Shoe Droppings

A few days ago I mentioned that, while I am in a good place in my life currently, there is a foreboding sense that perhaps it is too good to be true,  too good to be lasting.  Perhaps this is setting me up for tragedy.  I do not enjoy feeling this way.  But I have my reasons.


This year has seen tragedy strike my piano studio.  Heart-breaking, devastating tragedy.  The worst kind of tragedy.  Two of my students have lost a parent to death this year.  


At the beginning of the school year the mother of an eight-year-old boy (with two other sons, even younger) was diagnosed with terminal cancer.  She exited this earth just last night, on her birthday.


In February the father of an eight-year-old girl (with another son and daughter, even younger) very suddenly passed away.


The mother that was lost was 38.  The father that was lost was 36.  


There is no sense in this.  This is unjust and cruel.  This is sad beyond any words that can be spoken or written.


These events have shaken me.  To be sure, what I'm experiencing is in no way a comparison to the world-shattering realities both of these families face, and I am not trying to minimize that or elevate where it has taken me.  But these deaths have made me examine my life, question my security, and quite frankly, brought me fear.  


Brian and I are 35.  These things could happen to us.  Why shouldn't they visit our household?  What is keeping tragedy from striking my home?  


I had a moment with my hairdresser (who,like many, has a special knack for  getting me to talk about things I wouldn't normally spill) where I was expressing sorrow for these families.  The night before my appointment I had been in the kitchen with Brian, making a meal, laughing and enjoying his company.  And then I stopped and thought, "here I am having such a sweet moment with my partner, and a few miles away there is a wife who is mourning the loss of her husband, and husband who is caring for a dying wife."  And I felt bad; guilty about the lovely, care-free evening I was able to experience.  I told these things to my hairdresser.  And she, in no uncertain terms, told me that that was exactly what I was supposed to do.  I was supposed to love Brian, hold Brian, and enjoy our time together.  I was not to take that for granted and by having those sweet moments I was helping bring more love to this hurting world.


Many of you know that lately I have been raging over the phrase, "everything happens for a reason."  Not everything happens for a reason.  There is no reason that these six young children should be robbed of their mother and father.  There is no reason this wife and husband should lose their beloved.  


This is not to say that I think nothing happens for a reason.  I do believe that the divine intervenes at times with mystery and infinite wisdom, opening up pathways, providing angels in our lives, or perhaps setting up a road-block.  Sometimes the reason things happen is because of our choices.  But sometimes there simply is no reason.  "Everything happens for a reason" seems to take away our responsibilities as human beings.  Because we are always left with a choice.  We have a choice as to how we use the events in our life.  


These mothers I've referred to, one who survives and one who has passed, have used these events in intentional and life-affirming ways.  The mother who passed shared her experiences, through CaringBridge entries, of living in limbo - trying to live even as she approached what she came to call "her second birth."  She wrote about the joys and the struggles in candid, beautiful and haunting ways; full of grace and always embracing the light.  The mother who lost her husband has shared about that experience as well, through both a blog and honest, heart-breaking, and often hopeful and positive posts on Facebook.  


And both have clung stubbornly to their faith in God.  I use the word "stubborn" because I can't believe their faith just stayed put through these experiences.  I believe they both had to make the audacious decision to remain rooted in this faith.  Regardless of your beliefs, I think you would find both of these women to be inspiring and deeply thought-provoking as they have faced life's most difficult scenarios.  I can't comprehend where they find the strength to carry on.  Still, they have chosen to find beauty and goodness in this life even as they recognize and live with pain.


I don't know where this leaves me.  I don't know that I have a conclusion to all of these thoughts.  I only know that right now I grieve for these families.  But I will also try to celebrate all the beauty they have experienced in their lives, and I will try to celebrate the beauty in mine.  (If you need help finding some beauty, go ahead and watch the video below. May blessing find you where you are.)

About a Birthday Boy

This is the story about a birthday boy who is, at once, both demanding and disturbingly unobservant.


The first part of this story is about Brian's birthday present.  Brian loves to grill, considers it an art form, and makes me much delicious meat.  But the years of hard use have taken their toll on his faithful grill.  Ready to retire the old one, Brian has been eyeing the Big Green Egg variety of grills for a couple of years.  They are cost prohibitive.  Luckily, some new versions of these kamado grills are on the market locally as of this year.  


I had a vision.  Brian would be out of town the three days before his birthday for work.  I would purchase the new grill and have it set up, waiting for him when he arrived.  I couldn't wait for that moment when his eyes would fall upon the new grill, and the recognition of this marvelous thing I had done would light up his face, and he would fall all over me with zealous appreciation.  


So, I purchased the grill, assembled the sucker myself, and waited for our glorious reunion.  He arrived home and immediately I suggested we let the dog out.  We sat on our patio, mere feet from the new grill.  Me, wildly anticipating the moment he would notice.  


Nothing.  Nada.  The dog did his business and we went inside.  


Fast forward an hour.  I come up with another excuse to head out to the patio.  This time I say, "Oh did you notice my cilantro is coming up now."  He would have to face the grill to take in the cilantro.  He swings his head around, says, "how 'bout that," and goes back to staring at nothing.  


Now at this point I'm wondering if this man is playing games with me.  Nobody can be this obtuse.  I become a bit testy because I'm sure he's toying with me.

Fast forward an hour.  I come up with the idea that my plants need watering and won't he come out with me?  Here's where it gets stupid.  I water my plants, that frankly don't need watering, and I ask him if he would please turn off the water and help me wind the hose up.  Feast your eyes upon where the hose is in relation to the grill.  (You may also notice my cilantro to the left.)


He stood, reeling in hose, staring at the new grill and ABSOLUTELY SAW NOTHING!  I briefly considered going back in the house and suggesting he throw something on the grill.  But I could take this charade for not one minute longer.  He walked away from the grill, and I said something to the effect of, "you're so dense."  I agree, it wasn't nice.  Brian, perplexed, walked back to the hose, thinking I was upset because it was leaking water.  At that point I stood by the grill and all but danced my merry jig next to it.  Basically, I pointed at the grill.  He stole every bit of fun out of that gift.  Let's hope it yields some good meat.


Fast forward 24 hours.  We're sitting in a Mexican restaurant for his birthday dinner when I ask him what birthday dessert he'd like me to make him.  (I knew that family was coming over to surprise him that weekend.)  I listed all the usual suspects, things I'm good at making.  Things any mid-western/Mennonite gal is good at making: pie, cake, cupcakes, brownies, etc. He didn't know.  He claimed it all sounded good.  I told him to just pick something then.  He said he couldn't.  


Then he proclaimed: "I want a molten lava chocolate bundt cake with cherry sauce."


?!?!?!?!?!?!


Where in all tarnation did that come from?  


Or, he said, the other option would be homemade cannolis.  


Are you kidding me?  Do I look like I have a hidden Italian grandmother somewhere who has taught me her secrets.  How about we pick something from the repertoire I have established?


I decided to go with the cake option.  Brian, decidedly, made this concoction up in his head based on other desserts he has partaken of.  But for me the search was on to find something that matched his request.  I love trying new things, however, I'd prefer not to do it for company.  Aww geez.


Luckily, I found a recipe that seemed close to fitting the bill.  The Tunnel of Fudge Cake.  (Some of you may remember the original recipe - it was a 1966 Pillsbury Bake-Off winner.  Ahem, my mother remembered it.)  However, this updated version comes from a fellow Hoosier.  I guess we mid-western ladies really can do it all - fancy or plain.

 Here is the link to Annie's Eats blog where I found the recipe.  


I have to say, Brian requested a real winner.  Perhaps this could be a new birthday tradition I could sink my teeth into.

And Now for My Mountain Top Post...

The human spirit really is indomitable.  It does not want to be in the depths.  It fights to buoy itself up, to break through the surface and take a cleansing breath.  There may be moments when we are drinking in mouthfuls of salty water but inevitably (for most of us), we surface.  That is where I'm at today.  At the surface, floating around and enjoying the waves.


Life at the Showalter house is good.  Sometimes I worry that it is too good.  Sometimes I feel guilty about how happy I am, content.  A lot of times it makes me feel as though - even though nothing horrible has happened - I'm waiting for that old proverbial "other" shoe to drop.  Or I guess in this case, I'm waiting for the first shoe.  


At one point in high school I remember lamenting over the fact that I was in a perpetual state of stress.  I was always stressed.  A close friend said to me, "Lisa, you don't know how to function without stress.  If there wasn't anything to stress you out, you would create it."  Ouch.  I wondered if it could be true.  I didn't want to be that person who is just "so busy" and has so much to do and never has time to slow down and enjoy life.  I've held on to the memory of my friend's words and have tried to consciously live in a way that fights this culture's celebration of busy and overworked.  I've not always succeeded.  (I simply don't manage stress well.  I'd love to figure out how to handle things better.  And it's only in the last few years that "no" became a part of my vocabulary.)  But for the last year and a half, I've been slowly learning how to pull it off.


And today I can exclaim contentment.


For the first time in my adult life I am focusing entirely on my chosen vocation: being a piano teacher.  When I began teaching, I was working a full time job as well.  Then I went back to college full time.  After college I juggled teaching with working for my father's business.  From there I transitioned into working at a church.  So here I am, finally, doing one thing - and a thing that I really love.  For a time I felt like I wasn't reaching my potential somehow by only teaching piano.  But it has felt so great, this last year especially, being able to really focus in on teaching, that it's sinking in that this is indeed what I should be doing.  This is enough.  


It is true that I am never going to become wealthy teaching piano (I think this  may be the source of the aforementioned guilt) but I am able to supplement Brian's income as well as take care of this household that I love so dearly without running myself ragged.  Maybe we don't have oodles of excess cash laying around.  But we can pay our bills, take a nice vacation each year, and still have time to enjoy each other's company in reasonably pleasant surroundings.  We will not be sending in our entry forms to the rat race any time soon.  


I will continue to battle stress all of my life, but I am not going to seek it.  Instead I will seek simplicity and peace, even if they are, at times, out of my reach.  For now, I will share with you pictures of my favorite place on earth.  My backyard, the place where I sit and I "consider the lilies of the field."

Where I Park My Tookus

My Sweet Goldfinches

"Pink Lisa" Flowers From a Student

Not Only the Birds Get Thirsty

Many Happy Fires Have Been Held on the Lower Level

This Would Not Be My Blog without a Reggie Picture!  Hoping that you are finding your own places to relax, find peace, and find guilt-free enjoyment.

Hot Pockets

In my last post I alluded to our kitchen project.  Those of you who know me know about the project, and how I nearly lost my marbles during it.  


It really wasn't even a huge project, we didn't remodel anything.  We didn't replace cabinets or counter tops or appliances.  And yet, the inevitable disaster area was present for one ENTIRE month.  For a person who doesn't rest easy when the house is a mess, (not that it never gets messy) this was a living nightmare; a constant source of unease and tension.    


And the food situation!  Oh the humanity!  Somehow I was under the delusion that I would be able to pull food together in a torn-apart kitchen.  But when push came to shove, and I had lessons to teach and painting to finish up, food preparation just wasn't top on my priority list.  So we started dining out.  A LOT.  Enough so, that when I tallied the dollars up that we spent during January and February eating out, I thought I might mistakenly be looking at the bank statements of a Las Vegas high-roller.  Enough that I resigned myself to the fact that we would have to take out a second mortgage on our home to pay it back.  Enough that I briefly passed out and dreamed of a world where we hadn't spent enough to send 30 children to school in Kenya for 14 years. Waking up merely found me once again, facing this cruel reality. 


With the kitchen project still unfinished I realized that we had to find another solution.  Without any usable counter top space, a stove that was sitting precariously in the middle of the kitchen, and less than hygienic conditions, I realized we had only one option.  Microwaveable food.  


I grew up in a home with a thrifty mother who prepared well balanced meals for us.  "Instant" anything was simply not in her menu plan or on her grocery list.  (My poor mom, who lovingly baked us cookies from scratch, all the time had to listen to me whine about how I wanted "store bought" cookies just once in a while.)  As I've matured, this is something I have tried to emulate - cooking from scratch, avoiding overly process foods.  So it was with great shame that Brian and I went foraging for frozen foods that would take only minutes to heat up.


Into our grocery store we went, completely reversing our normal shopping experience.  The items that our eyes normally just skim over were now what we sought.  We loaded into our cart: Deli meats, bread, (so far not so bad), microwaveable Kraft macaroni and cheese cups, three boxes of Little Debbie snack cakes, a bag of frozen burritos, and a family-sized box of Hot Pockets.  And then we hightailed it for the self-check-out counter with great haste lest someone we know, or even strangers, would see our embarrassing bounty.


Now, all of this is not to say that I am opposed to the occasional Hot Pocket or frozen burrito.  I am not such an elitist that I find it impermissible to occasionally partake of such fare.  Life gets busy, things happen.  A frozen burrito can save the day.  It was that our shopping cart was filled up entirely with these culinary delights.  It felt like some sort of guilty pleasure to purchase so many easy options.  


So we went home, filled up on, what became, really boring food, for the next several weeks, and gutted it out.  (Ha!  I didn't even mean to make a pun but it's funny right?)  For those of you with a little spare time, here is a video of comedian Jim Gaffigan talking about Hot Pockets.  (It's a clean clip, other than some talk of poop.)  Every time we grabbed a Hot Pocket out of the freezer, we sang the theme song and thought of this little clip.  Hope you enjoy!

Break Down

Now that our kitchen is complete, it would seem that the cosmos has let loose a slew of bad luck upon us.  It's one of those times where you think that being an adult, owning a home, owning a car, responsibility, is all completely overrated. 


Brian's fancy new car has an ominous "clunk," our washing machine is leaking water, one of our windows won't open, the burners on our stove only come on with gentle coaxing, we have a HUGE clogged drain situation, and - Brian would say, most notably - his beloved watch literally fell apart while at work.  


So our week has been spent dealing with the above crises.  The watch (which Brian loves only a little less than his sunglasses, which he loves only one half of a degree less than me) is now fixed.  The car is repaired.  The clogged drain is well on its way to wholeness.


There are days that I feel like I'm the only one who does anything around here.  I throw a grand old pity party for myself...and then I start getting a bit snappish, shall we say.  But then there are days like yesterday when I watch Brian lay on his back in a filthy crawl space for five hours, cutting into pipes that are spraying and spilling the most horrifying sludge of disgustingness all over him, and I realize that I do not, in fact, do everything around here.  These are things I could not begin to accomplish on my own.  I would gladly clean the toilet for the rest of my life rather than once deal with what Brian valiantly tackled last night.  


Now I feel kind of bad for telling him he was singing too loudly in church Sunday.  Well, I actually felt bad immediately.  I sort of stole his joy in the Lord.  Clearly, I am a lazy ogre, and Brian is an attacker of muck-filled-pipes with the voice of an angel.  


Here's hoping your week is finding you with a smoothly running household.

Fishing Story

This is a story about two things: a pair of shoes, and two men who love to fish.

Brian owns a pair of basketball shoes that I'm pretty sure he purchased in 1983. Maybe he hasn't owned them that long but I feel like these shoes have been with us our entire marriage and helped us usher in the new millennium.

I hate these shoes.  

When they were new and shiny - and being used for playing basketball - I'm sure I was fine with these shoes.  But I don't even remember the time that they were actual basketball shoes and not the main point of contention in our marriage.

First of all, Brian has had a hard time coming to grips with certain fashion trends.  I know that back in the 90's it was completely acceptable for men to wear basketball shoes with any kind of attire.  It was what guys did.  I have tried to kindly explain to him that men no longer do this.  Basketball shoes are for basketball, only.  Unlike giving up pegged pants, this particular concept has been difficult for him to grasp.  He literally tried to wear these basketball shoes to my grandfather's viewing.  (Let that soak in for a second.)  He had them on his feet and got huffy with me when I made him change them.  

And thus began the great shoe debacle.  

Just so you can see what we're working with here, feast your eyes on these beauties:

I have hid the shoes, placed the shoes in the trash, had stern words about the shoes with him, and still these shoes are never in our closet - BECAUSE THEY ARE ALWAYS BY THE BACK DOOR BECAUSE HE IS ALWAYS WEARING THEM.  Now to be honest, if I wanted those shoes gone, they would be gone.  But I don't want to be like that.  So my hiding and trashing the shoes has always been with the intent to help him see how serious I am.  

He claims they are good work shoes.  Which I can agree with.  We all need a trashy pair of sneakers for mowing the lawn and doing muddy yard work. But he has been through a plethora of basketball shoes and other various sneakers since these have been purchased.  Why aren't they getting mixed into the rotation?  He doggedly hangs on to this pair?

So I thought we had come to an agreement.  He could keep the basketball shoes if he wore them only for dirty jobs and NEVER wore them out in public again.  And yet, over and over I find them on his feet.  If he has to run out to the grocery store, on go the old shoes.  If he's running to Menard's, on go the old shoes.  If we're going over to our friends house for a casual evening, there they are again.  You'll often hear me saying things like, "oh, the grocery store must be a construction zone, huh?" or "you expecting to play in the mud tonight?"  He really is incorrigible.  

So you'll understand why the next portion of this story is beyond horrifying to me.  Brian and his friend Dan love to fish.  They spent many happy hours together last year fishing the lakes of this region.  This past Tuesday was a beautiful, warm day and they decided to make this year's inaugural fishing outing.  What shows up the next day on the front page of the Warsaw Time's Union Newspaper?  This:

(Brian is the one sitting there looking like he's not really doing anything.) 

And guess what shoes Brian has on.

Which brings me to part two of this post, which is not shoe related.  (Thank goodness, right?)  

As I mentioned Dan and Brian spent MANY hours fishing together last year.  (We had an AMAZING fish fry at the end of the season.)  I was always a little curious about how Dan and Brian would spend their time, because let's face it, fishing is not, well, like playing a game of basketball.  There's a lot of downtime.  So Brian would come home and I'd ask, "what'd you guys talk about?"  And he'd saying, "Nothing really."  

Really?!?!  You sat side by side for four hours and you didn't talk about anything?  

Now I'm not trying to be nosy with him.  Their man time is sacred.  He doesn't have to share everything with me.  But I can't imagine coming home from my friend Heather's house and being like, yeah, didn't really talk much.  Just ate dinner and then watched a show.  No!  We're catching up, discussing worries, talking about work, talking about family, etc. I usually fill him in on a few things we talked about (whether he wants to hear about it or not) because that is what you do with your life partner.  i.e. "Heather and I were discussing your shoes and she totally agrees with me."  (JUST KIDDING!)

One day last summer Dan and Brian took Felicia's (Dan's girlfriend) nine-year-old son with them fishing. When they got back Felicia and I were sitting on the porch and Brian and Dan busied themselves with some other activity but Austin joined us there to tell us about their trip.  

We had our chance.  We would finally discover what these two talked about whilst fishing.  We began, very casually, pumping Austin for information.

Us: "Did the guys talk while you were out there?"

Austin: "Yeah."

Us: "Did they talk about baseball?"

Austin: "No, not really."  

Us: "What did they talk about?"

Austin: "Fishing."

Well. Mystery solved.

Let's Make a Deal

I love a good bargain.  Not that kind of bargain!  I lack the ability to find a good deal in a store or at a garage sale.  Much to my great frustration, I am not endowed with that kind of luck.

But I am a champion at the household chore bargain!

I come from a long line of bargainers.  I learned it from my older sister, who learned it from our older brother, who perhaps learned it from our oldest brother though I can't confirm that, and he probably learned it from a medicine man in Minnesota.  (They were all really good at cheating at board games as well but I, thankfully, have not inherited that.)

It went something like this:
Lanie (Older Sister): Hey will you go out and water the cows for me?
Me: No.
Lanie: If you go water them you can have my Huey Lewis and the News 45 record.  (She knew I'd been drooling over that sweet 45 record.)
Me: Deal.

Here's another scenario:
Lanie: Hey if you wash the dishes for me tonight I'll vacuum for you tomorrow.
Me: No.  I don't mind vacuuming.  What else you got.
Lanie: I'll vacuum and do the dishes next time it's your turn.
Me: No, I want you to do the dishes the next two times it's my turn.
Lanie: Deal.

There are several keys to the bargain. 

• One must know how badly the other person wants the deal.  If they want it enough you can really get some great trades.  Conversely, if you initiate the deal, do not let them know how badly you want it unless you want to wind up doing the dishes the next 15 times it is their turn. 
• One must be willing to yield a little if initiating said deal. 
• One must always be storing away information about the other party in order to bring something enticing to the table the next time a deal is desired.
• One must sometimes engage in bargains with the other party - even when not in the dealing mood - in order for reciprocation to occur. 
• One must know how to make the other party feel like they are getting the better end of the deal.

For Instance:
Me: If you run to the store for me I'll empty out the dishwasher.
Brian: I don't want to run to the store.
Me: You'll be back from the store and resting on the couch again before I'm done emptying this dishwasher.  You are clearly the winner here.
Brian: Okay.

Now, to be fair to Brian, he is easy to take because he, evidently, did not grow up bargaining.  It usually doesn't occur to him to wheel and deal with me when he wants something.  And he never makes a counter offer!!  He could totally counter offer, throw in extras, and come out a champ - some of the time at least.  But most of the time it's really kind of pathetic.  It's like he's taken the thrill of the game from me. 

Slowly but surely, he's getting the hang of it.  Just the other afternoon I was complaining about vacuuming and he asked if I wanted him to do it.  Ummmm...OF COURSE!  And then he said, bringing a tear of pride to my eye, "you have to do something for me then."  I was ready to deal! 

"Okay," I pressed on.

"You have to let me play Assassin's Creed (a video game)" he replied.

"DEAL!"

In my best Charlie Sheen voice spoken in my head I thought, "Duh, WINNING!"  I didn't have to do anything!  Except not complain about him playing a video game.  Sweet, innocent Brian.  You've so much to learn about bargaining power.  I found plenty of ways to entertain myself for an evening.  Plus I got to watch him vacuum. 

And he looked dreamy.

Celebrating Love

This post is a bit late considering that it began on February 14 and the subject matter is the oh-so-controversial topic of Valentine's Day. 

You see, I began this post while Brian was at work on the great day of love, but the day took a bit of an unexpected turn.  Here's the story.

Every year as Valentine's Day approaches, Brian and our friend Dan begin ranting and raving about how it's a made-up holiday created by the card companies to make men spend money.  While it has been exploited by the card companies, it certainly wasn't created by them.  And if it was - so what?  Is there anything wrong with having one day a year that we recognize love and the great gift it is to us human beings - and not just romantic love, but love in general?  What would life be without relationships that lend meaning to our existence and provide us with joy and nurturing?  I think that holidays in general break the tedium of everyday life.  Which is why I look forward to St. Patrick's Day with zeal and hit haunted houses every Halloween!  We need these little spots of levity to keep our lives from growing dreary.  So a day honoring love isn't such a bad thing in my opinion.

But whenever the topic is brought up Brian has this go-to phrase he likes to say.  It goes something like this: "Why should I have to do something special for Lisa on Valentine's Day?  I celebrate our love every day." 

And every time he says it I think: Oh really?  Pray tell, what is this daily celebration you speak of?  What are these ceremonies and festivities that are taking place commemorating our great love each day?  Because if you're partying it up over our love each day, I don't think you've invited me to the celebration. 

Now, I know, I know, celebrating can be in the small things, blah, blah, blah.  However, it might be more appropriate to say that he lives in a state of gratitude for our love each day.  Expressing that love and gratitude in small ways.  (Perhaps in the way he leaves his slippers on the dresser every night, or eats all the yummy food in the house?  Just kidding!  No, he really does those things but I know it's not out of love.)  He's very good at expressing love and acting out in love in so many ways each day.  It just sort of hurts my feelings when he acts like it's the hugest burden in the world to spend a day really celebrating it, like it's not worth whooping it up over our relationship for a day.

But I'm used to the attitude, I kind of get it, and I'm not sore about it and I don't harbor secret expectations.  So this Valentine's Day I set about making a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs for our romantic supper.  (Because I take all my romantic cues from "Lady and the Tramp.")  And Brian was happy.  (He loves spaghetti!)  And we had a lovely dinner and I was feeling quite satisfied.

Then he goes and brings this out of the kitchen:

The prettiest, sweetest little Valentine's Day ring ever!  (He knows I have a thing for rings - as in I crazy love them.)  Maybe because it hasn't been automatic all of these years to receive a gift, this one felt really special.  It was so out of the blue, such a pure surprise, that it brought so much more joy than if I had been expecting a Valentine's Day token or gift.

No, next year I won't be expecting that he has to get me a gift.  If he does I'll be happy but if not, I'll still know that I'm loved.  Maybe by our 25th Valentine's Day together we'll finally have this figured out...but if not, I'll always have 2011.

Week Report

Well, there's nothing much to report from here.  It's been a pretty quiet week overall. 

There was that one evening that Brian and I played euchre with friends and he went ape-crazy over a very well-played and strategic move that I made.  He yelled at me for minutes.  He pouted for hours.  I gently urged him to apologize for his behavior for about two days:

• Laying in bed saying, "are you sure there isn't anything you want to say to me?" 
• Kissing him goodbye as he heads to work fishing, "is that everything then? Does anything look a little different now that you've had a good night's sleep?" 
• Snuggling on the couch, whispering in his ear, "are you ready to admit you were wrong yet?"

But I got nothin'.  He is stubbornly clinging to his deluded sense of euchre morals. 

Then there was that one night that I went ape-crazy a few nights after the euchre incident.  And I mean, I really lost my cool in an uncharacteristic way and said a load of stuff that was cruel and untrue.  Geez Louise.  After thirteen years of marriage you'd think we'd have this figured out.  Clearly that is not the case.

I, however, apologized immediately.  (You like my self-righteous superiority?)

But I was still a little sore at him for a day or two. 

Then there was the evening that I decided to make venison chili that I simply couldn't enjoy.  And then in the morning I threw up.  HA!  It could have been that I didn't eat much of the chili therefore I stuffed myself with odds and ends I found in the fridge and chances are one of those things had, shall we say, turned?  But the chili put me in such a state of extreme hunger that I was forced to eat rotten food.  I still blame it on the chili.

And I'm glad it's no longer in my belly.

I don't know what I'm going to do with the remaining ground venison and the venison steaks seeing as I don't like it and will therefore, likely not be cooking with it.  Oh and poor Brian was SO excited about that meat.  SO EXCITED!  (A co-worker of his hunted Darrel the Christmas deer for us.)  I don't want to be wasteful but...gross.

And then there's this:

This is a beautiful calendar that Brian's mother gave us for Christmas.  And I hung it up with great joy when the new year hit.  (I actually REALLY love the ritual of changing the calendars.) 

But last week I looked more closely at it - and my mind when into a complete tailspin.  Honestly, it turned to mush for moments as I grappled with the utter confusion the images brought on.  Look more closely.

For the love of everything holy, who is the cruel person that decided this was a good idea?  It looks so much like a regular calendar that I had been reading the days all wrong.  For who knows how long?  (Well, probably not that long considering it's only the 12th.)  What if I've made crazy plans for 27th thinking it's a Saturday?  There is potential for mayhem here.  Now that I'm on to it's little tricks though, I'll be on my guard.  But not cool, calendar maker.  Not cool.  (But Linda, I do love the calendar.  I'm just saying, perhaps a warning would have been in order.)

Slumber Party Friday Night

Yay!  It's slumber-party-Friday-night!

**This is a total aside.  Why can't people seem to spell "yay" correctly?  I see "yeah" (which is an informal way of saying "yes") and I see "yea" (which is an affirmative vote) when I know that what they are meaning to say is "yay."  Nobody seems familiar with "yay" (which is an exclamation of triumph or congratulations). 

And now I'm going to have to watch my grammar and spelling like a hawk lest I be found guilty of some vocabulary faux pas which shall render me a hypocritical fool.  (And I know starting a sentence with "and" is totally wrong and yet I love to do it because it's how I speak.)

Back to slumber-party-Friday-night.  It's my favorite night of the week.  Brian and I developed this little tradition about a year ago, maybe even longer.  This is a development that came about after we purchased our totally awesome napping couch.  One Friday night we were watching movies and we didn't want the fun to end but Brian, party-pooper that he is, informed me that he didn't think he could make it through another movie in its entirety without falling asleep.  So we decided we would start that movie anyway and just sleep on the couch so that we could drift off when the mood struck us without the drudgery of getting up and going to bed.  I exclaimed, with the joy of a six-year-old, "It's like a SLUMBER PARTY!" And it was such fun that we now do it every Friday night.  We have named it, you guessed it, "Slumber-Party-Friday-Night" and I'm not the only one who calls it that.  Brian came home from work today wanting to take a nap because he wanted to "be ready for Slumber-Party-Friday-Night." 

It's like a little vacation from the week for us.  It signals that the next day is not one of forced responsibilities but a day that we will live on our own terms.  We can get up when we want, we can do, or not do, whatever we choose - it's just totally delicious fun.     

So tonight we will be snuggling under some cozy afghans, pulling up the ottoman so Reggie will have a place to sleep near us, turning on a scary movie (only because it's October - November 1st I go back to hating them), fighting over foot space, and then peacefully falling asleep with the sweet promise of a free day ahead of us.  Ahhhhh.  Sweet dreams everyone.

Evils of Gambling

So I'm not going to go gambling with Brian anymore because he is a HORRIBLE influence.  First of all, he took me to a casino.  So there you go.  Bad influence.  Secondly, he is a horrible gambler.  I play penny slots and I have a method.  I walk around.  I let the machines speak to me.  If they don't speak to me I don't play them.  Sometimes I try a machine and two pulls into it I realize it must have been speaking to someone else.  I pull my money out and I walk away.  When I have won a dollar or two (it's penny slots remember) I pull my money out and walk away looking for a new whispering machine.  And then, before I know it, I have gingerly turned my $20 into $34.57. 

Brian sits down at a machine and tries to manhandle it into giving him money.  He doesn't care about what the machine may or may not be saying to him (typical man) because he's got some words for that machine!  He sits there and pushes that button over and over willing it to take him to the sought after bonus round where he thinks the real money will be made.  And if the machine doesn't take him there immediately he thinks he's in too deep (you know, $2.50 or so) to just get up and walk away and therefore must keep playing on said machine until he wins and recoups his money.  Oh he has a sickness.  And that is how Brian aggressively turns his $20 into $8.33.  I remind him often that I am clearly a better gambler than he is.  He disagrees.  But the money doesn't lie. 

And then I don't know what happened.  He got in my head.  He manhandled my brain like he manhandles those machines, except I wasn't as strong as those machines.  One minute I tell him we should cash out, take our $15 profit and go get some lunch.  20 minutes later we walked out empty handed.  NADA.  So, I'm not going to go gambling with Brian anymore.

Happy Birthday Brian!

When Brian and I were in premarital counseling one of our assignments was to write down 15 reasons why we love the other person.  The idea being that people get married because they "love" the other person but that love is seldom defined.  When you have to write down 15 reasons why you love someone you have to delve a little deeper and really examine your relationship - you get past all the "he's so hot" kinds of responses.


So here Brian and I are 13 years later.  I don't even have those original papers.  I wish I did but they're probably in a file somewhere with our old pastor or have been destroyed.  Sigh.  So I thought as a tribute to Brian (for his birthday) I would come up with a new list.  A list of things I love about Brian that I didn't know about before we got married, that I couldn't have known about.  And while they may seem small or trite, if you read into them a little...you'll understand why they're huge to me.

1. Everytime I cook supper he says, "thanks for supper." 
2. He cries when he tries to sing certain hymns or songs.
3. He knows that I love McDonald's filet-o-fish, he doesn't judge me for it, and he always, without question, orders it just the way I like it: no cheese, extra tartar sauce.
4. He always runs to the store for me to pick up grocery items I need for whatever I'm making.  And he usually doesn't fuss.
5. He leaves the radio playing in the car whenever he runs into the store and I stay there.
6. He ALWAYS helps me clean and cook and get ready for company or big events like the piano recital I hold for my students without question.
7. He has supported me in all my major career decisions since we've been married: from going to back to college to beginning a ministry position, to resigning that position.  He doesn't question, he just supports.
8. He aims one of the air conditioning vents in the car on the back seat when Reggie rides with us.
9. He still gives me a kiss and tells me he loves me every morning...even though much of the time I'm too asleep to be aware of it.
10. He enjoys being in the kitchen with me while we cook up a feast.
11. He still laughs at all my hijinks.
12. He never gets mad about or questions how I spend our money.
13. He makes our vacations as much of a priority as I do and trusts my planning.  And I rarely have to touch a piece of luggage while on vacation...nor do I ever have to pack the car.
14. He loves to nap every bit as much as I do.
15. After thirteen years together, he still loves to be at home with me and values quality time.

I could probalby come up with another 15.  But what I'm trying to say is: basically, he's really easy to live with and he's really easy to love.  I'm one lucky gal.

Happy Birthday Brian!  I love you!

A Little Life

You may be wondering what I'm doing with my time now that I'm not going to work every day.  Basically, I've turned very domestic.  I tidy the house.  I mow the lawn.  I read.  I knit.  I go to roller derby practice.  (Okay, the last one's not so domestic.)  When Brian comes home for lunch, I give him a play-by-play recount of the activity at the bird feeders...and then we spend some time cussing about the fact that no humming birds have yet used our feeder.  When did I turn 83?  To borrow a word that my mother-in-law used recently, I'm in danger of becoming a hermit.  I LOVE being at home!  So far, I'm not in the least bit bored.  It may happen.  And if it does I will begin volunteering at the local animal shelter.  And then I will probably end up with a house full of reject animals...and I won't be bored anymore!

In other news, we attended a couple of really lovely graduation open houses recently and there is one thing I look forward to at open houses.  CAKE.  I love cake.  White cake with buttercream frosting.  And those open houses give me the fix I need until the next time I run into cake, perhaps at a wedding or birthday celebration.  (I can't buy it for myself because then I have to admit that I have an addiction.)  We celebrated Brian's and my birthday at my mom and dad's house this weekend.  She made pie.  I love pie...but I wanted cake.  But it was no big deal because we were headed to an open house afterward.  We arrived, my mouth salivating thinking of the tasty treat that would soon assail my tastebuds.  I walked up to the snack table.  NO CAKE.  No big deal.  There would be another open house a few days later.  We arrived...to find an ice-cream machine and NO CAKE!  I ask you, what is the point of ice cream without cake?  What has this world come to when one can in good conscience throw a party and NOT HAVE CAKE?  This is not a world I want to live in.  I did not have ice cream.  I didn't have the heart to.  Epic failure northern Indiana.  Epic failure.  If this is the new trend I shall boycott all birthdays, weddings, baby showers, and open houses until things are put right again.

I also thought you might enjoy the following conversation between Brian and myself.  Just a little random fun.

Brian: Smell my thumb.
Lisa: (Recoiling in horror...because who does that unless said finger smells awful?) NO!
Brian: Smell my thumb!
Lisa: Get it away from me!
Brian: Just do it!
Lisa: NO! Just tell me what it smells like.
Brian: Just smell it.
Lisa: Uh-uh. 
Brian: It smells good.
Lisa: (Finally smells stupid thumb.)  It does smell good.  Why does it smell so good?
Brian: Because I scratched my armpit.

Hope you all have a good weekend!!!

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner!

Friday Brian and I went grocery shopping.  We didn't intend to.  We had two things on our list: creamer and toothpaste.  200 dollars later, we exited the store.  We only took in one shopping bag with us.  (The bag boy asked if it had been our intention to fit everything into that one bag.  Smart*&@.)  But it was SO LONG overdue.  We'd been scraping by on stale crackers and moldy cheese.  (Maybe it wasn't quite that dire.)  But we were tending towards eating out way too much again because there just wasn't much in the house to work with.  So we stocked up in order to nip it in the bud. 

I came up with this plan of eating chicken wings and watching the Olympics for our Friday night entertainment.  And of course, I didn't want to buy pre-made chicken wings (virtually the same as eating out plus all the bogus preservatives and fillers).  I resolved to make my own.  And I did.  And they tasted AMAZING!  I fried them myself.  I made my own Buffalo wing sauce AND I made my own ranch dressing.  I turned all Betty Crocker and crap.

Saturday morning Brian and I got up and the conversation that ensued went something like this.

Brian: "Do you remember those AWESOME wings you made last night?  They were so delicious." 

Lisa: Blushing with pride but trying to be humble "Well I did fry them in peanut oil.  Peanut oil makes everything delicious." 

Brian:  "It didn't hurt that we covered them in butter then." 

Lisa:  "Ooh.  There was a whole stick of butter in that sauce wasn't there?  So we fried the chicken in peanut oil and then covered them in butter?!?!?!?!"

Brian: "And then we dipped them in a cup of mayonnaise."  The ranch dressing contained much mayo.

Then there was an exchange of horrified looks followed by crazed laughter. 

Brian:  "I guess we better go work out today, huh?"

So we probably would have been better off going to McDonald's and eating three Big Mac's with extra special sauce. 

But those wings tasted MIGHTY fine!

Brian's Point of View

I just find this sort of amusing.

Brian went to San Diego a few weeks ago for work. I was very jealous because I've heard it's absolutely lovely there. He was staying right by the ocean and was working on a screen for an international film festival. (Whatever, fancy-pants.)

So he called me one night and I was all questions and curiosity about what it was like out there. But Brian isn't really known for being overly observant or capable of wonderfully descriptive word paintings. (Honestly, he can be on the phone with someone for an hour and when I ask, "what'd you guys talk about?" he responds, "um, nothing really." Really?!? Because it took an hour and that's a long time to not say anything. This has made me into a phone stalker. I follow him around while he's on the phone - because he's a phone wanderer - seeing as it's the only way I'll be able to glean any information on what went down in the conversation. As much as I hate the phone, I still want to know what happens on it.) So here we were on the phone and Brian doesn't have a single thing to say about his surroundings. So I decided to make it easy for him. I made a request: "Describe to me in four words the area that you are in." He didn't tell me to get lost, or quit being stupid (which I love, because he doesn't try to argue with my quirkiness). He went completely silent as he pondered. And then he said:

"There's a lot of Adobe."
(Yes, technically five words.)

Really? That's the best you could come up with? So I made fun of him for a while. (Wouldn't you?) Honestly I don't know what I was expecting. Something profound maybe about the untamed beauty of the ocean or the beach. Perhaps something about the landscape or the street culture. I guess I just wasn't expecting to hear about the local construction materials. But I suppose that's just how Brian takes in the world. Funny man.

Adventures in Italia

I don't want to bore anyone with a huge long list of amazing sights and litanies of churches and sarcophagi and inventories of art work that Brian and I saw in Italy. Although I could. And all of it was awesome. Instead, I will try to sum up our once-in-a-lifetime vacation with some of my favorite memories, impressions, and high-lights. I hope you enjoy.



Day 1: Burglary

This day doesn't count. It was all travel and excited anticipation. Swiss Air was a lovely airline. Brian would steal an airplane blanket that would serve me well on many train-rides to come. Also, my ankles would disappear on the plane ride, not to be seen again for another two days.





Day 2: Open the Door, Let Us In


Arrival in Rome! We were given the first of three hotel room keys we would receive that weighed approximately 12 pounds. And it was fringed. We learned that the Italians do not want you to lose your room key. And that if a stranger knocks on your door, the room key can be used as a weapon to bludgeon the perpetrator with. Also, they do not actually want you to leave the hotel with the room key, instead you turn it in to the front desk upon exiting. Strange. But, when in Rome...



Day 3: All things Pagan, a.k.a. Caesar's Shuffle


We explored the Colosseum, Roman Forum, Palatine Hill, the Pantheon, and took a fabulous night-time walk through Rome after dark. Several things are discovered on this day.

• First of all, Rome's public fountains are the best thing since sliced bread. There are little fountains everywhere for drinking out of or filling one's water bottle. (And I know your saying, "duh, they're called drinking fountains." But they're not. Please refer to the picture.) I don't know that we ever passed one without filling the bottle, whether or not there was room in it for more water. I wish these fountains were everywhere. (So does Brian - who refused to fill our water bottle in our hotel room but instead waited until we were outside each morning and walked - out of the way - to the fountain to fill it.)
• PDA (Public displays of affection) are not optional in Italy. If you are with someone in a piazza, romantically linked or not, you are required to make out with them.
• Brian is unable to identify certain bathroom equipment. Our room had both a toilet and a bidet. On this particular day Brian came out of the bathroom and declared that he didn't think the bidet was that at all, but rather an extra sink of some sort. I, incredulous, said that if I walked in there and saw him washing his face in that "extra sink" that we were going to have problems.

Day 4: All Things Christian - How the Pope Stole Our Money

In the morning we visited some catacombs which were creepy and cool. Literally, it was the first time we were comfortable temperature-wise since being in Italy. (We had several encounters with the hotel staff trying to figure out how to use our air-conditioning, which we eventually gave up on.) Our tour guide was dressed in: a sweater, a vest, a scarf, and a hat. She also had the most delightful and stereotypical Italian accent.

In the afternoon we visited Vatican City with a tour group, led by Raul the sometimes boring, always informative, liar. (That might be harsh but you'll see why I call him that.) I discover the worst job imaginable. The Sistine Chapel is supposed to be silent. No one is silent. So the Vatican employees have to run around shushing people...and yelling at them not to take pictures. And no one will shut up or stop taking pictures. I would think it would be more frustrating than teaching wayward kindergartners all day long.

The Vatican tried to confiscate our bag, with all our money and public transit tickets in it. Here's the "Angels and Demons" adventure that we were led on: We are told by Vatican security upon entering that we must check our bag. When we walk to the bag check desk we ask what's wrong with our bag. We are told that we would need to talk with the clerk's colleague. He has no explanation, although I'm convinced it's because our bag contains olives and the Vatican security wants to eat them. We are led on a very nice tour of the Vatican. At the end of the tour (4:30) Raul tells us that we should go collect our bag, the Vatican closes at 5:00 and it will take at least 15 minutes to get back to the entrance and the doors will probably be locked. He claims that we can knock on the door to reclaim our bag. Brian heads back to claim our bag and returns in about five minutes seeming concerned. He ran into Vatican police that told him that we can NOT get back into the Vatican, our bag has been moved and that we should reclaim it in another area. As the minutes tick by, we search for this "other" area. No one is concerned about our problem, and I begin to panic. It's the VATICAN. You don't just go tapping on doors asking to be let in for your pathetic bag. Dang it Raul! (They probably had sniffed out that we're Anabaptist heretics.) We finally find a Vatican official who is sympathetic, although somewhat derisive, of our problem/blunder. He makes Italian phone calls, and I can tell that the person on the other end is not feeling very patient or accommodating. We are led through back passages of the Vatican, handed off to another official after a heated Italian discussion, where it is clear to me that number 2 is not comfortable with this breach in protocol. We are guided through more back passages and told to find the bookstore by the exit. After regaining admittance (through the back door) of the Sistine Chapel by yet another Vatican official, we begin our search for the bookstore by the exit. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BOOKSTORES AND EXIT SIGNS THERE ARE IN THAT PLACE??? We are told there is a curving staircase we must go down by another Vatican employee. We go through never-ending Vatican corridors and museum rooms, the Vatican Post Office (where people are happily writing notes on postcards to be sent), through wonderful souvenir shops with cheerful shoppers, down stairs, into the basement, by the restrooms - searching for this elusive curved staircase...all the while I am having sincere panic about ever finding our bag. I can't imagine what we'll do if we can't get our bag with our money and transit tickets. We would have to curl up to sleep in a corner of the Vatican, waiting until morning where we would seek out the Pope and beg him to have mercy on us, mere sinners desiring our commoner's bag. Eventually, we are reunited with our bag and I do not think the clerk had ever seen anyone that was so very, very overjoyed to see their luggage. My olives were intact.

Day 5: Pompeii - Or "Every one's a Thief"

We take to the train station with a rough idea of how to get to Pompeii and the information from our Rick Steve's guide that every person we encounter in the train stations on the way there will likely be a pickpocket or thief. We eyeball a little old lady and exchange knowing glances with each other - clearly a thief. A couple making out - definitely creating a diversion in order for their "colleague" to steal our belongings. We suspect everyone - there is no discrimination in our suspicion.

We safely arrive in Pompeii. I had discovered earlier in the week that Brian is a guide-book-hog. He so thoroughly enjoyed leading us on the self-guided tours in our Rick Steve's book that he had virtually banned me from handling the books at all. Every time I asked to look at the book he gave me a suspicious, mistrustful look and instructed me not to read a word of the tour, grabbing the book from my hands the moment I was finished with it. However in Pompeii, he had great difficulty in keeping us on the tour route, getting us hopelessly off course. I tell him to enjoy the adventure of just exploring. He tries but I can tell that he is not truly comfortable until we are back on the Rick Steve's route. It was a great, adventurous day.

Our last night in Rome we visit Trevi Fountain for the fourth time and enjoy another helping of gelato. Ah Trevi, how we hope that throwing that penny into your waters will, like the legend states, ensure we visit your fair city again some day. We loved Rome.

Day 6: Venice - "When the going gets rough, shop with somebody tough."

We say goodbye to Rome and our hotel with intimidating staff. (They are very polite and nice, but stern men, who I felt could turn on me at any moment and declare me an idiot American.) I am looking forward to our train ride to Venice. I can't wait to enjoy the scenery and see what the countryside looks like. However, I discover that the gentle rocking of the train puts me to sleep like a baby. I slept the entirety of every single train ride we took.

Venice is GORGEOUS and delightful. Every corner you turn is a photo opportunity. And this is the day I begin shopping...and once that faucet has been turned on it's a little difficult to stem the flow. I declare a love of Murano glass and from that point forward am drawn to it like a moth to flame. Brian is traumatized in a linen store. Two middle-aged Japanese women are interested in purchasing a lace blouse but are not convinced it will fit. While I'm looking at lace, Brian witnesses one of the women strip off her top in order to try on the blouse. When she is ready to change back into her clothing she asks me to shove Brian into a corner. I comply. Poor Brian.

Day 7: Venice - One Magical Day



At breakfast, sitting outside on the canal surrounded by beauty, all Brian talks about is a group of men loading scaffolding into a boat. He marvels at how much they can fit into the boat, how they throw things on the boat without missing and hitting the water, how it takes one man to just hold the rope, etc. Silly man.
We share a glorious day in Venice and in the evening we pay the cover charge to sit at one of the restaurants in St. Mark's square to listen to the dueling orchestras. The people who don't want to pay to sit, stand just beyond the seating and do, what we dub, the "freeloader shuffle." We watch the freeloaders go back and forth between the two wonderful ensembles as they take turns playing, and scorn them. (Just kidding.) I force Brian to try an olive, and after taking a bite he reverts to three year old behavior, making faces and declaring he will throw up. It's a magical evening.
Day 8: Florence - and Our Encounter with Claustrophobia

We take another, blissfully sleepy, train-ride. This time to Florence, our final destination. We had been lucky that our hotel rooms had been large by European standards up until this point. This hotel would provide us with a glorified closet and the tiniest elevator/lift I have ever been in. After checking in, with the delightful front desk staff, we entered the lift with our luggage. We shoved in, my face plastered against the wall, Brian's body barely allowing the door to close. One had to hold the elevator button the entire way to the desired floor or the lift would stop. I had moments of panic in that tortuously slow lift that had no oxygen being provided to it. But we made it and took to the streets to explore.

We head to the Accademia where Michelangelo's David is housed. I take some illegal pictures of him and plead ignorance when I get yelled at. (It was worth it.) Another discovery made in Italy is that no art is placed where it was originally intended to be. In Pompeii we would look at a statue and the guide book would say, "this is a replica, the original is in the Naples Archaeological Museum." After awhile it became oh so predictable, and Brian and I became somewhat jaded.

Day 9: Florence - Scarf Obsession



Florence is full of outdoor markets with stalls FULL of beautiful scarves. I couldn't stop buying them, I brought home seven total. (Another discovery, if you ask someone a question in Italian you should probably be prepared for them to answer in Italian. i.e. I was proud that I knew how to ask how much scarves cost, but was totally unprepared when Italian numbers were shot back at me.) I had a few last souvenirs I felt I had to have before leaving Italia. One of these must-haves was yarn. We found a lovely stall owner who we bought a hat from. On a lark, I decided to ask if he could direct me to a yarn shop, much to Brian's chagrin. He said, "oh, that's easy." And before you knew it, I had Italian yarn to bring home with me! (Cue Brian rolling his eyes.)
We began the day by hiking up 463 horrible and exhausting stairs to enjoy a truly beautiful morning vista of Florence. I wasn't even allowed to stop to catch my breath because there were signs everywhere instructing us to keep moving. Also there were signs telling us not to write on the walls but I informed Brian that if I was going to die from this grueling climb I was going to sit down and write on the wall, "Here Lisa died. She was a brave but wimpy woman." Almost to the top we encounter a woman taking a rest off to the side. The sight of something wet and the smell of something sour made Brian yell out, "Did someone throw up?" Clearly someone had. We both exclaimed over this unwelcome treat for our senses...and then we realized that the poor woman taking a load off in the corner was undoubtedly the puker and we felt very bad. It's no wonder she threw up what with all that climbing and being told by the signs she could not stop to rest. Or maybe she just had vertigo. Either way it must have been miserable and embarrassing for her. And the worker cleaning it up on the way down was a tad pathetic with his running from the puke and gagging. Men seem to have weak constitutions where unpleasant smells are concerned.

We enjoyed the rest of the sights the city had to offer and then decided to take in a Rick Steve's recommended restaurant for our last supper in Italia. We gussied up and took to the streets trying to find it. We found the street, which looked totally deserted and like we might be mugged by a gang of Italian hoodlums or taken by the Mafia, and were about to give up when we saw the storefront. It looked small and unremarkable, but when you walked inside the door it opened into an amazing local Italian restaurant with all the ambiance and colorful personalities you might expect in a local neighborhood haunt. (Such a contrast with all the places on the piazzas with outside seating geared towards tourists.) We ate the largest steak I've ever seen and thoroughly enjoyed every moment of the experience.

Day 10 - Arrivederci

Our flight home wasn't until the afternoon so we woke up and took one last walk through the morning streets of Italy. We took nothing with us, no camera or video camera, no guide book, no bag. We just walked the streets together and soaked in one last helping of the country we'd come to love. (Imagine one lone tear trickling down my face at the memory.) Oh Italia. It's amore.