Celebrity status

Back home, we have a very close friend who is a news anchor on the local NBC affiliate.  It is rare that while out in public with he and his wife that he is not approached by an "adoring fan". He is awesome....always taking the time to chat briefly with the viewer and making sure that they know he appreciates that they tune in and watch. He is being genuine, which is why we love him, but we tease him about his "celebrity status" all the time.

Growing up in a small town (<10k people), going to a small high school (I graduated with 67 other people) and having an odd last name makes you semi recognizable.  I knew that if I did something that I wasn't supposed to do, likely, my parents would find out about it from someone. Living in a large city/community, the opportunity to run into someone you know is less of a possibility.

Strasbourg is a decent sized city....450,000 residents of which I know approximately 30 on a first name basis.  (4 of which have now moved back to the states, so make that 26)  You would think that I would rarely meet someone by chance that I know.  You would be correct.  My husband, however, is a different story.

He runs a manufacturing plant that employs about 1600 people.  Beside the "city of Strasbourg", Lilly France is the largest employer in the Alsace region.  When Lilly makes any kind of announcement, David's face is on the news and in the local paper. That has happened several times in the last two months. Many Sundays people at church will approach him and say that they saw him in the media the week before.

This makes scooting around town in grungy attire as a couple somewhat challenging. Going out for an early Saturday morning walk without makeup and a pony tail could be dangerous and normally I could not care any less.  However, I am apparently married to a "celebrity" of sorts. Je suis la femme du director.  (I am the director's wife) Being introduced to someone I may meet only once looking like I just rolled out of bed is not the first impression I want to make.

Two weeks ago, we participated in a 5k walk/run to raise money for Breast Cancer.  There were over 10k participants in an event that started at 8:30 PM.  Lilly was an event sponsor. While we were waiting for the race to start David had 3 different people (unknown to him) ask if they could have a picture taken with him.  I almost laughed....instead, being the "Good Wife", I offered to take the photos.

The next afternoon we attended a professional basketball game for the local French team, Le Sig.  At halftime, we were at the concession stand getting a drink and a "knack" (hotdog) and the man helping us looked at David strangely and finally said, "I know you, you were just on the news. You work for Lilly."

My husband has learned from the best.  (Thank you SS for always modeling this for us) He graciously gives these people his full attention and tries to make polite conversation.  As they know him and he typically has no idea who they are, he will automatically introduce me as his wife.  I take this opportunity to say, "Enchante, (delighted) my name is Teresa and you are?"  Again, the "Good Wife" saves the day and now "Le Director" knows who the heck he is talking to.

Because he is recognizable, I must be on my best behavior  and yes, that's not always easy, especially for me.  (Just ask my sisters-in-law or my mother-in-law about Black Friday shopping stories)  Take for instance the Breast Cancer event.  While awaiting the official start to the race we were amongst 10k pumped up runners/walkers.  People kept pushing forward to the start line.  There were 5 ladies (in their early 60s) who were behind me who kept pushing me.  I'm not talking a nudge.  They were full-on PUSHING me in the back.  I was holding my ground and trying to keep a smile on my face.  I was, after all, with the "director".  Finally, I could keep silent no longer.  My patience had run out. "BASTANTE!" I turned and said to them.  Unfortunately, in my moment of lost temper, I had said "ENOUGH/STOP IT", but in Spanish.  These French women had no idea what I had said and just kept pushing ahead.  (My sweet revenge was passing them up once the crowd thinned out)

I am happy to report that my "corporate wife hat" stays on the majority of the time.  My husband can trust that I will represent both he and Lilly in a good light. But visitors beware....we may get stopped while you are here, be sure to have your hair brushed and your makeup on. (SS, you can come and be a "nobody" for a change)

God's blessings on you as you go on about your day....

French Haircut

When David accepted the assignment in France I started taking French lessons at Berlitz.  Our whole family can speak varying degrees of Spanish and so we had always hoped our foreign assignment would be in Spain. I had studied Spanish for 4 years in high school (gracias señora Duchin) and we lived in Puerto Rico for 2 years at the beginning of our marriage. A third language at almost 50 is no easy task.

Berlitz is designed to make you conversational.  You start the first lesson mimicking your tutor.  You don't "learn" verb tenses by studying them and then being tested on them, you learn the verb tenses by engaging in conversation.  NOT how I learned Spanish, NOT how to learn French (in my opinion).  Even though all verb tenses are spelled differently, the French "swallow" so many letters that they sound like the same exact word.  Example....Je vois un chat/ I see a cat; il voit un chat/he sees a cat; ils voient un chat/they see a cat.  The word for "see" is VOIR and it is pronounced the same in all of those sentences..."vwah".

Okay, don't leave me.  I'm giving you this French lesson (and it's free) so that when I tell you that I went to get my first French haircut you'll understand why I'm writing about it today.

I love my Indiana hairdresser.  She is now my friend.  Her name is Julia and I would highly recommend her to anyone in the Indianapolis area.  If you are a female, you will understand the torture and terror of going to a new hairstylist.  It ranks right up there with a new ob/gyn.  When we first moved to Indiana I would drive back to Northern Kentucky to get my hair cut every 6 weeks.  That's a 2+ hour drive one way for a haircut and it drove my husband insane.  He couldn't understand what the big deal was. (Note: he wears a flattop)  Finally after 2 years of the driving I decided to be adventurous and trust Julia with my hair.  It has been a wonderful 9 years.

I have been in France for 2 months and my hair was looking like a dead bush. I'm not planning a trip home until February, so I had to get a hair cut.  I have been walking around the city for the last 3 weeks checking out the many salons that are available.  I have asked several people for recommendations and the "best" one I was given was "they don't do too bad there, but they don't listen to what you want either".  Not exactly a rousing endorsement.

Well, I decided that today was the day.  If I was going to try a new salon I might as well make it one close to my apartment.  There is one just two blocks away.  Before I could lose my nerve,  I walked over and made an appointment for 1:30.  I even used my French,  "Je voudrais un rendez-vous pour une coupe de cheveux".  She told me that "Michael" would be my stylist.

I had 30 minutes before my appointment,  so I went to my apartment and looked up a fairly similar photo of what my hair SHOULD look like and brushed up on my French vocabulary for "trim" and "not too much".  I have to tell you, I WAS NERVOUS!!

I went back (which was a major accomplishment) and was greeted by Michael.  Michael speaks ZERO English....oh joy.  He shampooed my hair and directed me to his station.  He asked me what I wanted and I spoke up...."Je veux juste une assiette, seulement un peu hors".  I want just a trim, only a little off.

I showed him the photo and off he went.  Well, I knew that I was in trouble when he made that first snip.  It didn't sound like a "snip"....it sounded more like a "whomp".  You know, like it wasn't the very end pieces of my hair (that I've been growing out for over a year now), it was more like using an ax to chop off a ponytail.  Well, apparently "un peu" (a little) in France is several inches....

I snagged this piece from off my cape.

When he turned me around I thought I was going to be sick. All I could think of was the little "Dutch boy" from the Dutch boy paint commercials....only as a brunette.  When he was finished he asked me how I liked it.  I could only trust myself to say "it's very short", otherwise, I might've started crying.  To add insult to my injury it was a 48 Euro haircut (that's $64)!!!  Julia cuts and colors my hair for only "un peu" more than that!!

Yep, this is the new chop, oops I mean cut.  Complete with the "little" piece I snagged as my French mustache.  You have to keep a sense of humor, right?

Just to recap: un peu means "a little" and beaucoup means "a lot".  Those two words do NOT sound anything alike....except maybe to a French hairdresser.

Wishing you a great week. It may be awhile before my next post....two of my dearest friends are headed this way on Saturday.....I promise that will make for some entertaining blogposts!!  God Bless!

Bike rides

Well, I learned some World Geography today at LA POSTE.  I needed to mail a damaged leather jacket to Italy and so off to the Post Office I went.  My shipping envelope options were France, La Monde and Europe.  There weren't any "Europe" envelopes that were the right size, so I opted for a "La Monde" envelope.  Apparently, Italy is not part of the world, it's only part of Europe.  C'est la vie.

I have had so many of you message me that you are enjoying reading about my pursuits here in France.  Thanks for the encouragement.  Just remember, my grammar might not be perfect, but it's the thoughts that count.

We are supposed to have a really nice day of weather on Saturday.  Which is nice, because yesterday it rained cats and dogs here.  At home, I probably wouldn't have even gone out in my car.  Unfortunately,  yesterday I had an invitation for a "ladies coffee" and so staying inside was not an option.  Dashing in and out of your car in the rain is inconvenient.  Walking over one mile (yes, that's what my google map calculated the distance as, I'm not just seeking your sympathy) each way to the host's apartment in the downpour was downright miserable.  By the time I arrived, my perfectly coiffed hair was now Roseanne Roseannadanna-esque and I was actually sweating from cooking inside my rubber rain boots and my body heat trapping rain coat.

Back to Saturday's weather. We plan to take a last of the season bike ride around the city. David and I brought two bicycles with us to France.  I don't know about the majority of you reading this blog, but I'm almost 50 and haven't ridden a bike in a "coon's age".  Heck, even my kids hardly ever get on a bike.

When I was packing up things to ship to France David wanted me to send two of our four bicycles.  I dutifully took them to the local bike shop in Indy to have them spruced up for travel.  Both of them had cobwebs all over the spokes from non-use.  I'm fairly certain that the "bike tech" was tsking as he checked them in for their appointment.

About three weekends ago was my first French bike adventure.  There are bike trails here in Strasbourg that will take you all the way to Switzerland, Germany, Luxembourg, or wherever you want to go.  There are over 473 km of bike paths to travel.  Strasbourg is known as the "Bike capital of France".

My bike is about 15 years old.  I won it through a Tupperware contest and it's a fairly nice hunk of metal.  On it I climbed.  I immediately noticed that the seat was not at the right height for me.  I could only touch the ground with my tippy toes and that was stretching with all my might.  The seat was also at an awkward angle for sitting....angled toward the rear wheel. Oh well, that would need to be fixed before any future rides.

The next thing I noticed was that my seat must have been a device used in a medieval torture chamber.  I had literally pedaled for 10 minutes and my hindquarters were already sore.  I wasn't even sure that I was on a "seat" anymore, it had to be just the metal frame that I was perched upon.

On we rode.  When David gets something in his head, his course is difficult to change.  No amount of my whining was slowing him down.  Now, let me just say that my legs were fine and I was not out of breath, my uncomfortable bottom was the issue.  He had apparently been on my bike once before and admitted that my seat was painful.  Oh, thanks for telling me that BEFORE I'm 20 minutes into this ride buddy!

Well, still we rode.  At one point I asked him how much further he intended to go.  He said that he wanted to visit a waterfall that he had seen on his last solo ride but hadn't taken the time to get off the path and explore.  Ok.  Another 10 minutes farther down the rode to Hell I asked him "how much farther?".  You know, kind of like a kid in the back seat saying "are we there yet?".  Guess what he said?  He wasn't sure.  He didn't remember quite where it was.  Are you KIDDING ME?  My butt is on fire and we aren't only not heading back but you don't know exactly WHERE you are taking me?

My limit had been met.  I told him that I would just take a break and he could go explore.  Pick me up on the way back.  Well, with a sigh of exasperation, we turned around and headed home because he "didn't want to do that'. (I know that he was cursing me under his breath, I could mentally hear him saying "suck it up" Teresa)

I begged him to take the most direct route to our apartment.  Well, you had to know EXACTLY where you were to do that, so that wasn't going to happen.  At one point we were off the path and in the traffic lanes.  The traffic was stopped at a light and David told me just to go around the stopped traffic and onto the sidewalk through the park. We were in a very tight space.  The stopped cars were on my left side and there were parked cars to my right.  My handle bars just barely were squeezing through the tight lane that was left open to me.  MERCEDES on my right.....ooops.  Had to try to "walk" my bike past that one so that I wouldn't scratch up the doors....oh yeah, wait.  MY FEET DON'T TOUCH THE GROUND.  ARGGGGHHHHH

We finally arrived home 90 minutes and 15 miles later.  If you are a hard-core bike rider, you are laughing because it took us 90 minutes to go 15 miles.  If you are like me, you never knew that you could RIDE A BIKE for 15 miles, let alone do it without a cushioned seat in ONLY 90 minutes with several stops to let your numb backside regain circulation.

That ride was on a Sunday.  When I could sit without pain again (Thursday) I went to the sporting goods store and asked for two "Tour de France" worthy seats....I figured that they would have enough cushion for a 90 minute ride. Hopefully, our ride this weekend will be pleasant now that we have "cushier" perches to ride upon.

Wishing you all a peaceful ride through the rest of this week.  May God's grace shine upon you. À bientôt.

Paper plates vs China and Silver

It's a gray day here in Strasbourg.  43 degrees and gray.  It's definitely a "stay inside" day for me.  One of the things that I do everyday here is check the forecast before I even get out of my bed.  (Thanks iPhone!)  Not only do I check the weather here, but I check the weather at "home".  Today, the high in Strasbourg will be 52 and the high in Fishers, Indiana will be 77.  Ouch, that makes me hurt a little bit. My husband promises me that the winter will not be as cold as it is in the Midwest....I'm not holding my breath, but will let you all know.

Tonight, at 8:30 PM hubby and I will in participate in a Breast Cancer walk/run. Yes, I said PM.  David has run in several half marathons and even a full marathon.  I have never put on my pajamas to watch him compete. I am not sure why it's being held so late on a Friday night, but hey, it's France, so just roll with it.

I'm not "feeling" the blog today.  I didn't have an instant thought on what I would talk about.  Don't get me wrong, there are still lots of things to fill you in on, just not one topic that is screaming "pick me" today. So, I think this one will be a lesson on Formal Dinners.  Don't leave me.....it'll be interesting, I promise!

When I grew up my mom cooked and my sister, Tina and I were the "clean up" squad.  We had to clear the table and wash/dry the dishes....yes, the OLD FASHIONED way without an electric dishwasher.  Consequently, if my mom wanted to serve our dinner for the evening on paper plates I was thrilled.

When I was a freshman at good old Dayton High School I took Home Economics.  I liked it and our teacher, Mrs. Bradley so much that I took Home Ec II and even was involved in the Future Homemakers of America club.  Little did I know that all I had learned would come in handy.

I remember learning to use dry/liquid measuring cups/spoons, making pie crusts from scratch and how to set a "proper" dinner table. I never had an opportunity to set the table at home while using paper plates, but at least I had the knowledge.

Fast forward to my own home in my 20's.  Now I was responsible for the cooking and cleaning.  I did have an electric dishwasher, but still, you have to load and unload it.  I never set our dining room table with the "full-on" place settings of china and good silver.  We used Tupperware plates most of the time, unless I was serving steak....then we would use "real plates" so that the knives didn't mark up the Tupperware. (In case you didn't know, I sold Tupperware for about 10 years....LOVED IT!)

I can remember one of the first casual dinners we hosted in Fishers.  We had grilled Blue cheese stuffed burgers and I was using my favorite Tupperware plates.  The husband (who shall remain nameless) actually asked if he could have a "real" plate.  Woah!  We weren't in Kentucky anymore.

Strasbourg, 2013.  We were hosting a Sunday lunch for a couple that had been kind enough to feed David many times while he was a France bachelor.  I had made a delicious veal/spinach stuffed tufoli the day before and had put it in the oven as soon as we arrived home from church.

While setting our "formal" table, I realized that I had forgotten my "real" napkins and place mats in Indiana.  Yes, I have some, but obviously, they weren't used often if I forgot to pack them.  Fortunately, my dear friend, Lisa had given me some "paper" ones that had an "S" monogram on them.  They would do.  It was, after all, just a nice couple from church for lunch.

Wow, a formal table uses a lot of dishes.  You have a wine glass, a water glass, a coffee cup/saucer, a dinner plate, a salad plate/bowl, a dessert plate, a cheese plate and don't forget all of the flatware !! The table was FULL and our china cabinet was EMPTY.  I will not be able to serve more than 8 people, so visit in 6's please.

I believe that the French hostess is exhausted and actually loses calories during a dinner.  She has to get up and serve each course and clear the plates as they are complete. We served a delicious "12" course meal (at least that's what it felt like) and I was ready to be done.  It was Sunday and the Colts game was going to be starting soon compliments of our Slingbox 500.

It was at that point in the afternoon that I was going to be given my "lesson" on proper FRENCH dinners.  She was very kind in her delivery, but it was a scolding none-the-less.

• NEVER use paper napkins.  It is rude.  She had some old ones that she could lend me until I could buy some.
• ALWAYS serve at least two different wines during the meal.  One with dinner and one with dessert (A third stemware is needed if I serve white and red wine)
• I had apparently used the incorrect knives for the cheese course

I hate scoldings.  My husband will tell you that I am NEVER wrong....at least that's the way I see it, so you can imagine how much I liked nodding politely and thanking her for her help with my culture and etiquette lesson.

Invite someone to dinner this weekend and use paper napkins on my behalf.  Wishing you a joy filled day. 

Half and half, sour cream and heavy cream

As promised, another shopping adventure.  I brought some of my favorite recipes with me when I moved. Many of you have probably eaten most of them.  One in particular, Baked Potato Soup, is one of my favorites.

Some of the ingredients (chicken stock, half and half, mashed potato flakes) were difficult to find in the French grocery.  The first trip to Simply netted me total frustration.  I had translated the appropriate words and felt prepared.  The french word for half is "demi".  A direct translation for half and half would be demi et demi.  I knew that would be too easy, but still....

Here were my options:

Now, that picture might be too small, but you get the idea. Fraîche, chantilly, fleurette, fouettée, légère, anglaise, épaisse, entière and on and on.  Nothing with a "demi".  FORGET IT!!  No soup for you, I muttered to myself.  (Hope that there are some Seinfeld fans who caught that reference!)

Now, let me just add that sometimes all of these milk products aren't even refrigerated...that blew my mind too.  When David came home from work he asked about my day.  I explained the whole "cream" aisle to him and he said that he would ask his French tutor the next day.  Well, I now know which is closest to sour cream (there isn't an exact product, but it's creme  légère èpaissè) and heavy cream (fleurette), but there is NOT an half and half.  So, you have to improvise by using the heavy cream and milk.

I never thought that I would find the mashed potato flakes, but I did!  Wowzer, I thought I was going to have to "import" that myself.  No chicken stock, but chicken bouillon cubes (that are 2x the strength, fortunately I found that out BEFORE I used them).  The produce aisle did not have green onions (go figure), so a trip to the local market would be necessary and of course, I would need some cheddar cheese.  (Thank goodness I had already found that hiding in the cheese section) So, ready to make soup. 

The recipe calls for 8 cups of chicken broth and makes enough to feed at least 12 people. David asked me to cut it in half.  Not something I like to do, but hey, I have a small refrigerator now.  For those of you who are family, it's like using Pug's mashed potato recipe.  Anyway, I cut the recipe and began.

While the onions and butter were sautéing, I made the 4 cups of chicken stock and then added the 1 1/2 cups of mashed potato flakes to it.  Well, have you ever seen a scene where the soap suds are pouring out of a washing machine?  That's what I felt like I was seeing.  I added the "half" amount of potato flakes and instead of  the mixture having a "soup" consistency, it was like straight up stiff mashed potatoes. My wooden spoon could stand straight up in the pot!

YIKES!  I made another cup of chicken stock and added it.  No improvement. Another 2 cups, slight improvement.  Now I was up to 7 cups!  It was still WAY to thick and I hadn't even added the diced potatoes yet. Well, to cut to the chase here, I wound up with 8 cups of chicken stock and 3 cups of my homemade half and half.  MORE than the full recipe's liquid ingredients.

The flavor was still delicious.  I served it as our dinner with some "market" bacon (saltiest I have ever eaten), green onions and cheddar cheese toppings.  David said it was the best batch I'd ever made.  Lesson:  don't think that all mashed potato flakes are equal!

My "market" is held in a large plaza called Place Broglie on Wednesday and Friday mornings.  They have clothes, flowers, seafood vendors, butchers, cheese vendors, bakery vendors, olives, art and produce vendors.  Very few speak English, so it's an adventure.  During my first visit I was scolded because I "picked up" an avocado to "test it" for ripeness.  You don't touch the produce!!  You tell them what you want and when you plan to serve it and then the owner will select the produce for you.

Well, when I was getting the green onions for the soup, I also asked for tomatoes, nectarines, onions, and mushrooms.  This was my 3rd or 4th time at this particular vendor.  I must've been struggling in French so he used his English....who knew?  He had been holding back on me.  I was thrilled to know that he spoke so fluently.  That made my last request much easier....I was dreading the thought of asking a Frenchman for "Fruit de passion"(passion fruit)....who knew what might happen??

Pulling on my rain boots and coat to head to Simply....hope that it's NOT an adventure.  May you be blessed in all that you encounter as you go throughout YOUR day.  Smile at a stranger and bless THEIR day. (My mother-in-law is cringing right now, she always tells me "don't look a crazy person in the eyes".)

Attitude adjustments

I am happy to report that we are safely back to our apartment in Strasbourg after a week in Italy.  I was thinking about what to share today and finally landed on "confession time".

We drove from Venice to Siena on Monday morning.  It's one of our favorite Tuscan towns and since David had the day free, we thought why not?  After an afternoon of exploring and a little bit of rain, we headed to our hotel.

David standing in the square in Siena (They actually run a horse race in this square)

Two summers ago I was in Florence (Italy, not Ky) while David was working.  We stayed in the heart of the city at the Westin Excelsior along the Arno River, near Ponte Vechio.  I had 3 other wives to explore the city with and it was fabulous.

Our hotel for this trip was changed just before we left for Venice because the Indy co-worker that David was to be joining was unable to secure a room there.  I had looked up the new hotel on the map and saw that it was quite "out of the way" and voiced my concern. Oh well, said my husband, nothing we can do.

Well, as we drove to our hotel we were driving on a curvy-wurvy one-lane road that kept going up.  We had to stop and back up our car several times to a "wide-spot" so that someone could pass us.  David doesn't like when that happens.  We finally arrived at our hotel.  It was nice, but it was literally in the middle of NOWHERE.  David, who cannot be ruffled by anything, actually said, "what were they thinking?"

       The view from the pool deck at the Hotel Villa Tolomei (Yes, that's Florence in the distance)

We checked into our room and fortunately, they indeed had wi-fi.  You had to ask for a code and they printed one out for you.  I asked about getting into town, no shuttle service was available, but you could take a taxi.  The cost would vary, but would be around 15 Euro each way.  (That's $20) We went up to to check out our room.

We had a very nice room with a large bathroom.  European hotels all include a bidet....even the tiniest ones.  As David was checking his email, I was laying on the bed trying to check mine.  The wi-fi was really spotty and if it logged you off, you had to go get another printed copy of an access code from the front desk.  After several trips to the front desk I was finally connected.  After about 30 minutes my feet started to freeze.  I am not a nice "cold" person.  We looked around the room.....no vents.  No vents= no heat.  Okay, well, I needed to get cleaned up for dinner anyway, so how about a nice hot bath....oh wait, the water coming out of the faucet was lukewarm.   At this point, my sweet husband offered to get us a different hotel.  I assured him that I could handle it.  Now it's confession time.

All that was running through my mind was how horrible my week was going to be.  I was trapped in this hotel in the middle of the hills of Florence without access to restaurants, shopping or decent wi-fi.  I was going to freeze and never have hot water for a shower.  BAM!!  God gave me an instant attitude adjustment.  How many people did I know that would LOVE to have the opportunity to experience the hills of Florence?  Don't get me wrong, I still had moments of "poor me",  but He turned my stay around.

Dinner was interesting. I ordered a tomato soup (because I was still cold) as my starter.  It was chunky, almost like a paste, topped with a pesto/sour cream and a leaf of basil. It was AWESOME.  If I wanted a steak, it was going to be $80, so I settled for a $40 Anglerfish entree with broccoli and a cauliflower paste.  David's co-worker ordered the same thing.  Well, it came and oh my.  The fish was rolled up into a "dough ball".  It was so undistinguishable that David's co-worker thought that the fish was actually the cauliflower!!  Not tasty.  Thank goodness for the soup!

I'm going to leave Florence now and take you back to Strasbourg.  Another "attitutde adjustment" moment to stay with my post topic.  Don't worry, I have more to share about the rest of our week in Florence, as well as Cinque Terre and will post that later.

About two weeks ago, I was expecting a delivery and our door buzzer is broken. I walked out of the apartment to go down to the mailbox and check.  As I was closing the door, I noticed a neon pink post-it planted right in its middle.  I thought, RATS!  The delivery man must've come while I was in the shower and I missed him.  Not so.

The note read:  "LES TALONS à 5h 48 c'est pas COOL" Hmmmmm.  PreK French tells me that at 5:48AM something wasn't.  I wasn't sure what "les talons" meant and assumed that "cool" was a french word.  Google translate is awesome....just in case you were wondering,  "les talons" means heels and  "cool" is not a French word, it's the english word.  So, you have a post-it note that reads, "The heels at 5:48 are not cool".

R E A L L Y?  David leaves for work everyday between 5:45 and 6:00, occasionally, earlier.  Our downstairs neighbors are complaining about him walking from our bedroom out of the apartment?  My hackles are up!!  Do I complain that their children are as noisy as all get out when they leave and come home from school? Do I complain that they "scrunch" our two bicycles together on the rack to make room for theirs?  You get the idea.  Apartment living for a Kentucky girl is a chore!

Enter God.  Through the words of my husband this time.  The book of Romans chapter 12:17-21.  Can we take those verses out?  Probably not.  In a nutshell, for those of you who aren't going to look the verses up, God talks about being kind to those who are mean to you.  In so doing, you will cause THEM to reflect on what has happened.  Happy to report that David passed the family in the stairwell and made a point of "chatting them up" like nothing had happened.  I, on the other hand, have wanted to stomp my feet in front of my closet when I can hear them sliding their hangars around looking for something to wear at 7:30 AM.  No, I haven't done it.  God changed my attitude.

Lastly for today, I told Sarah this story last night while we were FaceTiming and she was disgusted.  She agreed with me on the answer to the question, but was disgusted nonetheless.  She gave me the go ahead with asking your opinion to the question on my blog.

While at a red light, I noticed a pedestrian (male about 25) waiting to cross the street. He moved his hand across his eye and had obviously removed some "gunk".  I'm going to call it an "eye booger".  After examining it, yep, I know you are screaming, NOOOOO, because I did, he ate it.  I almost lost my breakfast.  David had missed the whole thing because he was driving.  It took me about a minute before I could tell him what I had witnessed.  He agreed, GROSS.

So here is my question....which is MORE disgusting?  Eating an eye booger or a nose booger?  Aren't you happy you decided to read my blog today? Betcha didn't think it would end like this :)

Love to you all and wishes for your heart to be open for God's little adjustments as you go throughout the day.

Trip to Italy

Hello from Italy.  David has a business meeting in Florence this week and so we decided to make a mini-vacation of it.  The original plan was to spend the first few days in Venice, move into Florence and then finish out in Cinque Terre.  It's looking dreadful for this weekend, so Cinque Terre might not happen.

I mistakenly thought that meant a Friday evening departure....well....I know this will SHOCK many of you, but David had a basketball game on Friday night at 6:30, so that could only mean a Saturday morning departure.

For all you "moms" out there, you know the drill....we do all of the organizing, planning and packing and everyone else just wakes up and gets in the car.  Well, I did all 3 of those things and we left early Saturday morning. (David did LOAD the car)

It's very fascinating to me that we started our journey in France, about 10 minutes later were in Germany and then in another 50 minutes we were in Switzerland.  It's really no different than living in the Cincinnati area....you know, a trip around I-275 will take you into Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana in the same amount of time.  The only difference is that you don't have armed policeman looking at you as you cross each state line.

David is a "follow the speed limit" kind of guy.  I hate that.  I love the thrill of beating the GPS's estimated time of arrival when we travel.  Yes, that means I drive over the speed limit.  David hates THAT.

Our drive was relatively uneventful.  We ran into a little traffic and our GPS decided to take us on a 6 km detour from H-E-double hockey sticks.  It took us 30 minutes to travel 6 km (which to those of you who are like me and immediately FORGOT the metric system as soon as you passed the test in grade school) is a little more than 3 miles.

The other interesting thing that happened during our drive between Switzerland and Italy involved the Alps.  I am a big kid.  When we would travel to North Carolina for vacation with our kids, we ALWAYS would wake them up so that they could "hold their breath" going through the tunnels.  Well, I still do that as an adult.  Be careful when you are doing that in Europe.  I made it through some fairly long ones...holding my breath for over a minute (traveling at 60-80mph) but then we came to my Mother-in-law's worst nightmare. I  began holding my breath, no problem.  It passed the minute mark and was closing in on two....I couldn't hold it any longer.  The tunnel kept going.  No daylight in sight.  I started getting a little freaked out....I can be claustrophobic.  Well, we didn't keep EXACT track of time, but we were in that tunnel for over 10 minutes!  I was so happy to see light again.


Travel in this tunnel is monitored.  They stop traffic to prevent too many cars from being inside the tunnel at one time.  This regulates the amount of exhaust fumes/gasses and prevents bad things from happening.

As we neared Venice I happened to think about parking our car.  I couldn't remember if the hotel had parking on-site.  DUH.  We were in Venice, unless you are driving Chitty-chitty-bang-bang you don't have parking AT your hotel.  In my defense, I thought there might've been a car ferry.  I couldn't check my email because my mobile company's data package is non-existent, so David was sweet enough to call the hotel and check out the logistics.  (I usually am very good about those kind of details, but this one escaped me)

Happy to report that we parked the car and caught a ferry to our hotel.  Back to packing for a minute.  Are you the kind of packer who packs small quantities in several small bags or do you mash everything (including the kitchen sink) into one grand piece of luggage?  I am a one bag girl.  It seems like it would be easier for my husband to handle, I feel like I'm doing him a favor.  David does NOT see it that way.

Our bag is huge and probably weighed 60 pounds.  Getting that thing in/out of the car trunk and then on/off of a ferry and then over two bridges (complete with steps) about killed him.  He was also toting a mid-sized cooler, so I will cut him some slack.

Into the hotel and off to explore.  The Hilton had a ferry that would take us back and forth to the main island...that was nice.  A one-way ferry ticket costs 7 Euro (about $9.40).  Well, Venice is an interesting and beautiful place to visit.  I recommend it.  We did the touristy things, having a beverage in St Mark's Square amongst all the pigeons, Rialto Bridge, the Grand Canal and even the boat ride.

The weather turned nasty on us during our last day, so no Murano glass blowing factory this trip.  Probably the best "find" we encountered was while we had an hour to kill before our boat tour.  It was raining and I was cold, wet and tired.  We stopped into a little restaurant so that I could get off my feet and get a hot chocolate.  (We had been out since 9AM and it was 4:30....I'm really not a weenie)  I was served the most beautiful orange hot chocolate concoction ever.

As we were enjoying our drinks the waiter kept bringing delicious looking appetizers to the bar.  Bruschetta, cut up salamis, pizza, olives, etc.  David made the comment to the bartender that we might come back for dinner.  LUCKY US!!  That was the "happy hour" food and it started in 10 minutes.  JACKPOT.  Yes, I am a Kentucky girl enjoying Venice.  Free food?  Sign me up. (This is the plate that we were given....we did not HOG all the free food)

So....we ordered another drink and enjoyed our "meal".  Back to the "iced-tea" girl for a minute.  No iced tea in Europe, so this is what a Kentucky girl does to make-do....

Ask for a "pot of tea" with a glass of ice.  WARNING:  asking for an entire glass of ice in Europe can cause adverse reactions from wait staff.  Will share THAT story later!!

The ferry ride BACK to our car on Monday morning was a treat.  it was raining.  David had to maneuver the luggage back over the two bridges and back onto the ferry.  I was wearing a rain jacket.  He was wearing shorts and a long sleeved pull over.  Let's just say that being on the outside deck of a ferry while traversing a lagoon in the rain made for a scene in one of the "Gordon fisherman" commercials.

I am typing this from our Florence hotel....which I will talk about in another post.  Let's just say "it" and "I" did not get off on the right foot :)  Blessings to you all.  Prayers for you as you "travel" throughout your day.