pq_tT69IPKuA/s320/DSC_0301.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is this the same princess of mine who I was carrying around in the baby-bjorn the other day???</td></tr>
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Now inside the tasting room, Giulia starts to give us samples of her wine. Che bellisimo! Yeah, the Brunellos are wonderful, but this wine was so good. <br />
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And Giulia is as authentic as they come. Suzanne asked about irrigation because it had been such a dry year. Nah, no irrigation, as Giulia would explain, Mother Nature knows what to do - it's we that need to interpret it. After doing this for so long, you could tell she was still so interested and passionate and curious about how Nature could produce such wonderfully different expressions of wine that is produced with the slightest variations in grapes, weather, soil, and technique. Clearly, the respect of tradition and Mother Nature was paramount, even when it meant a lower harvest, yield, or profit. This isn't about being organic for the sake of putting a label on your wine stating that you're organic, it's because this is just "how it's supposed to be done". There's nothing overly remarkable about it.<br />
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Now, it's like 9 or 10 o'clock in the morning and Giulia is giving us fairly healthy samples of each of her wines. She, by the way, is drinking along with us - why wouldn't she, she asks. Meanwhile, Josh and Isabel have started this game where they are "selling" rocks to us - rocks that they've collected from Giulia's parking lot, budding little entrepreneurs they are. Giulia sees all of this, leaves, comes back a few minutes later, and <i>gives</i> Josh a large fossil that she has collected from her farm! We are perfect strangers, haven't purchased a thing (yet), may not ever see her again, and she gives my son this grapefruit-sized fossil that she's collected on her family farm. It's true I probably love fossils more than the average person to begin with, but I was just blown away by it. What a nice and thoughtful and generous thing to do. Such a cool gift.<br />
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This whole time, by the way, Suzanne and I have been speaking only Italian with Guilia, as in, not <i>any</i> English. I'm not going to say that we understood 100% of what she was saying, but still.<br />
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Then I hear a couple of gun shots in the distance and ask if those were hunters (knowing that hunting season has started). She said yes. She told me <i>she</i> hunted. I told her I hunted and that it was a real passion. She told me that she was the only woman in her local hunting association, and that she was the PRESIDENT of the association! And so we go on and on with each other about hunting (still in Italian). That takes us in a whole other direction of conversation, which led to a tour of one of her barns where she showed me a bunch of her deer antlers. Then we started talking about the possibility of me coming back down to go hunting with her!!! Ok, seriously???? SERIOUSLY???!!!!! She tells me that cinghuale (wild boar) season starts Nov 1st and maybe we can arrange a time for me to go hunting with her! Me....going cinghuale hunting...in Tuscany!!!! Forget about it. The <i>thought</i> of it is ridiculous, right!?<br />
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So understand that by this point, I am so happy with life and wine and fossils and kids having fun and the thought of going cinghuale hunting in Tuscany with my new 72-year old winery owner friend, that I have basically stopped talking in full sentences. I am wearing a perma-grin, and the only Italian I can muster is a series of "si", "prego" (after you, you're welcome), "bellismo, "che bello" (how wonderful), "si, piu per favore" (yes, more please), "grazie mille" (thousand thank yous), etc, etc, etc. I was a man totally and completely overwhelmed with a that is good. <br />
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(Actually, the only time I say anything negative at all is when we were in the midst of sampling the wine and Guilia brings out that little container for when you don't want to finish your sample and dump it out. THEN!...THEN is when I dropped my perma-grin, got dead-serious for a moment, and said with a low, somber tone, "Ah....no! No thank you. But we won't be needing that!")<br />
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Coming out of the barn with the deer antlers, I see a whole stack of big, glass demijohns, mostly covered in the thick plastic baskets that are used for carrying them when they are heavy with wine. I've kind of had my eyes open for a few of these big, old demijohns because they're kind of cool. I am even told they are sold in Pottery Barn as fancy-dancy home decorations. Whatever. Heck, I o<i>wn</i> a couple of medium sized ones that I buy bulk wine in, but the bigger ones are kind of cool, especially if they come from some old barn and there's a little story behind how you got them. Whatever. I say something to Guilia about them. She says something back. Then my eye catches one or two demijohns off to the side which really stand out of the other 50 or so that are all around. They had irregular shapes with chipped tops, and instead of the heavy plastic baskets around them, they are wrapped in a basket made of really old rope. The rope was this really thick, old looking, fibrous, cord-rope. It looked like something that would have been used 300 years ago for pulling oxen. Or maybe something you'd see in a museum exhibit of Native Americans. So me being the curious cat I am, I asked about it. Guilia's expression changed a little and told me that ahh, these were <i>antique</i> demijohns - these were very old, very antique, hand-blown glass demijohns! I was totally blown away. She said a bunch more stuff, but I wasn't really comprehending the Italian much anymore. I just kept saying si! bellisimo! che bello! bravo! piu per favore! siiiiiii! certo! bellisimo! - just kind of overwhelmed, and a bit tipsy, and just was not following the Italian anymore. I was still stuck on the hunting thing. I was still stuck on how good the wine was. I was really still so appreciative of the fossil-gesture thing. I was useless at this point. <br />
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So when Guilia asked if I wanted to see another one of these antique demijohns, I just answered with the same siiii! che bello! etc, etc, etc. She leads me over to this other area of the farm and shows me another demijohn. It's as beautiful as the last one. She hands it to me to look at, which I do. These things are pretty big, by the way, like 2-3 ft in diameter and 2-3 feet tall, all glass. I hoist this thing up into the sunlight, look at it's irregularity because it was hand-blown, look at the small bubbles of "imperfection", appreciate it's authenticness and it's simple beauty, and hand it back to her. No, she says, and hands it back to me. ...."Bellisimo!" I say, because that's ALL I've been saying for the past 45 minutes, and hand it back to her.... NO! she says, looks at me, and gives it back to me.... Then I realized that when she asked me if I wanted to <i>see</i> one and I had answered with such an enthusiastic "YES! How Wonderful!", she had actually asked me if I wanted to <i>keep</i> one!<br />
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I should point out that we had traveled to Tuscany for 5 days, with two adults, two kids, two accompanying car seats, all of our luggage for 5 days, including a small cooler, homework/books/games for the kids, clothes to cover us in case of chilly/warm/rainy weather, etc, etc, etc....in a standard 4-day sedan. Our car was pretty much packed at the start of our trip. Since being in Tuscany, we had also accumulated by now, boxes containing over 35 bottles of wine (imagine how much space that requires), bags of pottery and ceramics (highly breakable and fairly expensive), and a 5.5 ft long, rather-expensive, oil painting of Tuscany that we bought in Orvietto. We accumulated all of this without any idea of how we could make it all fit. And with all of that, I am now being handed an antique, breakable, hand-blown glass demijohn, roughly the size of a small dishwasher. <br />
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Did I take it?....oh HELLS yes!<br />
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I was pretty convinced that Josh would have to go home by himself on the train...and I was ok with that! I was NOT going home without that demijohn.<br />
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Do not ask me how I did it. I have no idea myself. I packed all of that stuff, ALL of that expensive, highly breakable, highly irregular shaped stuff, in the car, with kids, for a 4.5 hour car ride home, on the autostrada that was jammed with 18-wheelers and crazy Italian drivers, during a torrential downpour, without breaking a thing. Honestly, I think I deserve a PhD in family vacation packing to have pulled that off.<br />
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In any case, we're back now. The whole trip was just so wonderful. It has been one of the best trips we've taken in a year chalked full of wonderful trips. And one of the highlights was the incredible morning we spent with Guilia from Sanguinetto.<br />
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p.s. I have already warned Suzanne that if by some long-shot of a chance I actually get to go cinghuale hunting with Guilia in Tuscany....I am officially done! Don't expect another useful or productive thing out of me, like ever again!<br />
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ct<br />
<br />cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-59295435401852284052012-09-25T12:10:00.003-07:002012-09-25T12:10:45.993-07:00End of Summer 2012What just happened to the last 3 months? For that matter, the past year disappeared right before our very eyes. It was basically one year ago that we started the transition overseas. Wow. Just wow.<br />
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There are all sorts and kinds of things I'd love to share with our friends and family, as well as capture for posterity, covering the events of the last few months. I will only try to cover a few highlights though.<br />
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First, as I mentioned in my last post, we had a fantastic summer of family visits, including Suzanne's (and my) niece Annelise and my nephew (and Suzanne's) Chase. I hope they enjoyed being here as much as we enjoyed having them. Chase and I were able to slip away a few times for some uncle-nephew quality time together including a real nice hike together in Lumignano where I took this photo at arms length.<br />
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We had some awesome times in August including a short visit by Suzanne's sisters and family, a very fun weekend with Catherine and Scott Walgren in Oberammergau, and a super-fun extended weekend in Munich with just the four of us. Josh learned how to ride his bike without training wheels and is now ready to conquer all of the riding trails in Northern Italy. All of that will hopefully be the subject of another posts(s) so they get their due attention.<br />
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September ushered in a whole new milestone for us: both kids have started going to school in the local Italian schools. With the exception of one or two rough mornings for Josh, and one day where Isabel was particularly tired (and cranky), that has all gone very well. The kids are making friends, Italian kids as well as a couple of other Americans, learning a few more words in Italian, and having a lot of fun.<br />
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Our grape vines have thrived through a very, very dry summer even despite being planted much later in the Spring than is customary. I have done my best to water and care for them, especially given the fact that we spend most of our weekends traveling, but I also think they are resilient and would have done just fine without my attention. "Mighty oaks from tiny acorns grow"....or something like that...here are a couple of photos:<br />
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The other big milestone was that Suzanne has started volunteering with the Red Cross. She does all the same duties that a Primary Care PA would do, except that she does it a few hours a week and doesn't get paid. She seems to have enjoyed being back in the medical world though, and that is fun to see.<br />
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As for me, I attended a week-long course in Eastern Germany in late August, and another in Western Germany a couple of weeks ago. On my last trip North, I took advantage of a stopover in Fussen, Germany to go for a real nice morning bike ride. Here are a couple of photos I took of that:<br />
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We've got some great recent photos and videos that I'd love to post of the kids. Lots more to share....for another time.<br />
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Lots of love to all you reading this. We certainly miss all of our friends and family, our home on Stoney Creek, and the good ol' U-S-of-A.<br />
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And of course, without a doubt, from all of us....GO ORIOLES!!!!!!!<br />
ct<br />
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<br />cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-39283247925085314012012-07-25T23:59:00.001-07:002012-07-25T23:59:40.221-07:00MySpace? Seriously???A couple of days after returning from Spain, Suzanne went back to the airport to pick up my 14-year old nephew, Chase, and her 13-year old neice, Annelise. They are staying with us for a few weeks this summer which we are thrilled about and which has put our kids into a frenzy of excitement.<br />
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Suzanne and I have been getting a kick out of the exposure to a couple of young teenagers in our house. They are both super great kids - excuse me, "young adults" - but I think part of last night's dinner conversation was pretty eye-opening for everyone.<br />
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Chase said something to Annelise about how I was in my high school production of "Grease". Annie couldn't beLIEVE it! She suggested that it would be pretty hysterical if we had a video of it uploaded to YouTube.<br />
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Chase's all of the sudden became the authority on such matters and explained to Annelise how this happened so long ago, it was, like, back in the days of "MySpace"!!!<br />
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I had to correct my young Jedi nephew with the explanation that this actually was, like, FIFTEEN YEARS BEFORE anyone had HEARD of "MySpace" and as a matter of fact, it was basically before anyone knew much about the internet, period! ...Yeah, that blew their minds. I had fun with that one.<br />
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Suzanne, on the other hand, said something about a recording on VHS. Annelise had no idea what she was talking about. Suzanne explained about these cassettes that have a ribbon that goes from one spool to the next, bla, bla, and Annelise finally realizes that she may have heard about those once, you know, like, I think I saw one packed away in a box in our house one time, and, like, I think my Dad told me about those one time.<br />
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People, we are not that old, I promise you. The only times when there is ANY evidence that we are aging is when I see my hairline in the mirror and when we have teenagers in our house. Weeellll, that may not be entirely true - there is often a lot more snaps, crackles, and pops when we get in and out of bed everyday - but it is true as far as you all are concerned!<br />
<br />
ctcthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-75556232884460749272012-07-09T09:08:00.000-07:002012-07-09T09:08:10.060-07:00Why not a tractor?We went to a trattoria/pizzeria recently and pulled into an empty parking lot. It might have been 6:30 or 7:00, but the Italians eat late and we were one of the first ones there that night. I don't recall any other vehicles there except maybe a scooter and definitely a tractor. But you know, as odd as it may sound, I really didn't think that much of the tractor parked outside the front door. There is a lot of farming and agriculture around here, and as one of my earlier blogs will attest to, the farming is pretty well woven into the fabric of society, at least once you get outside the downtown area. So ok, there's a tractor in the parking lot. Now, this is a full-size, working tractor, mind you, maybe a John Deere, maybe a Caterpillar, I don't know, but ok, it's a working tractor, you get the picture, no big deal. Maybe it's parked there after a day of work, maybe somebody will be using it again tomorrow. Whatever.<br />
<br />
Toward the end of our meal, we had a chance to see the owner/operator of the tractor. This older gentlemen strolls out of the trattoria and climbs up into the cabin of the tractor. The guy must have been 80 years old and he was wearing a sports-jacket that you could tell was both worn and well-made, a vest, shirt and tie, slacks, and some well-worn dress shoes. He gets up into this tractor, fires it up, and drives away, presumably back home after his meal and cafe (probably a "cafe corretto" which is an espresso "corrected" with grappa).<br />
<br />
And no one would have thought another thing of it. By this time, there were plenty of people there, plenty of people who had pulled up in their beautiful Alfa Romeos, Land Rovers, or whatevers. And this old guy, I'm going to say 80'ish, just hops up on his tractor in his full-blown evening wear, and drives off. Ho-hum.<br />
<br />
We're writing this blog in an attempt to capture and share some of our experience here. There are countless things like this that happen everyday that just become a normal part of our life over here. For most of them, you notice, register, perhaps appreciate, and then move on. But these subtle little things provide the overall context for life here, and they are important if not for their subtlety. I'd like to write about them every once in awhile and maybe preserve a bit for posterity, therefore, we now have the story of the man who gets gussied-up on a Saturday night and drives his tractor to the neighborhood trattoria.<br />
<br />
ct<br />
<br />
<br />cthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11618377432272644725noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679167805829052795.post-17069073394793268822012-07-09T08:57:00.001-07:002012-07-09T08:57:53.936-07:00Adios, Pamplona<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We just boarded the train in route to Barcelona. Pamplona
was wonderful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What an experience. We
are currently pondering whether we will ever come back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sure is something to behold and I would
love to come back again. I’ve never seen a party like the Festival of San
Fermin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yesterday, Chris woke up early to watch the first running.
He basically had to get up at 5:30a to be sure he got a spot to watch. He
talked about how many people miss it because when it comes to actually getting
up and motivating that early, many people just don’t do it, especially after partying. Since we had the
kids up until midnight the day before, and given all the excitement of our big day, getting them up early would have been torture for them and for me.
The kids and I had a good sleep. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chris was back early to the hotel, and after an afternoon siesta, we all
headed back to town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Josh was still
recovering from the day before and promptly fell asleep on the bus ride to
town. I picked him up at our stop and he never opened his eyes. The town was as
lively as ever with people everywhere in their white and red and the usual partying
was in full swing. We walked to a grassy spot next to the bull ring and sat
down to have a drink and let Josh finish out his power nap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laid him down with the backpack for a
pillow and he slept for about another hour in that position, and most of that
time was filled with loud drumming from the street performers that started up
about 20 yards away from us. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh passed out cold.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy hour on the grass + nap time.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This was one of those moments that were great. It was a
relaxing time sitting together, having a little wine, watching all the other
festival goers passing by, watching the micro-party that surrounded the
drummers, getting up and dancing a little to the drumming, and just enjoying
the day. The funniest thing was when a couple young guys came to us , and in
their broken English, asked us if we would use their camera to take a picture
of them laying next to our son, who was totally passed out on the grass. When
we finally understood what they were asking, Chris got up, the two guys lay
down next to Josh and Isabel and pretended to be passed out, and Chris took the
picture. It was hilarious. You see, it is a common sight to see people passed
out in the green grassy parts of town, but it’s not usually little boys taking
their nap.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our children and some other festival participants passed out from too much partying:)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A common site around Pamplona during the festival.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of the day was spent wandering about discovering
other sights around town. We saw a parade go by (I think they were promoting
Basque independence but I’m not entirely sure), saw a tranquil park along the
river below the town,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>stopped in a café
for a snack, found a stage where a lively latino band was playing and many people
were dancing (many older couples together…very cute), happened on another
square where a Spanish heavy metal band was playing. The kids were jamming. We
picked up some perritos (hot dogs) there and started back to the bus stop. It
was a good afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dancing with my boy to some Latin beats.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m glad we stopped there. We considered going back to the
rides, but thought we might get up early the next day to bring the kids into
town for the next day’s encierro. After finally making it home, I realized we
were done. We had done the festival and it was wonderful and the next day was
going to be just about packing up and moving on to our next adventure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a bit sad saying good-bye to Pamplona, especially for
Chris, I think. He has some history in that place. As I watched the tv this
morning during our hotel breakfast, and we saw the erratic bull that broke away
from the pack during that morning’s encierro, I was really glad Chris did not
do any actual running. That stuff is crazy! I think most people don’t know that
is only one part of this glorious festival…..and ok, I guess I can see why that
is a fun part for those who do it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, we are traveling to our next adventure. Until
Barcelona…..</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Tb0ziTm20IuOpIbQtMGs4MD0N05qvb8Fm-Dj72YxHCNIp4wEzaOqipPQnCZtVuoUTvKGipJG4ec8wvFOUtWeHCxrcTH3rBgK46Cp57hqDFygyAvLeeZsq4DGWWJNx4qAqHHHsu_qX2qF/s1600/DSC_0474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Tb0ziTm20IuOpIbQtMGs4MD0N05qvb8Fm-Dj72YxHCNIp4wEzaOqipPQnCZtVuoUTvKGipJG4ec8wvFOUtWeHCxrcTH3rBgK46Cp57hqDFygyAvLeeZsq4DGWWJNx4qAqHHHsu_qX2qF/s320/DSC_0474.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for one of our many buses.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72dfNhAN8VUSUs3OAb4SLqdlR-5GtmQx859MhxYEaNhFGwH5DSyEvlMNUWnSjW1lQrtCQ0ZFUR8hV4loQutmjEtgM9IRtVxPi4j-D6U40IWvKxtzpFgKZ9zzrpvxs_cShPp_EVco6d_1-/s1600/DSC_0475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72dfNhAN8VUSUs3OAb4SLqdlR-5GtmQx859MhxYEaNhFGwH5DSyEvlMNUWnSjW1lQrtCQ0ZFUR8hV4loQutmjEtgM9IRtVxPi4j-D6U40IWvKxtzpFgKZ9zzrpvxs_cShPp_EVco6d_1-/s320/DSC_0475.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the train - yes, that crazy balloon had to come with us. It made it through two buses, a train ride, and the taxi to our apartment in Barcelona.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Suzannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05553836167183258299noreply@blogger.com0