Short blog, but one worth writing about. Since living in Italy, I have seen the strangest people riding bikes. I told you about the guy carrying the umbrella wearing a long fur coat with a sequined hat. There have been people riding their bikes while smoking cigarettes, talking on their cell phones, and eating gelato. Some doing all at the same time. There was the bike with three adult passengers, one on the seat, one on the handlebars, and one on the back rack; the lady with the baby in a snuggly (frightening); and countless people toting their weed whackers (no...get your mind out of the gutter...I'm literally talking about the garden tool). They carry them over their shoulder while pedaling, hanging out of the basket on the front of their bike, draped across the handlebars, and in one instance, attached to a hand truck he was pulling behind him. Yet, for all of the toting of weed whackers, there are a surprisingly large number of weeds around. I truly don't know where they're whacking. Today, however, I found the muse for this blog. There was a guy pedaling his bike carrying a CHAIN SAW! If you've never carried a chain saw, they are rather heavy, and they have very sharp teeth all along the blade. I don't even want to carry one while walking, let alone negotiating traffic on a bicycle.
But, I think I've figured out why there are so few traffic accidents in Italy. Yes, the drivers are crazy and aggressive. However, because of all of the crazy obstacles we come upon while driving, you are forced to pay attention...lest you shall lose a side-view mirror to a chainsaw carrying biker.
Ciao' for now!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Where's my manual????
The government spends billions of dollars evaluating programs to find out whether or not they work. I know this because our current First Lady is working to examine the programs that are in support of military families. My suggestion to her, instead of spending the money to take an in-depth look at existing programs, why don't you put that money into the countless programs that already exist that have run out of funding due to the many military families who have found them helpful! Wow...what a concept! See...that is logic. I have learned as a parent that many decisions I have to make are as simple as looking at things logically.
If my children had come with manuals, similar to the 112 page book in five different languages that came with my hand mixer (seriously...if you need 112 pages to help you figure out how to use a hand mixer, you probably shouldn't be in the kitchen) I may not have to make so many decisions on my own. Logic wouldn't play a part; I could simply turn to page 43 and read their steps for handling the crisis of the moment. But, alas, no manual.
So, when my four year old refuses to get dressed in the clothes that I have laid out in the morning, because he wants to wear his Buzz Lightyear pajamas, there is no troubleshooting section to turn to. Decision time. Do I let him stay in the pajamas? Yes, if we are just taking his older brother to the bus stop. No, if we are going to meet his new teacher for PreSchool. First impressions being what they are, I don't want him to be "that kid" and I certainly don't want to be "that mom."
And then, there are those moments that no book would cover. When the same child calls to you from the bathtub and says, "Hey, mom, look at this!" it's decision time. What are the chances that whatever he has to show me is something I want to see? It could be a turd. Or maybe he found my razor and decided to shave his head. Or, like in the instance of tonight, he'd want me to see the little dancing toy he had suctioned onto his weiner. Such a treat, parenthood.
Ciao' for now!
If my children had come with manuals, similar to the 112 page book in five different languages that came with my hand mixer (seriously...if you need 112 pages to help you figure out how to use a hand mixer, you probably shouldn't be in the kitchen) I may not have to make so many decisions on my own. Logic wouldn't play a part; I could simply turn to page 43 and read their steps for handling the crisis of the moment. But, alas, no manual.
So, when my four year old refuses to get dressed in the clothes that I have laid out in the morning, because he wants to wear his Buzz Lightyear pajamas, there is no troubleshooting section to turn to. Decision time. Do I let him stay in the pajamas? Yes, if we are just taking his older brother to the bus stop. No, if we are going to meet his new teacher for PreSchool. First impressions being what they are, I don't want him to be "that kid" and I certainly don't want to be "that mom."
And then, there are those moments that no book would cover. When the same child calls to you from the bathtub and says, "Hey, mom, look at this!" it's decision time. What are the chances that whatever he has to show me is something I want to see? It could be a turd. Or maybe he found my razor and decided to shave his head. Or, like in the instance of tonight, he'd want me to see the little dancing toy he had suctioned onto his weiner. Such a treat, parenthood.
Ciao' for now!
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Customer Service, Italian Style
If you've been reading my past blogs, you would understand that my experiences here in Italy have been marred only by two things. The first, my dissapointment in Northern Italian cuisine. The second, getting help with having anything fixed takes FOREVER. Well, after this week, I can no longer begrudge the Italians on that one. On Wednesday, with a laundry list of tasks to complete, my youngest son and I set out. We hopped in the car, and away we didn't go. The car wouldn't start. It didn't sound like the battery, and I knew that I had driven through some really deep water during a surprise rain storm on Tuesday. So, I did what any woman would do. I called my husband. He had no clue what to suggest. I guess my errands would have to wait.
I called the auto repair place on our military post, and was told that they wouldn't fix the car, but if I wanted to, they could come and tow it (for about $40), and I could fix it there. (Seems you can rent a lift and tools). The guy said from my description, it sounded like the fuel pump which would run anywhere from 35 to 150 euros. My Girl Scout badge in Automotive Maintenance failed to cover replacing fuel pumps, so I thought this may be a bit out of my league.
Frustated that I may have to wait until my husband had the time off to fix it, aka never, I walked to the nearby FIAT dealership. In my very little Italian, and the guys very little English, he understood that my car was "kapput" and that I had walked there from my house. Next thing I knew, there was a mechanic pulled around out front prepared to give my son and I a ride to our house to check out the car. WOW! I almost fell over. You mean I wasn't going to have to wait a week?
He drove my son and I to our house, and proceeded to tinker with the car. He signaled to me that he had to go back to the garage to get something, but that he would return. Which he did! He proceeded to tow the car back to his garage, and told me I could pick it up in 2 hours. Are you kidding me???? I kept thinking, OK, this car only cost us $100. It's probably going to cost me $500 to fix it. Damn language barrier. But, hey, I was desparate, and the guy had just driven off with my car...AFTER doing a home visit to try and fix it.
Two hours later, when I went back to the dealership, it was ready! And the bill....are you ready....51 euro! For everything! I must have said "Grazie" a thousand times. I told my husband I want to invite the mechanic to Thanksgiving dinner. (I'll tell you more about Thanksgiving later).
Ciao' for now!
I called the auto repair place on our military post, and was told that they wouldn't fix the car, but if I wanted to, they could come and tow it (for about $40), and I could fix it there. (Seems you can rent a lift and tools). The guy said from my description, it sounded like the fuel pump which would run anywhere from 35 to 150 euros. My Girl Scout badge in Automotive Maintenance failed to cover replacing fuel pumps, so I thought this may be a bit out of my league.
Frustated that I may have to wait until my husband had the time off to fix it, aka never, I walked to the nearby FIAT dealership. In my very little Italian, and the guys very little English, he understood that my car was "kapput" and that I had walked there from my house. Next thing I knew, there was a mechanic pulled around out front prepared to give my son and I a ride to our house to check out the car. WOW! I almost fell over. You mean I wasn't going to have to wait a week?
He drove my son and I to our house, and proceeded to tinker with the car. He signaled to me that he had to go back to the garage to get something, but that he would return. Which he did! He proceeded to tow the car back to his garage, and told me I could pick it up in 2 hours. Are you kidding me???? I kept thinking, OK, this car only cost us $100. It's probably going to cost me $500 to fix it. Damn language barrier. But, hey, I was desparate, and the guy had just driven off with my car...AFTER doing a home visit to try and fix it.
Two hours later, when I went back to the dealership, it was ready! And the bill....are you ready....51 euro! For everything! I must have said "Grazie" a thousand times. I told my husband I want to invite the mechanic to Thanksgiving dinner. (I'll tell you more about Thanksgiving later).
Ciao' for now!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
It's me or the mountain, baby!
During my six week trip to the States, where I gorged myself on all of the flavors of home that I had missed so much, and used Dunkin Donuts as my personal therapist, hey, $6 a dozen is way cheaper than $200 an hour, I wasn't QUITE ready for my husband's plans for a day together.
Our oldest son would be in school for the day, and I signed our youngest up for a day back at his preschool class. It was just me and my man! He packed our bags (impressive, just one of the reasons I love him) and off we went for a little hike.
The road to get to the place we were going to hike from was a little squirrely. It was a paved road, how they got the equipment up there to pave, I don't know, but it was barely wide enough for one car. And, if we drove a little too far to the right, we'd definitely have a chance to test out the roll bar on our jeep. We arrived at the parking lot for the hikers. There was a really nice path off to the left. From what my husband told me, it led through tunnels that the Italian Army built during World War I to use in order to get through the mountians. By the way, these are not your regular mountains, these are the Dolomites, the Southern tip of the Alps. These are American mountains on steroids.
However, it was not our plan to take that route. Oh,no...not us. That route is for children...beginners. Not people in the great physical shape that we are in (or..at least were in 20 years ago). We started out on a trail that was quite steep. Let me give you a little picture of what we were up against. Turn to your left. Do you see that wall? Start walking! Oh, and don't forget to include some loose rocks, tree limbs, and narrow your wall down to about 8 inches wide with a bone-breaking fall to your side. Then, for good measure, put prickly plants on the ground on both sides of the trail so that when you reach down to help steady yourself as you climb that wall, you get mini thorns in your hands. Sounds fun, right?
The next part added some rock climbing, now we're talking! Followed by a hike along a beautiful ridge. The views were spectactular. And the temperature drop was refreshing after our little hike. We could see for miles. After 2 1/2 hours of hiking and climbing, we came to the part where our bags came in handy. It turns out he hadn't packed us a picnic lunch. No wine and cheese. Nope. It was filled with climbing gear. A harness, gloves, hat, and some ropes and things called lobster claws. We adorned ourselves with our gear and climbed another section of rock. The gear was to save us if we happened to lose our stepping or grip, since we were about 200 feet up on the side of a mountain. As we rounded a corner, we came to a ladder. It was bolted into the side of another peak and led to another area of climbing. Seriously? We're going higher? I'm not afraid of heights. I'm not even afraid of falling from heights. But I was a little nervous climbing up a ladder that was 3000ft above sea level. And MAN, was it chilly. It wasn't refreshingly cold. It was, "where's my sweater and gloves" cold. And when you're climbing a ladder that far off the ground, (yes mom, I was attached to the ladder with my harness), you don't want your fingers to be numb.
From there, it was a lot more of the same. Up, up, up...over, over, over. By this point, my legs are hurting me, and my rear end is questioning whether all of those donuts were really worth it. We hit a point called the "saddle". It's this area where you climb (or slide...you choose) down a football field embackment of rocks and then get to climb back up a field of rocks on the other side. It was at this point that the Angels of mercy shined upon me, and my dear husband asked if we should hike over to the trail instead of heading back up hill. Maybe it wasn't the Angels of mercy. Maybe he just saw that I was exhausted, or maybe "Are you kidding me?" had come out of my mouth just one too many times. Any way around it, I chose door number one. It's trail time!
This is where we learned that not many people take the easy way out. We know this because a path sort of started to lead us over to the main trail, but then, it disappeared. What do we do? Do we turn back? We could see the main trail in the distance. We knew where we needed to head. My boyfriend Bear Gryls (star of Man vs. Wild, and only I know he's my boyfriend...he's not yet aware), taught me some important navigation skills, so I said "Let's move on." Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. Where were the Discovery Channel guys who plan Bear's trips out before he takes them? The first part wasn't bad...just more hiking. No trail, but nothing major to get over. And then there were the rocks. Oh...and the snake. Yes, a snake. Beings I don't speak much Italian, I couldn't ask it if it was friend or foe, so I just figured it was foe and changed my path. But, once you see one snake, you wonder how many of it's friends are around. Add snake-anxiety to the fun! We finally saw the trail just below us. The only thing in our way was 10 feet of pine trees. And no, not pine trees where you can walk beneath the branches and be impressed by their beauty. These were pine trees that had been knocked down over time and were growing along the ground. We had to climb over and through the piney maze to get to the trail. Have you ever had a pine branch hit you in the face? I have. Not fun.
But we made it. We reached the trail and headed back on the hour and a half walk back to our car. Was it worth it, definitely. Will I do it again, you betcha. Will I forego the donuts...better believe it.
Ciao, ciao for now!
Our oldest son would be in school for the day, and I signed our youngest up for a day back at his preschool class. It was just me and my man! He packed our bags (impressive, just one of the reasons I love him) and off we went for a little hike.
The road to get to the place we were going to hike from was a little squirrely. It was a paved road, how they got the equipment up there to pave, I don't know, but it was barely wide enough for one car. And, if we drove a little too far to the right, we'd definitely have a chance to test out the roll bar on our jeep. We arrived at the parking lot for the hikers. There was a really nice path off to the left. From what my husband told me, it led through tunnels that the Italian Army built during World War I to use in order to get through the mountians. By the way, these are not your regular mountains, these are the Dolomites, the Southern tip of the Alps. These are American mountains on steroids.
However, it was not our plan to take that route. Oh,no...not us. That route is for children...beginners. Not people in the great physical shape that we are in (or..at least were in 20 years ago). We started out on a trail that was quite steep. Let me give you a little picture of what we were up against. Turn to your left. Do you see that wall? Start walking! Oh, and don't forget to include some loose rocks, tree limbs, and narrow your wall down to about 8 inches wide with a bone-breaking fall to your side. Then, for good measure, put prickly plants on the ground on both sides of the trail so that when you reach down to help steady yourself as you climb that wall, you get mini thorns in your hands. Sounds fun, right?
The next part added some rock climbing, now we're talking! Followed by a hike along a beautiful ridge. The views were spectactular. And the temperature drop was refreshing after our little hike. We could see for miles. After 2 1/2 hours of hiking and climbing, we came to the part where our bags came in handy. It turns out he hadn't packed us a picnic lunch. No wine and cheese. Nope. It was filled with climbing gear. A harness, gloves, hat, and some ropes and things called lobster claws. We adorned ourselves with our gear and climbed another section of rock. The gear was to save us if we happened to lose our stepping or grip, since we were about 200 feet up on the side of a mountain. As we rounded a corner, we came to a ladder. It was bolted into the side of another peak and led to another area of climbing. Seriously? We're going higher? I'm not afraid of heights. I'm not even afraid of falling from heights. But I was a little nervous climbing up a ladder that was 3000ft above sea level. And MAN, was it chilly. It wasn't refreshingly cold. It was, "where's my sweater and gloves" cold. And when you're climbing a ladder that far off the ground, (yes mom, I was attached to the ladder with my harness), you don't want your fingers to be numb.
From there, it was a lot more of the same. Up, up, up...over, over, over. By this point, my legs are hurting me, and my rear end is questioning whether all of those donuts were really worth it. We hit a point called the "saddle". It's this area where you climb (or slide...you choose) down a football field embackment of rocks and then get to climb back up a field of rocks on the other side. It was at this point that the Angels of mercy shined upon me, and my dear husband asked if we should hike over to the trail instead of heading back up hill. Maybe it wasn't the Angels of mercy. Maybe he just saw that I was exhausted, or maybe "Are you kidding me?" had come out of my mouth just one too many times. Any way around it, I chose door number one. It's trail time!
This is where we learned that not many people take the easy way out. We know this because a path sort of started to lead us over to the main trail, but then, it disappeared. What do we do? Do we turn back? We could see the main trail in the distance. We knew where we needed to head. My boyfriend Bear Gryls (star of Man vs. Wild, and only I know he's my boyfriend...he's not yet aware), taught me some important navigation skills, so I said "Let's move on." Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. Where were the Discovery Channel guys who plan Bear's trips out before he takes them? The first part wasn't bad...just more hiking. No trail, but nothing major to get over. And then there were the rocks. Oh...and the snake. Yes, a snake. Beings I don't speak much Italian, I couldn't ask it if it was friend or foe, so I just figured it was foe and changed my path. But, once you see one snake, you wonder how many of it's friends are around. Add snake-anxiety to the fun! We finally saw the trail just below us. The only thing in our way was 10 feet of pine trees. And no, not pine trees where you can walk beneath the branches and be impressed by their beauty. These were pine trees that had been knocked down over time and were growing along the ground. We had to climb over and through the piney maze to get to the trail. Have you ever had a pine branch hit you in the face? I have. Not fun.
But we made it. We reached the trail and headed back on the hour and a half walk back to our car. Was it worth it, definitely. Will I do it again, you betcha. Will I forego the donuts...better believe it.
Ciao, ciao for now!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
You've come a long way, baby!
Poor me. I "survived" a year in Italy. I know, it sounds ridiculous. I was blessed with the opportunity to see sights that few Americans will ever see. I climbed the side of an Alp, went scuba diving in water so clear it was like bath water, and ate oranges so flavorful my mouth hurt. I captured thousands of photos of architecture preserved and appreciated longer than our country has been formed. I've learned how to pretend to speak Italian, and am on a first-name basis with our local prosciutto guy. I was introduced to an amazing culture who enjoys "Dolce far niente" - the pleasure of idleness.
During the first unassuring moments when we sat on the bus after landing in Venice, I questioned our decision to move across the ocean with 2 small children. But now, I embrace the chance to continue our adventure. I'm not ready to stop exploring. There are still things I want to see. I am still on the search for good Italian pizza, and my bucket list for Italy is still way too full. I haven't had my gondola ride in Venice (cliche, I know), watched an opera in Verona at the Arena, or been cussed at by a Sicilian. Ok...that has happend over here in the States, but that doesn't count.
For this American girl who wants everything done yesterday, I'm ready to experience the pleasure of idleness. With great fervor..wait, how do you tackle idlness with fervor...I'll get back to you on that, I'm going back for another year.
Che sera, sera - whatever will be, will be.
Ciao for now!
During the first unassuring moments when we sat on the bus after landing in Venice, I questioned our decision to move across the ocean with 2 small children. But now, I embrace the chance to continue our adventure. I'm not ready to stop exploring. There are still things I want to see. I am still on the search for good Italian pizza, and my bucket list for Italy is still way too full. I haven't had my gondola ride in Venice (cliche, I know), watched an opera in Verona at the Arena, or been cussed at by a Sicilian. Ok...that has happend over here in the States, but that doesn't count.
For this American girl who wants everything done yesterday, I'm ready to experience the pleasure of idleness. With great fervor..wait, how do you tackle idlness with fervor...I'll get back to you on that, I'm going back for another year.
Che sera, sera - whatever will be, will be.
Ciao for now!
Friday, May 28, 2010
Food, Glorious Food
OK....so the guy from the gym in the States was right. When I told him I was moving to Italy, his response was not to tell me about all of the amazing things I would get to see over here. It was "You're going to get fat." He must have known about the food over here.
Let's start with the good for you stuff. It's not like all of the food over here is the thick, hearty, cream-infused pastas (although there is plenty of that). The vegetables and fruits are AMAZING! This is coming from a girl who grew up just outside Lancaster County, where the Amish had a never-ending supply of fresh produce. Here, the Amish vegetables have NOTHING on the Italian ones. At the local market, there are vegetables I had never even seen before in the states. And the tomatos? Mama mia...
Then there are the meats. When I return to the states, if you see a leg of prosciutto sticking out of my carry-on, don't be surprised. There is a little deli in our town that I frequent. The owner speaks very little Italian, but I have been in often enough that he knows what I want. I threw him off when I used my "poco Italiano" to ask him if I could take a whole prosciutto on a plane to the states, and how much would it cost. He threw a ham on the scale (not our American wimpy hams...these suckers are the whole leg of the porker), and informed me that it would cost roughly three times what we paid for our Fiat. (which was only $100, but still).
Have you read those articles that say red wine has cancer fighting agents? Well, I consider my wine consumption to be a pre-emptive strike against cancer. American wine for me = a guaranteed headache. Italian wine, not the case. I am no wine connoiseur, but I know what I like. I like Soave, Prosecco, Rosso, and the list goes on and on.
So to Buddy from Gold's Gym, I say, "Good call." But let me tell you, it was worth it.
Let's start with the good for you stuff. It's not like all of the food over here is the thick, hearty, cream-infused pastas (although there is plenty of that). The vegetables and fruits are AMAZING! This is coming from a girl who grew up just outside Lancaster County, where the Amish had a never-ending supply of fresh produce. Here, the Amish vegetables have NOTHING on the Italian ones. At the local market, there are vegetables I had never even seen before in the states. And the tomatos? Mama mia...
Then there are the meats. When I return to the states, if you see a leg of prosciutto sticking out of my carry-on, don't be surprised. There is a little deli in our town that I frequent. The owner speaks very little Italian, but I have been in often enough that he knows what I want. I threw him off when I used my "poco Italiano" to ask him if I could take a whole prosciutto on a plane to the states, and how much would it cost. He threw a ham on the scale (not our American wimpy hams...these suckers are the whole leg of the porker), and informed me that it would cost roughly three times what we paid for our Fiat. (which was only $100, but still).
Have you read those articles that say red wine has cancer fighting agents? Well, I consider my wine consumption to be a pre-emptive strike against cancer. American wine for me = a guaranteed headache. Italian wine, not the case. I am no wine connoiseur, but I know what I like. I like Soave, Prosecco, Rosso, and the list goes on and on.
So to Buddy from Gold's Gym, I say, "Good call." But let me tell you, it was worth it.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Lyme's Really Ticks Me Off
It was supposed to be a six day trip to Germany. The plan was to visit some doctors in Western Germany who knew more about Lyme's disease, as DH's symptoms were getting worse. Even though he had been on an oral antibiotic, then an IV antibiotic, it was so bad that he was stumbling through conversations, was having trouble maintaining his balance, and was tired of being sick.
Luckily, I hadn't begun working yet, and it was easy enough for the family to pack up and head up North. We stuffed ourselves and a weekends worth of clothes into the Jeep and away we went. A friend told us that the best way to go in order to avoid pre-ski season road construction was to head north of Milan, up through Switzerland and then into Germany. The trip that should have taken about 9 hours ended up taking 16. True, we stopped along the way to oooohhh and ahhhh at the Alps (majestic doesn't even begin to describe them), but until we rolled into the Fisher House, we were EXHAUSTED. For those who don't know, Fisher House is the military version of a Ronald McDonald House.
After a great night's sleep and ready to hear what they could do for DH, we headed off to the first doctor's appointment. It was there that we were told our six day trip was going to be extended to six weeks. HUH? Six weeks? As in a month and a half? But I only packed for three days! I don't have 2 closets worth of clothes because I like to dress the same way every day. This was truly a crisis situation. What do you do in a crisis situation? You eat. So off we set. We asked someone at the hospital where we could get some lunch. He suggested we go to a nearby base that had some restaurants. In less than 15 minutes we arrived at Ramstein AFB. We drove through the main gate, and then, like a gift from the heavens, I saw it. Ahead of me sat the largest Post Exchange (aka shopping mall) I have EVER seen. Our whole base in Italy could have fit inside this mall. In a state of euphoria, I floated inside. Lunch? Who needs lunch when there are clothes to buy. The shoe section rivaled Macy's. There was a whole mini Victoria's Secret. And Coach purses? The latest, the greatest, right there. Tax free. US dollars. No Euro to Dollar rate here. Six weeks? Make it six years.
Ciao' for now!
Luckily, I hadn't begun working yet, and it was easy enough for the family to pack up and head up North. We stuffed ourselves and a weekends worth of clothes into the Jeep and away we went. A friend told us that the best way to go in order to avoid pre-ski season road construction was to head north of Milan, up through Switzerland and then into Germany. The trip that should have taken about 9 hours ended up taking 16. True, we stopped along the way to oooohhh and ahhhh at the Alps (majestic doesn't even begin to describe them), but until we rolled into the Fisher House, we were EXHAUSTED. For those who don't know, Fisher House is the military version of a Ronald McDonald House.
After a great night's sleep and ready to hear what they could do for DH, we headed off to the first doctor's appointment. It was there that we were told our six day trip was going to be extended to six weeks. HUH? Six weeks? As in a month and a half? But I only packed for three days! I don't have 2 closets worth of clothes because I like to dress the same way every day. This was truly a crisis situation. What do you do in a crisis situation? You eat. So off we set. We asked someone at the hospital where we could get some lunch. He suggested we go to a nearby base that had some restaurants. In less than 15 minutes we arrived at Ramstein AFB. We drove through the main gate, and then, like a gift from the heavens, I saw it. Ahead of me sat the largest Post Exchange (aka shopping mall) I have EVER seen. Our whole base in Italy could have fit inside this mall. In a state of euphoria, I floated inside. Lunch? Who needs lunch when there are clothes to buy. The shoe section rivaled Macy's. There was a whole mini Victoria's Secret. And Coach purses? The latest, the greatest, right there. Tax free. US dollars. No Euro to Dollar rate here. Six weeks? Make it six years.
Ciao' for now!
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