tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-114808532024-02-27T21:32:33.281-07:00none of your beeswaxBeeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.comBlogger327125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-50637718739056363332013-07-18T10:06:00.002-07:002013-07-18T10:31:31.500-07:00Old Lady BloggingWell, hello there! I've been thinking about getting old. The reason I've been thinking about getting old is that tomorrow I'll be 40. And pretty much, 40 is old. Even if you interview, like, 300 99-year-olds, 274 will probably admit that 40 is not young. So that's kind of weird. The being old. Not the interviewing of the 99-year-olds, although that's sort of weird too. But I didn't really do any interviews, because who has time for that? I mean, I need to get ready for my birthday celebrations, which is going to take some work because I'm old, so I only have a few minutes this morning to ruminate over my elderliness. I mean, if I were a little younger, I wouldn't have to color my hair or wrestle my mushy old-lady flesh into my spanx (must wear dress as pants don't fit again-while I wasn't blogging for the past 8 months I wasn't busy at the gym), but then again, I wouldn't need to blog about getting old, so I would have like 4 hours of free time this morning!<br />
<br />
If I had 4 hours of free time from not blogging and not coloring and wrestling, I'd probably just waste it reading novels about crazy rich Asians, because that's what I've been doing this week. I'm on my second one, and not even by the same author. Don't misunderstand. They are not good. I don't recommend them. I did learn that Shenzhen is like Chinese Tijuana, but don't tell that to my sister-in-law Jane and her family, because they moved there last week.<br />
<br />
So my birthday party starts today with lunch with some of my lady-relations at the Liberty Market. Then my visiting teachers are taking me to dinner, and then the party continues at book club tonight (although is not actual party in my honor, but official book club meeting, even though we didn't read any book and are just having a potluck. That's totally kosher behavior when you've been book-clubbing with the same ladies for 10 years. Books are optional. Also, only 40-year-olds have been in book clubs for ten years. Twenty-somethings are still maybe busy in actual clubs, looking for boys).<br />
<br />
Tomorrow, Jake and I are going to Scottsdale for the official birthiversary festivities. (I got married on my 23rd birthday, so my 40th birthday is also my 17th wedding anniversary), where we will feast on croque monsieur at La Grande Orange, or maybe get a Kobe burger and a bananas foster milkshake at Zinburger, then go to to movies to see Way, Way Back at Camelview, maybe sift through some fancy but mildly used Italian shoes at Last Chance, then check into the Montelucia, which is so cheap is like they are begging on hands and knees for us to come over and get facials (feels financially irresponsible not to get facials; plus, am old, so need facial more than ever), then go to dinner at either BLT at Camelback Inn (because the popovers will leave you a changed woman) or to Elements at Sanctuary, which sounds good, too. And then on Saturday we will go to the spa, then stop at Sprinkles on the way home to get birthday cupcakes. I hope they have the lemon coconut.<br />
<br />
Anyway, it is hard to be sad about turning 40 when I get to eat so much good stuff, and someone else is getting paid to squeeze my blackheads. And also, I have such great kids and Jake and parents and siblings and friends. And maybe someday, they'll say that 99 is new 40, and I'll get to do it all over again as a nonagenarian.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_Bl8V-qQ-AbtU3tc4At6UtgUgCqF39xQeZ6Ds6hITGlQbajt11zLapC9hxy1CnAAY4VX11UnSJ2lgmFrUav5ZviA0NJIhucB0ouG23NCgZDDRX57cxaFER9bOHyaU4TseMgI/s1600/IMG_3456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_Bl8V-qQ-AbtU3tc4At6UtgUgCqF39xQeZ6Ds6hITGlQbajt11zLapC9hxy1CnAAY4VX11UnSJ2lgmFrUav5ZviA0NJIhucB0ouG23NCgZDDRX57cxaFER9bOHyaU4TseMgI/s400/IMG_3456.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">22nd birthday, Apartment 16 at the Riviera. Chris from Sofa, me and Jake. 81 degrees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOEal0KY1OpYRkHLeK6mXkveWR2_d9xihE85Kqx2C5vy9Aq3VbJTNjg2Y829aflnB5JFoI5XdtK0LHlcqV4zJqOA2yt0x2P59mDOiL08gGUPPMfPrDpsMOr5qixPu0fSPlYMaX/s1600/IMG_3452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOEal0KY1OpYRkHLeK6mXkveWR2_d9xihE85Kqx2C5vy9Aq3VbJTNjg2Y829aflnB5JFoI5XdtK0LHlcqV4zJqOA2yt0x2P59mDOiL08gGUPPMfPrDpsMOr5qixPu0fSPlYMaX/s400/IMG_3452.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">23rd birthday, Mesa Temple. 110 degrees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5UzWD1a4SqXeK3ebyTQ7jym6Hfz3wOCGEARAUK7NWcWNq95zHVzrefh-tLNQdDmXGFbtOa-1kAQfcLR3MYg2JIpf8hbn7aX5c7rw8KOekM57dxB9Pp-bDJTWQY95nRRibHoR/s1600/IMG_3481.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC5UzWD1a4SqXeK3ebyTQ7jym6Hfz3wOCGEARAUK7NWcWNq95zHVzrefh-tLNQdDmXGFbtOa-1kAQfcLR3MYg2JIpf8hbn7aX5c7rw8KOekM57dxB9Pp-bDJTWQY95nRRibHoR/s400/IMG_3481.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">39th birthday. Camelback Inn. 107 degrees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloMSDF1rguhlLobQHXFSy7Zxyolme6Yzc6hGOyv74YxC3S6qNkxVnYMyrq0t897WDBpjsDKc0adlYeJBzJsVXdDBn8ecf0PvlioHiaP7ai-Jcdlny9qrMjUpYOIjNwa_sMtSA/s1600/IMG_1859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloMSDF1rguhlLobQHXFSy7Zxyolme6Yzc6hGOyv74YxC3S6qNkxVnYMyrq0t897WDBpjsDKc0adlYeJBzJsVXdDBn8ecf0PvlioHiaP7ai-Jcdlny9qrMjUpYOIjNwa_sMtSA/s400/IMG_1859.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before our pre-anniversary dinner. Last week at Jake's Del Mar. 75 degrees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-19418133207285404202012-11-09T16:07:00.002-07:002012-11-09T16:40:17.636-07:00No news is good newsHi.<br />
<br />
Here I am, blogging right now. Look at my hair.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdSWgaItrkYh0s5Sdz_NaF4e4_ZJH-ROHQbffLjqN4x6nRiZfOgvz4yUYd0YbyWrFtDCG9NlPSLz3duu8LDYGg1eDpVC4iK6xuxMDPjXzklgNQOWgfriv7QATr5Ol8MgRfDUkx/s1600/Photo+on+2012-11-09+at+14.45+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdSWgaItrkYh0s5Sdz_NaF4e4_ZJH-ROHQbffLjqN4x6nRiZfOgvz4yUYd0YbyWrFtDCG9NlPSLz3duu8LDYGg1eDpVC4iK6xuxMDPjXzklgNQOWgfriv7QATr5Ol8MgRfDUkx/s320/Photo+on+2012-11-09+at+14.45+%232.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This is how it looked when I woke up this morning.<br />
It felt mildly miraculous, so I didn't brush it or anything. <br />
<br />
Fine. Is maybe possible that it looks okay because I only slept on it for four hours, as last night was book club night.<br />
<br />
So, I'm here because of the news. Normally, I don't read the news. I know you won't think that is cool, especially if you read the news all the time. But I'll tell you, it gets me down. One of the reasons I have a history degree is that HISTORY IS OVER, and time gives us perspective and breathing room to talk without getting sweaty pits and yelling at one another, usually. In the news, everything is sold as the end of the world, but if you know your history you'll know that nothing ever really has been the end of the world. (Yet.) And if something WAS going to be the end of the world, I would bet against the news guessing that thing right.<br />
<br />
Anyway, my news binge started with innocent googling of polls in the presidential race, and then there was some reading on how polls work, and that was really interesting. But then I got sucked into election news, and then there was Sandy! So you know, I felt like I should check that out. (Was only me being a compassionate citizen. Was nothing like rubbernecking).<br />
<br />
But then I found out Paul Newman died. In 2008. And I was in mild mourning because he was, you know, foxy, and also, Cool Hand Luke. I mean, that was a lot of eggs, even in 1967. Plus, all the salad dressing for charity!<br />
<br />
I was out of control. There were so many celebrities with problems. Lady Gaga has an eating disorder! That guy on How I Met Your Mother who is living with that girl who had Heath Ledger's baby had to move out of their fancy new Brooklyn apartment that got flooded, and move into their fancy old apartment that was on higher ground! The horror! So many stories about Christina Aguilera that I didn't click on, because I don't give a fig about Christina Aguilera or that guy who strokes the cat.<br />
<br />
I even went Euro. Did you know that Sicily has 26,000 auxiliary forest rangers? And the the forests of British Colombia have fewer than 1,500? Is too many rangers, Sicily! Is an embarrassing amount of rangers! No wonder Germany is so ticked.<br />
<br />
And then a baby got eaten by wild dogs at a zoo, and I was like, noooooooo. Don't tell me about the babies! I seriously can't handle the babies.<br />
<br />
But still, it wasn't over. One day, <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I listened to talk radio</span>. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">The angry kind. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">And I liked it. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Don't tell Jake. He'll never let me live it down.</span><br />
<br />
And now, I feel sort of dirty.<br />
From all the news. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Feel free to leave me comments to welcome me back to the internets! I've missed you!</span>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-21335276776504649242012-06-01T23:47:00.001-07:002012-06-01T23:47:15.856-07:00Why am I blogging at midnight? My kids will be up soon and want me to make them cinnamon toast on white bread that we don't have.Hi there. School is out. Which is good. I'm not complaining. But I am very tired. I need more stamina. I think I can achieve this by eating more chocolate covered bananas and zucchini-banana-coconut bread made out of our baseball-bat-sized zucchini.<br />
<br />
I think I need to go to Fry's and buy more bananas. <br />
<br />
Sam's teacher decided to have a science fair the last week of school, so we baked cookies on the dashboard of my 91 Integra. It was nearly 250 in there.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrj_GYML0K7CoQuQERugDiUj7d3Ibgtgi3ah0BAG_36cpSjioOiUA4D8877g1hRTJsOGeiSorfmuMuTL5ihU6HZgXtbojQ-M-QQOhM8tJhORgqkjlR2oryX-IxTF0Dkgd1Fx8F/s1600/IMG_9324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrj_GYML0K7CoQuQERugDiUj7d3Ibgtgi3ah0BAG_36cpSjioOiUA4D8877g1hRTJsOGeiSorfmuMuTL5ihU6HZgXtbojQ-M-QQOhM8tJhORgqkjlR2oryX-IxTF0Dkgd1Fx8F/s320/IMG_9324.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We burned the second batch. Even so, he won the science fair! And the language arts award for his class. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRjbs6xfUuwAFSLNw3pk7KQIFzvy-hF7KQKYHBNBF_SW_gCVk2enukM3DJ9AHxyg8RHLmUd4rR9_mvYBnc6W6XcpIjY7BfIPCzWHF4sRR8k57fHNdSKaWYPcQ8lP2nkktP8f9/s1600/IMG_3082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRjbs6xfUuwAFSLNw3pk7KQIFzvy-hF7KQKYHBNBF_SW_gCVk2enukM3DJ9AHxyg8RHLmUd4rR9_mvYBnc6W6XcpIjY7BfIPCzWHF4sRR8k57fHNdSKaWYPcQ8lP2nkktP8f9/s320/IMG_3082.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Ross was named 7th grade student of the year for his class. This was also surprising, considering the smarty-pants school he attends. But not totally shocking, as everywhere Ross goes, people seem to chuck blue ribbons and crystal apples and assorted plaques at him.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwSJbsjc_6XIT-lpFKA0DL1pwBw-H6yemsf9UHA4BOcowZgOi7WBTdu37F6Quom1PqtAagceAhhQpB9xSi27rBOETSNKW4mSG5Zm3q2N3t-NfsQ71nj650H7UXqHyixdIv9fv3/s1600/IMG_3112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwSJbsjc_6XIT-lpFKA0DL1pwBw-H6yemsf9UHA4BOcowZgOi7WBTdu37F6Quom1PqtAagceAhhQpB9xSi27rBOETSNKW4mSG5Zm3q2N3t-NfsQ71nj650H7UXqHyixdIv9fv3/s320/IMG_3112.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
He also designed a catapult with a few of his friends for his term project:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxcooAAvy4Vc9nZcZv_z9nBK7HXkfxbaCm8btHEjJ0J63R3-CT3-Aruy9MdZ0o5TV4OJU8zg0oNaJlOYrqft7zE2ESLZP_X_GJiQit-mkPphrEiOiVKBoQrhR6536tZOMYpym/s1600/IMG_3094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisxcooAAvy4Vc9nZcZv_z9nBK7HXkfxbaCm8btHEjJ0J63R3-CT3-Aruy9MdZ0o5TV4OJU8zg0oNaJlOYrqft7zE2ESLZP_X_GJiQit-mkPphrEiOiVKBoQrhR6536tZOMYpym/s320/IMG_3094.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
It was designed to launch fruits, veggies, or tennis balls. It was pretty much the best thing that happened in school all year.<br />
<br />
Jane finished out the year with an A average, and Tommy graduated from Kindergarten. It almost didn't happen, because at the last moment, he freaked out and wouldn't put on his cap and gown. We still aren't totally clear on what happened, but we think he decided he wasn't wearing a dress. Once he saw all the other boys wearing their own dresses, he came around.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7lvt8DFshnMLpJd_yPMy-wPL9vJRJeiW9kmCG7WD4R4zFzYm3-IdmUJ6e_0bfukmMBowBbQgApteTHhTbeRWqPZWLMBpAkq40LfaOhG935CooDUFqzjzn85CmWbLWPvJqmpP/s1600/IMG_3073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7lvt8DFshnMLpJd_yPMy-wPL9vJRJeiW9kmCG7WD4R4zFzYm3-IdmUJ6e_0bfukmMBowBbQgApteTHhTbeRWqPZWLMBpAkq40LfaOhG935CooDUFqzjzn85CmWbLWPvJqmpP/s320/IMG_3073.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So now, there is nothing to do but swim, play Minecraft, try out new chore schemes I read about in parenting books, and watch YouTube. <br />
<br />
Yes, I bought it on itunes.<br />
Enjoy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/WteF0j5gYGk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-67063301573191364952012-05-14T11:26:00.000-07:002012-05-14T14:07:01.809-07:00The good news is, I didn't get a baby rat for Mother's Day.Well, now. Mother's Day is over and I got just what I wanted: lots of stuff to put on my blog.<br />
<br />
But first, I need to address what I have seen out there on the internets: lots of ladies who feel guilty or disappointed on Mother's Day. To those who feel guilty: seriously? Knock it off. You know what you should feel guilty about? Feeling guilty. You are probably the ones who spend all your time cleaning, cooking organic meals, and taking your kids to the park (why? When I was a kid, and bugged my Mom about being bored, she told me to go get my razor blades and play in the street. She was mostly kidding. And also, she took us to the park a lot. So I'm not making my point very well. Oh well). Listen, ladies: <span style="font-size: large;">You've done enough</span>. Just once, you should do like me, let the house go to crap over the weekend, eat lots of cake and candy (that your husband wasn't supposed to buy for you, because he knows about your candy problem and how you are losing your P90X momentum ), gain 4 pounds overnight (from the sugar, I guess), plug your toddler into Elmo (Mis-ter <i>Noodle</i>!!), light the vanilla candle your 13-year-old bought you as a symbol of his mother-devotion so you can't smell what is stewing down there at the bottom of the kitchen sink,<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocaEoztMcEOTuC2vwEr0xDppZFW0xb069T-jmdFliE_pg70tUX29RUAHqAojX6Fy9vSgHt5mVJF4I0iHCNHuFoECsiZ3D0Ie-UDWGxuz36hTggxzN6Yl3WWBXzWIA988tG6o1/s1600/IMG_3034.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocaEoztMcEOTuC2vwEr0xDppZFW0xb069T-jmdFliE_pg70tUX29RUAHqAojX6Fy9vSgHt5mVJF4I0iHCNHuFoECsiZ3D0Ie-UDWGxuz36hTggxzN6Yl3WWBXzWIA988tG6o1/s400/IMG_3034.jpg" width="298" /></a><br />
<br />
and spend some time on the internet. You know: Pinterest, Facebook, or some blogs. Yours, or someone else's. Alternately, you could go back to bed. I know all the other bloggers are telling you to unplug, go spend more time with your families, but if you are lucky like me, most of your kids are in school for like another week, you can't go outside because it is 107 degrees, and you just need to plant your rear in your desk chair and enjoy the silence (and the Elmo's World theme song.) You probably won't sit down again until August.<br />
<br />
Guilty ladies, are you nervous? Let me assure you that somehow, stuff gets done. For instance, I just discovered that my just-turned-two-year-old knows all his letters. He doesn't talk, but he is a letter savant. Or maybe the other kids taught him. Who knows? All I'm sayin' is, stuff gets done, and I didn't do it. (Some stuff. Not all of it. He doesn't seem to know G.)<br />
<br />
To those who feel disappointed on Mother's Day: seriously? Don't you see how this holiday is set up to fail? You aren't ever going to have both breakfast in bed AND a clean kitchen, both a nap AND all the small, cherubic children, both a day to yourself AND lots of wonderful grandmas with which to celebrate, or both a lie-in AND the chocolate covered strawberries they passed out in eight a.m. Sacrament meeting. Haven't we learned by now that 'having it all' was just a terrible lie inflicted on our mothers? That we can definitely have some of it, whatever part we want, really, us lucky-duck American women; but wanting it all, especially all at the same time, is miserably exhausting and will only make us angry. (Although, I will forever be grateful for the right to wear pants. Even if mine don't usually fit.) So anyhow, I suggest you, like me, play the Mother's Day you were dealt. Revel in it, even...<br />
<br />
First of all, on Friday night, I got an almost-date. We took Jane with us to a wedding reception, where there was a photo booth and PIE. That's a good time, people.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvB5zb4cbJeAbWE39zSwan8ayH0NsHhwZL4cQMaMRTE938Dpn7YSCKfydzQnYjktRBbkaAGWgGTwv8RRlDyXTcpnIi7dGYkXgG9b5bu08iBCaKSdlSKVWhFiBJzpczkLi5i1Qs/s1600/IMG_3029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvB5zb4cbJeAbWE39zSwan8ayH0NsHhwZL4cQMaMRTE938Dpn7YSCKfydzQnYjktRBbkaAGWgGTwv8RRlDyXTcpnIi7dGYkXgG9b5bu08iBCaKSdlSKVWhFiBJzpczkLi5i1Qs/s640/IMG_3029.jpg" width="476" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyl16Ogy4c_OLuzKiT2BqRaonP7BR1t5_3iylchNYHL9inj9bpsiDg-zkUS6qe4YfaF4r3ZlC2uja68ZFCQTf4cieGdFCYVb2s7QrW80JGZcKYhwGZLEwsqBvy-tcbhtX-mh_9/s1600/IMG_3026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyl16Ogy4c_OLuzKiT2BqRaonP7BR1t5_3iylchNYHL9inj9bpsiDg-zkUS6qe4YfaF4r3ZlC2uja68ZFCQTf4cieGdFCYVb2s7QrW80JGZcKYhwGZLEwsqBvy-tcbhtX-mh_9/s640/IMG_3026.jpg" width="476" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
On Saturday, Tommy remembered:<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Hey! Tomorrow is Mother's Day. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>We should get something for you. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Like maybe a pet? </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Would you like a baby rat?</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Sam made me a fantastic coupon book at scouts, plus an origami vase with tissue flowers. The coupon book is beautifully illustrated. For instance, the coupon promising breakfast in bed has a bed in profile, with an unseen hand cracking an egg onto the crumpled comforter (I don't make my bed. But I don't feel shame about it.) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Jake made me an omelette. It had cheese and bacon in it. He also sent me flowers. Like 100 of them. The ones I liked from Valentine's Day that lasted for a whole month. Then he got all the boys ready and took them all to Church at 7:30 cuz Ross has to set up chairs. Jane and I were still late. I do feel sorta bad about that. Why is 8:00 so early? Why am I so slow? Is it because I have to wrestle into the spanx?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Jane gave me earrings and a new necklace. This was just lovely. Having a daughter is very nice, sometimes. I'm not gonna lie to you.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">After Church, Tommy handed me a card, which he had allegedly dictated, with his Primary teacher acting as amanuensis, which told me I looked beautiful. But then the next line said, <i>Thank you for all that you do. </i>The syntax seems a little fishy, no? Plus, no mention of rats. So, you know, I have to wonder about the true authorship.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Sam came out of Church bearing a flowering plant in an attractive yellow ceramic pot. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTkr2t1tPTbAWCrF7lLQ6x20tIDlITkeccveMIJDtbx6v4aLawo-sQQ9SV0ilmyVbHlK31uYa_mPu9zAojV-uo20FAqQn5XUKKi-iRFQ79WXDK0qRflddsq_jiB2BtES5ML7P/s1600/IMG_3032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTkr2t1tPTbAWCrF7lLQ6x20tIDlITkeccveMIJDtbx6v4aLawo-sQQ9SV0ilmyVbHlK31uYa_mPu9zAojV-uo20FAqQn5XUKKi-iRFQ79WXDK0qRflddsq_jiB2BtES5ML7P/s400/IMG_3032.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
<br />
From his pocket, he produced this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOJLtMhBC47PvykwtAefEV4lQ-gw-CvJLMfcB6SFPlBhvLXIFWtYv39oB1kAf4akzVwmg2XehhWWiSgq6Cvp_TOFCiqY-g9vvEoa4vgg7MvsYaWvO7hyphenhyphenLb31Xqt0quwG9RA7A/s1600/IMG_3033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBOJLtMhBC47PvykwtAefEV4lQ-gw-CvJLMfcB6SFPlBhvLXIFWtYv39oB1kAf4akzVwmg2XehhWWiSgq6Cvp_TOFCiqY-g9vvEoa4vgg7MvsYaWvO7hyphenhyphenLb31Xqt0quwG9RA7A/s400/IMG_3033.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
<i>Here, Mom,</i> he says, and hands me the chopstick/card (sans plant). <i>This is for you. Happy Mother's Day!</i><br />
<br />
When we got home, he took the plant to his room.<br />
<br />
I find this extremely enjoyable. Is that wrong?<br />
<br />
After Church, we ate lunch with my Mom and relations, then drove out to Glendale to have dinner with Jake's Mom and all the Beeswax crew. Before we left, I told Ross to get Tommy to fill out one of those forms- you know, how old is your grandma, how much does she weigh, the kids are supposed to get it wrong and it supposed to be hilarious- but Ross wasn't getting the humor, and Tommy wasn't getting it at all.<br />
<br />
Ross: <i>Why do you like going to Grandma Beeswax's house? </i><br />
Tom: <i>To play with Coco </i>(Coco is a wiener dog).<br />
<br />
Ross: <i>What color are her eyes?</i><br />
Tommy: <i>Brown</i><br />
Ross: <i>I'm pretty sure they are blue.</i><br />
Tommy: <i>No.</i><br />
Me:<i> Ross, just write whatever he says. That's the point of the exercise. </i><br />
<br />
Ross: <i>What do you do to show her you love her?</i><br />
Tom: <i>I rub her belly while she lies on the couch.</i><br />
<br />
Ross: <i>Huh?</i><br />
Me: <i>I think he's still talking about the dog.</i><br />
<br />
On the way home from Glendale, Jake started playing deejay, and I asked him: <i>Is this my Special Mother's Day Playlist</i>? He grinned (sort of evilly), and then grew very serious.<br />
It went something like this:<br />
<br />
Video Killed the Radio Star (Buggles)<br />
Super-Connected (Belly)<br />
Seasons of Love (Rent)<br />
Fancy Dancer (Bread) <br />
Wildflower (The Cult)<br />
Dancing with Myself (Billy Idol)<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>How was your Mother's Day? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Did you receive any live gifts? </b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What would be on your Special Mother's Day Playlist?</span></b>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-41038005991979402442012-04-25T10:02:00.003-07:002012-04-25T10:06:52.483-07:00See you there?I'm going to Utah today. Going to the BYU with all the other ladies for the Women's Conference. I'm pretty excited, and not just cause I get a break from kids.<br />
<br />
The other reason is I get a break from P90X.<br />
Oh. And all the nice classes they provide are lovely, too.<br />
<br />
In the past, my goal has been to eat my way across Utah County, but I am going to admit, this hasn't <a href="http://diversifiedbeeson.blogspot.com/2009/04/and-for-my-next-trick-i-will-eat-my-way.html" target="_blank">brought me as much gastrointestinal joy as I had hoped</a>. So I am hoping to take it easy this year. I am only going to eat creamery milkshakes, mint brownies, five courses with four desserts, and pastrami burgers <i>if I feel like it</i>, and not just because it is the right thing to do.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1dMoo5pVMssa6gVjFl3XAj4h8uKmaVzFtFRfhSKsKzY6F2-N2rB0WbzHGEcGssp0tfqM0_c0JntfYFxThDd3j6OXOh-nLa2PnFgypIH2OTtMdbWnz212GPFeP2xF8hiX6QOM/s1600/Photo+on+2012-04-25+at+09.58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1dMoo5pVMssa6gVjFl3XAj4h8uKmaVzFtFRfhSKsKzY6F2-N2rB0WbzHGEcGssp0tfqM0_c0JntfYFxThDd3j6OXOh-nLa2PnFgypIH2OTtMdbWnz212GPFeP2xF8hiX6QOM/s320/Photo+on+2012-04-25+at+09.58.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
This is what I look like right this minute. If you see me there, say hello to me. I would like to shake your hand.Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-45675404040929217432012-04-09T18:10:00.001-07:002012-04-09T18:34:17.627-07:00You double dog dare me?Hi there again. I'm back because I realized that I like it when bloggers post stuff even if it isn't super interesting, so I'm thinking I should try that for awhile. Because I'm trying new stuff and it's working for me. Just like how I took your advice and got off my treadmill and started P90x and stopped eating buns on my In-n-Out burgers, which always seemed really stupid to me in the past but is actually medium tasty, and now, thanks to you, I've lost 2 pounds! I'm pretty full of myself these days (but sadly, completely empty of delicious bread, cookies, and treats of all sorts, so also pretty cranky) because of my recent success, and so now I have a new and open-minded view of the world; so, if you've secretly always wanted to dare me to do something crazy, this is your chance!<br />
<br />
But what's that? You need more information? Like weird stuff I've already done, and gross stuff I absolutely won't do? Let me help:<br />
<br />
I have already eaten snails. Dozens of them. I find them, like everything else in garlic and butter, delicious. Ditto frogs.<br />
<br />
I will fer shur doll myself up 1950s style, and start drinking and smoking:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vMUh-Xk4IIUZpeXlY2hFYDDVIjTaFopMfY22zBQ0vqray2xLeCNlFPedzAhRJeW81wphb0fc4ByawoI8EGTCsgzgLTv2hFLctejLSYypZQlofxeNeckdJpYLxPmbkAJtJVft/s1600/IMG_2368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vMUh-Xk4IIUZpeXlY2hFYDDVIjTaFopMfY22zBQ0vqray2xLeCNlFPedzAhRJeW81wphb0fc4ByawoI8EGTCsgzgLTv2hFLctejLSYypZQlofxeNeckdJpYLxPmbkAJtJVft/s400/IMG_2368.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mad Men party</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I won't eat live bugs.<br />
I will consider eating dead bugs which have a heavy milk chocolate coating.<br />
<br />
I've already been swimming in the submarine lagoon at Disneyland. This was in the pre-Nemo days. I wanted to wave at the people on the ride (spoiler: you did not really go 20,000 leagues under the sea), but a cranky old lady at the Kodak Special Moments photo opportunity site ratted us out us to a kind Disney employee, who begged us to stop molesting the giant animatronic clams, but didn't kick us out of the park. Even better, nobody contracted Hepatitis!<br />
<br />
I will totally wear a coconut bra on my birthday:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFD59lFqcm9yHtC6Y3Gg98Yu2D-8fzjApp05gK9aAy8581izSVd7taQd9zsx-n8iNcO-HS8M0tWO-FbrZ3msc_Bfccf5bY9ZzhK4bzfCIPHo9CAUuu8Z6CIUElsovjTeHaZ66/s1600/263258_10150335868046690_747861689_10130213_14145_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFD59lFqcm9yHtC6Y3Gg98Yu2D-8fzjApp05gK9aAy8581izSVd7taQd9zsx-n8iNcO-HS8M0tWO-FbrZ3msc_Bfccf5bY9ZzhK4bzfCIPHo9CAUuu8Z6CIUElsovjTeHaZ66/s320/263258_10150335868046690_747861689_10130213_14145_n.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><br />
Or to the ward Halloween party.<br />
Will I wear a pencil skirt? No. Grass skirt? Yes.<br />
<br />
I will not have another baby on a dare.<br />
But if you have a baby, I will go to the hospital and take 200 photos of it within 2 hours of its birth:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzRxWUWWUflKSWFee8HXDPTNhRqVq236dARxRbF0zNF3GENetPMAqLeyrOFrvkvrB5wB7Iqax7KvJqfDeVnnX6qy0VlSIQJDETWty8aUwiOPnaBLDfuvQRXZMWERCmFHH_4mC/s1600/IMG_8733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzRxWUWWUflKSWFee8HXDPTNhRqVq236dARxRbF0zNF3GENetPMAqLeyrOFrvkvrB5wB7Iqax7KvJqfDeVnnX6qy0VlSIQJDETWty8aUwiOPnaBLDfuvQRXZMWERCmFHH_4mC/s400/IMG_8733.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Introducing my new nephew, Liam Taylor N., who joined us March 29th</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">I will not let you lock me in a box with lives scorpions (or snakes). Or even bunnies.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">I do not want to be locked in a box.</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">I think I already tried para sailing. I honestly can't remember if I went, or if I just sat on my cabana chair in Cancun and considered it. That's weird, right? But it was a really good vacation, and I was so relaxed and guacamole-stuffed I was in a low-grade coma, which might explain the amnesia.</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">I will not get a Brazilian wax.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">I will put that Brazilian wax on my hair to make it straight and shiny. (Does this confuse anybody else?)</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><br />
I will also get my whole family up in western wear, but I will choose to be a 'proper lady', and not a 'naughty madame'.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwY8-MNFveNtkdnaqkWyidnpEVJ-hAG3kXihdLcNbG7ObdMs7p5f5csZskY8wJPbhCe9xd0zhqwF2LHcayAOPu4a5ySnOYw8LSkXv1dFDbbQU2CRfZDPKGx2VIpSpvDL4mpB4Q/s1600/426963_10150735866720972_575760971_11211753_75765890_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwY8-MNFveNtkdnaqkWyidnpEVJ-hAG3kXihdLcNbG7ObdMs7p5f5csZskY8wJPbhCe9xd0zhqwF2LHcayAOPu4a5ySnOYw8LSkXv1dFDbbQU2CRfZDPKGx2VIpSpvDL4mpB4Q/s400/426963_10150735866720972_575760971_11211753_75765890_n.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><br />
To sum up, I am willing to try all sorts of new stuff, especially if it involves dressing up and looking ridiculous, "bringing it", photographing it, or wrapping it in lettuce. But I am unwilling to try new stuff involving bugs and reptiles or tight spaces.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">So what do you dare me to do next?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">What about you? What have you done on a dare? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">(I especially want to hear about the things of which you are ashamed.)</span>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-8475909219858661752012-03-27T15:36:00.005-07:002012-03-27T15:49:03.625-07:00I hate my treadmill. But I love cookies.So, hello there friends!<br />
<br />
It seems like forever since I've been here. That's because time goes very slow when you're not eating cookies. See, to you it probly feels like no time at all has elapsed. You've got a cookie in your fist right now, dontcha? It's peanut butter, isn't it?<br />
<br />
So, yeah, it's still Lent, so I'm cookie-free. Except one time, I accidentally ate like half a sleeve of oreos before Jake was like: Hey, aren't those cookies? And I was like, oh yeah, I guess they are. I mean, they are cookies in the way chocolate chips are chocolate. But then I stopped eating the alleged "cookies", and I've been clean ever since.<br />
<br />
And since Rice Krispie Treats are clearly TREATS (is in the title), I don't have to tell you about the pan of those I tucked into last night (was lucky myfitnesspal allowed me to enter in my consumption in fractions of the whole pan instead of silly squares. Who has time to count that high?) But really, in general, I have been eating stuff like spinach smoothies and protein treats (not real treats, and definitely not cookies), consuming a measly 1400 calories per day, and riding my treadmill like it was a wild stallion in need of breaking.<br />
<br />
That simile was super creepy. <br />
<br />
Anyhow, so now's the part when I should tell you that with self-control and hard work, I have achieved FITNESS and baggy pants. But I haven't! I have lost 1 POUND. And even that is questionable. Could be hormones or dehydration. Seriously, people.<span style="font-size: large;"> I got on the treadmill.</span> I watched the Today show like 30 times. (Don't want to ruin shows I actually like with exercise). Was a little like hell. <br />
<br />
Fine. I will admit that although I am not any smaller, I do feel like I am a little bit less flobby. Which is helpful when wearing knit maxi dresses, but does not help with my pants that feel like prisons. The bright side, of course, is that it is 85 degrees outside, where I can frolic in knit dresses, the warm sun on my face, and tuck all the offending pants away on my highest closet shelf (need a ladder to access this shelf), safe from view until November.<br />
<br />
(Except for Women's Conference in April. Because stupid, cold Utah requires pants. Goodness. Does nothing ever change? I was wrestling with <a href="http://diversifiedbeeson.blogspot.com/2011/05/womens-conference-sort-of-poem-mostly.html" target="_blank">these same stupid pants last year</a>. No, I didn't get new pants. Why should I? I know better than to wear skinny jeans. When this whole skinny jean madness is over, I'll buy new pants.)<br />
<br />
Anyhow, we're all good. Jane turned 11, Joey 2. Ross went repelling, Sam is a Bear Scout. Tommy wows us daily with feats of strength, skill, and coolness some of the rest of us lack. Jake decided to keep the 77 Land Cruiser, which is in a bazillion pieces, and restore it. He took the body in to paint it: sky blue. To match my eyes. Nah, to math <i>his</i> eyes. Okay, I don't think anybody's eye color was really a factor in his decision making. My sister is having a baby on Thursday, and I can't wait to get my paws on him. I reminded Jake that we met 20 years ago, on March 14, 1992. (I reminded him on March 22.) We headed down to southern Arizona for Spring Break: Bisbee, Tombstone, and Kartchner Caverns. Was a good time. Photos next time? I planted my garden. 16 tomato plants, plus lots of peppers, squash and zucchini. Okay only 2 squash and zucchini, but is lots. You know how it is. There is only so much zucchini bread a lady can eat.<br />
<br />
Okay, tell me some dieting horror stories to cheer me up. Or tell me what I'm doing wrong. (Besides the Rice Krispie Treats.)Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-2015661998914856332012-02-23T11:12:00.006-07:002012-02-23T11:44:16.385-07:00I get my news from Facebook. And what I've given up for Lent.These days, I barely have time to watch Modern Family. I have very little time for the news. (Priorities, people.) But that's okay, because now I get my news from Facebook. I know this should be embarrassing, and I suppose it is. But since I have friends who worship nearly every god in the political pantheon, I'll throw out the hypothesis that my news might be more <i>fair and balanced</i> than most, if not as comprehensive (I'm a little tired of Whitney Houston videos). Plus, it is peppered with the drama of the car-wreck lives of a few childhood acquaintances. So that's fun. (Although most of you are stable, not mentally ill, and thus, fairly boring.)<br />
<br />
Today, for instance, I read <a href="http://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-news-and-politics/91447/protocols-of-the-elders/?all=1" target="_blank">this article</a>, noting how some Americans' fears of a Mormon theocracy show a resemblance to the old story about Jews trying to take over the world. Well written, and includes interviews with author Orson Scott Card and my favorite historian, Laurel Thatcher Ulrich.<br />
<br />
I recently located a friend I studied with in England, and I'm so thrilled about it. Her status updates on Downton Abbey, including this one about how <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/property/article-1204285/Can-Highclere-Castle-saved-Historic-home-verging-ruin-Lord-Carnarvon-reveals-12m-repair-bill.html" target="_blank">Highclere Castle is falling into ruin</a>, plus a link to <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2012/02/print-out-vultures-downton-abbey-paper-dolls.html?mid=nymag_press" target="_blank">these fantastic paper dolls</a> (including evil accoutrements for Mrs. O'Brian and Thomas, and female empowerment accessories for Sybil), are my absolute favorite. We don't email or anything, but she knows I care because I 'like' her almost daily.<br />
<br />
What? You don't think paper cutouts about period dramas count as news? Au contraire, mon frere!<br />
<br />
Lastly, I have decided to celebrate Lent this year. Back in college, cousin Melanie would throw a big Mardi Gras party, to which we would invite every attractive boy we knew, stuff them with gumbo and king cake (don't break your tooth on the baby!), and then I wouldn't buy those big pink frosted cookies at the gas station on my way home from class again until Easter. This year, though, I am taking it further: NO COOKIES AT ALL. That's real, people. And it isn't going to be easy. I'm also incorporating a serious scripture study plan, and a goal of at least stepping onto the treadmill every day except Sunday. (I did some research, and in Roman Catholic tradition, they get Sundays off from their Lenten fasts and what not. But I'm going more Eastern Orthodox with my cookie rules: zero tolerance.) It may not be kosher, but I hope my self-imposed period of asceticism isn't seen as sacrilege. I think my heart is in the right place.<br />
<br />
Where do you get your news?<br />
Are you giving up anything for Lent?Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-73508854697711169522012-02-16T10:03:00.001-07:002012-02-16T10:33:19.654-07:00The food storage lady is back! But who knows for how long? She can't make any promises.Come on over! We're talking about canning beans, skinny jeans, and Ryan Gosling.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://foodstoragelady.blogspot.com/2012/02/lets-be-honest-food-storage-lady-is.html">Food Storage Lady</a><br />
<br />
Love,<br />
KellyBeeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-26612020544158182342012-02-10T12:37:00.008-07:002012-02-14T12:42:29.124-07:00Gearing up for Statehood Day, my singleton baby's twin language, some potential falafel, and the Gin Blossoms, if Jake can be cajoledSo I didn't watch the super bowl because I was too busy eating and also football is boring. I know I should like it but I don't, and since I'm 38 years old, I don't pretend to like stuff anymore. Usually.<br />
<br />
But I did sort of see Madonna's halftime show. And ever since, I've been listening to the <i>Evita</i> movie soundtrack in my van. Yesterday, Ross asked: <i>That guy singing? Is that Puss in Boots?</i><br />
<br />
Kids are super entertaining. If you have some, you know. I mean, they are loud and pull each other's hair and don't flush the toilet and sometimes you catch them biting their own toenails, but they are not boring. Two days ago Jane told me she wants to be a tattoo artist when she grows up, but she won't get any tattoos, cuz that's gross. And Joey, at almost two, isn't saying much, and what he does say is in a language of his own making. It's like a twin language, but he hasn't got a twin. He calls any sort of beverage a <i>mimimama</i> (except pop, which is pop) and motorcycles are<i> samomos.</i> We still have hope though, because he can speak <i>Treat</i> fluently: he'll let you know if he wants a sucker, cake, or cookies in the Queen's English.<br />
<br />
So tonight I'm going to Pita Jungle with sister Jen and old friend Shireen to eat falafel, if I can find a babysitter. Tomorrow I am going to try to talk Jake into going to the Arizona Centennial celebration over at the Capitol, because I am an Arizona history nerd, even though I'm from California, but also because celebrating Arizona Statehood Day (February 14) was always a nice option for those of us who found ourselves lover-less (and by lover-less I mean heart-shaped-card-less and bereft of chocolate) on Valentine's Day (which I did. But only continuously from 1973-1995), but also because the Gin Blossoms will be there. And it feels very appropriate that the same band to which I would listen, lying on my single-girl dorm room bed with my giant 90s shampoo commercial hair, wallowing in my lover-lessness (most of the Gin Blossoms songs played with the theme of girlfriends leaving them because they were drunk losers, and somehow this resonated deeply with me) would be playing at Arizona's 100th birthday party.<br />
<br />
Anyone else in for the Gin Blossoms?<br />
Do you think Puss in Boots had the pipes for Andrew Lloyd Webber?<br />
Do your kids bite their toenails, too?<br />
What do you get at Pita Jungle?<br />
<br />
<br />
Happy early Arizona Statehood Day!<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
KellyBeeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-24262079069023901832012-01-26T10:55:00.002-07:002012-01-26T11:02:08.475-07:00I'm only mostly deadWhich means, of course, that I am still a little bit alive.<br />
So do not go through my clothes, looking for loose change.<br />
<br />
See, you haven't heard from me, but I've been busy, battling the influenza. For nearly two weeks. Whatever I had in my life before and called the flu, wasn't this. This was no getting out of bed for 11 days, with a chaser of sinus and ear infection, and something I can only describe as adult onset asthma. In my spare time, I've been doing a little light reading on the Spanish flu of 1918. (Because I really like disease histories, especially if I am stricken with the disease.) More than half of the millions and millions who died between 1918-1920 from the flu, probably died from pneumonia and other secondary infections that could have been cured by antibiotics. <br />
<br />
I love antibiotics. Even more than contact lenses. And that is saying a lot.<br />
<br />
Sadly, my dreams of Olympic gold in London this summer have been shattered (cuz now I'm on the 'roids.) But I love the steroids, too. Because I really enjoy breathing.<br />
<br />
The highlight of the last two weeks? Sunday nights in bed with Downton Abbey, on Percocet left over from Joey's birth, plus three Advil. I could escape the body aches for a few hours, even though I was worried I would become a drug fiend (I didn't).<br />
<br />
Another casualty of the flu: my favorite bra. I neglect her for a couple weeks, and she disappears. So now I have to wear the ones that ride up my back, or have the too-stretchy straps.<br />
<br />
And as for flu shots: I am now a zealous convert. Jake got his, slept next to my hacking, feverish, infected self and is still perfectly well. I only hated him a little bit. Mostly I loved him, cuz he kept doing the dishes and taking care of the children I was neglecting.<br />
<br />
Also, in the midst of my pain, my eldest child turned 13. Which makes me an anciently old woman. Luckily, he is pretty much the best kid ever. One consolation for getting old is that you get to see your kids turn into really cool people that you want to hang out with and take to Benihana. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QqsrdIVoCBUtwBTzJWNSpxGGwCedAev90-2Zb1SjsgJjnyt-tCy84CMaXeFkHTEmLJNFH9p7OZXdqVCt5L-CoX3UjRMrdn4JylrjowhY7_VUZFFlrYwpJ6HhmVopTFGZpcsF/s1600/Dcp00827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QqsrdIVoCBUtwBTzJWNSpxGGwCedAev90-2Zb1SjsgJjnyt-tCy84CMaXeFkHTEmLJNFH9p7OZXdqVCt5L-CoX3UjRMrdn4JylrjowhY7_VUZFFlrYwpJ6HhmVopTFGZpcsF/s400/Dcp00827.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69-9ZHssSCduxFqJPNice27Jh6N6yXCSk0wFAGArp_q61ylBqXKvP4EB4Mf3-4u7JOE-iVVp_ZE4k7ABM16fKg1BcQtdM0zxCMMP4EFpMr4b9ScLF7zauOt_rJz8LutZhcjxB/s1600/IMG_2053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69-9ZHssSCduxFqJPNice27Jh6N6yXCSk0wFAGArp_q61ylBqXKvP4EB4Mf3-4u7JOE-iVVp_ZE4k7ABM16fKg1BcQtdM0zxCMMP4EFpMr4b9ScLF7zauOt_rJz8LutZhcjxB/s640/IMG_2053.jpg" width="478" /></a></div>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-64451097676395905682012-01-06T13:11:00.006-07:002012-01-06T14:09:04.306-07:00I forgot school started. Plus, photos of Pompeii and Venice, to cheer me up.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0cnQWGc6D4eSZvW-uUbOE38Ma4rEXOLm765CJ2EcpOxqGPOJy97RK1JiSeG4ByHf7eFNMeLr-NJ7A1CFH6GBpFNFxc9QTmkmMGAEydNxfrtQkPfq_0uAd9a5Pc6Q2ndjiqp9k/s400/IMG_0856.jpg" width="298" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I was thinking about starting my diet on Tuesday, but then I got a call from the big kids' school. They wanted to know why Ross and Jane weren't there in class, with the rest of the children. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That's real, folks. I'm not making it up. We forgot to come back from Christmas break.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They were only like 3.5 hours late. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Both of them were mildly ill.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Jane might have cried all the way there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was moderately stressful.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On the way home, I took the three remaining kids to Sam's Club, where I forgot to remember the diet I was supposed to be starting, I had a hot dog with mustard, onions, relish, and kraut. And some of Tommy's blue Icee. And a soft pretzel. I felt better.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So anyway, all this made me remember that I'm not very good at remembering things. And that I've gained 10 pounds since the above photo was taken 3 months ago. In Pompeii.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So now I'm thinking how it would be nice to be skinny(er) and in Italy again. I think I shall relive those heady days, while I eat some of Jake's leftover birthday cake. You should come along. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs2zxBRJodyV96BBZ_asPJHeI7SnEFq0TLPZ-EEtchnM7H6njIoihd9BOnPWBDQTVBdplGSO21_qPW4_4C8nRdZJKP0IfRsxtNoHIq5_taP2-tD0hQjW6CLa83FPedL8562szu/s1600/IMG_2166.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs2zxBRJodyV96BBZ_asPJHeI7SnEFq0TLPZ-EEtchnM7H6njIoihd9BOnPWBDQTVBdplGSO21_qPW4_4C8nRdZJKP0IfRsxtNoHIq5_taP2-tD0hQjW6CLa83FPedL8562szu/s400/IMG_2166.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jake at the bakery. They didn't have any doughnuts.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, Pompeii was really fantastic. Before we left, I spent days researching how we should get there and how long to stay. It would have been better to stay in Sorrento and spend a few nights checking out ruins and the Amalfi coast. But we didn't have the time. So I easily spent thrice as long researching as I actually spent visiting Pompeii. Because it seemed like a day trip that could go terribly wrong.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We took the Eurostar train from Rome to Naples. It is more expensive, but faster, and more comfortable. Then, at the Naples train station, we got a taxi who would take us to Pompeii, wait for a few hours, then bring us back to Naples. (If you want to go cheaper, go downstairs in the station and take the Circumvesuviana train to Pompeii. It costs like 3 euros each way, stops approximately 30 times, and you'll likely lose your wallet, but Jen says it's no worse than the NYC subway. Except that there are entertainers on board who play toy keyboards horribly, right in your ear, and won't stop until you pay them to leave. So you'll need to allow room for that in your budget.) (Jason has never been on the subway, and he was mildly traumatized.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtCA3LrCE4_3aZMPJ3QOwOxRn9nhEJca4Ytg0fbXo5cmffhFJ4-U3Jyrm5KR_e47hcvdYbcys1MVJYJik9fI7pAlNFVtMoDksXp4_sXxzc_ToYkXR4MXSWQRBl2f8jSfLCxaq/s1600/IMG_2172.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtCA3LrCE4_3aZMPJ3QOwOxRn9nhEJca4Ytg0fbXo5cmffhFJ4-U3Jyrm5KR_e47hcvdYbcys1MVJYJik9fI7pAlNFVtMoDksXp4_sXxzc_ToYkXR4MXSWQRBl2f8jSfLCxaq/s400/IMG_2172.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Dad</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Inside Pompeii, we just used the free Rick Steves audio guide we'd downloaded at home, and bought a cool book inside the bookstore with info and plastic overlays to tell us about each house. It was like 12 euro, and we gave it to the kids when we got home, after I removed the kama sutra-style brothel art frescoes. Plus a couple others. Pompeiians had a funny idea of what made good family room art. (I tucked all my censorious bits (and by bits I mean oversized phalluses) under Jake's pillow, to creep him out.) I think what we did would be fine for 98% of all tourists. But my Dad says he wishes we'd had our own guide and stayed longer than two hours. Maybe next time. I was happy with our taxi chauffeur. He was the nicest driver we had in Italy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Back in Naples, we had him drop us off at the famous Da Michele pizzeria. It is supposed to be the best in Naples, which is the best in Italy. I'd read about it in Rick Steves and <i>Eat, Pray, Love</i>. Apparently everyone else had heard about it, too: There were more than 100 people in line. We went across the street to Pizzeria Trianon. It was delicious. Maybe my favorite meal we had in Italy. The sauce was unbelievable. The crust was unbelievable. The line was unbelievable: there wasn't any.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After lunch, we headed to the Archeological Museum. All the best art and artifacts they dug out of Pompeii and Herculaneum in the 1800s was brought here by the Naples' king. And now they reside in the museum that time forgot. It is amazing how these priceless items are just open to the elements (there were windows open and it was raining outside), how the displays have faded typewritten cards and dust inside them. I guess in a country full of treasures, there just isn't enough money to go around. But dust bunnies and all, you can't get a real feel for how life looked in Pompeii, without seeing these incredible mosaics, frescoes, metal and glassware.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">From there we headed back to the train station and hopped a Eurostar back to Termini in Rome. Our taxi driver apologized for all the traffic; <i>but</i>, he told us, <i>there have been many manifestations today</i>. (We think he meant government protesters, and not angelic visitors, but who knows?)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>The next morning we hopped the train for Venice. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWS3Q2kfdw7O3bnzidNoDBM70ePc_-w9DDa_QLi8rLLAhcpLCz430jTEWukM5LBLsqAEFlOdOJ321H0HLSgmVfYVIJjTZ6fGMpkCTXojTh_1Rwi-JgnUuGWekXCACJjV580iqo/s1600/6284924347_b646c7116e_o-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWS3Q2kfdw7O3bnzidNoDBM70ePc_-w9DDa_QLi8rLLAhcpLCz430jTEWukM5LBLsqAEFlOdOJ321H0HLSgmVfYVIJjTZ6fGMpkCTXojTh_1Rwi-JgnUuGWekXCACJjV580iqo/s400/6284924347_b646c7116e_o-1.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCIeJKFlyD5KAFCyr6KWOn4B4Bk3mDuTpEQ7qBUEumpcrMIojc_lhLXdvh5DGRL7FMxx76lH2iQiQJOB63XH_a2Fre2ohVjhgnl-UdhzSBt9FpjAwcvNPZuXS5VtuxeK_L2Tg/s1600/6285447720_fcef1d55a3_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCIeJKFlyD5KAFCyr6KWOn4B4Bk3mDuTpEQ7qBUEumpcrMIojc_lhLXdvh5DGRL7FMxx76lH2iQiQJOB63XH_a2Fre2ohVjhgnl-UdhzSBt9FpjAwcvNPZuXS5VtuxeK_L2Tg/s400/6285447720_fcef1d55a3_o.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
That's me and my backpack and Jake getting our first glimpse of Venice. We got on a vaporetto bound for St. Mark's Square, where our hotel had a free water shuttle out to the Isola di San Clemente.<br />
<br />
The hotel was gorgeous, the service wanting. It was fab if you don't want them to feed you at 3:00 p.m., which they will not, under any circumstances, do. It doesn't matter how hungry you are. Although the concierge was nice. I didn't mind staying outside town a little, either. The boat ride to and from the island was relaxing and made me feel like a fancy-lady. I'd recommend San Clemente Palace Hotel, if you can get as great a deal as we did (off season). It doesn't say this anywhere in the literature, but the hotel was an insane asylum for hundreds of years, and became this HUGE fancy resort hotel only recently. So that's mildly creepy. But if, like me, you don't watch horror movies, you'll be okay.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSHkSXiwtobJk0D672hK4OKvpRarZra5je-7rQgdJ8CLqqc6EvRGoARHXWsGzmkH3bgFuu-Pgr1Sv7L8zEYrEguSi-VHubXlTSat_Ov2ckuJGiAnG7lUSSDOWTqZmaWkfbCYm/s1600/saclemente7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrSHkSXiwtobJk0D672hK4OKvpRarZra5je-7rQgdJ8CLqqc6EvRGoARHXWsGzmkH3bgFuu-Pgr1Sv7L8zEYrEguSi-VHubXlTSat_Ov2ckuJGiAnG7lUSSDOWTqZmaWkfbCYm/s400/saclemente7" width="400" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRg0cJ7ueE4umCDewEhZn-AHvldWRJhThdgPbeZoH_ODqIlUBDrsO1OcAPdRjFi_XpJqD9IhTBvD3nb3yT7XSilOyha59zH4mVssBXWx-B3IKNe2AfK1OccawL5Pd84Y3uWxPc/s1600/sanclemente3" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRg0cJ7ueE4umCDewEhZn-AHvldWRJhThdgPbeZoH_ODqIlUBDrsO1OcAPdRjFi_XpJqD9IhTBvD3nb3yT7XSilOyha59zH4mVssBXWx-B3IKNe2AfK1OccawL5Pd84Y3uWxPc/s400/sanclemente3" width="400" /></a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-LSZ-WJ7yrhjZqPKks5_N8_bKakHJ4LXVDLtShxPd6-8F2fgjYZqt6JTiI6lL5ELNJw1cIemEZ7KK4VvuRNwNSLuoNdC-lLYOAOzz_3ktNLRHokHYW_M8VlxTrvsA-14YINj/s1600/IMG_0893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-LSZ-WJ7yrhjZqPKks5_N8_bKakHJ4LXVDLtShxPd6-8F2fgjYZqt6JTiI6lL5ELNJw1cIemEZ7KK4VvuRNwNSLuoNdC-lLYOAOzz_3ktNLRHokHYW_M8VlxTrvsA-14YINj/s400/IMG_0893.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doge's Palace</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1W5Ya_43MvQbpah8mxE1AOB0vREKNPVqpgqzuaSL6LTroUGfGM8e7ZLphy5n7WaBuR2rFjoIZNWIuQWcNliBHYB4aTHhEq18zMR2GGnphN10uSC0PfoUSL3nRAL_KXYbrLoO9/s1600/IMG_0886.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1W5Ya_43MvQbpah8mxE1AOB0vREKNPVqpgqzuaSL6LTroUGfGM8e7ZLphy5n7WaBuR2rFjoIZNWIuQWcNliBHYB4aTHhEq18zMR2GGnphN10uSC0PfoUSL3nRAL_KXYbrLoO9/s400/IMG_0886.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Mark's Cathedral. Jake and I never got inside. We slept in. Turns out, insane asylums are very restful and quiet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEize1HuIUtBPTfSH7O44KH6cwnKl_0WbUKiWM7eQp3HChc0rHNO8ESFnWLMflKVIKOyiWsv5AN2AHuagDGOGdzYB0MAlu02DVlq7wn4JDbVwolyiOqp1-lmO5WKsLfJSn3Mv_er/s1600/IMG_0935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEize1HuIUtBPTfSH7O44KH6cwnKl_0WbUKiWM7eQp3HChc0rHNO8ESFnWLMflKVIKOyiWsv5AN2AHuagDGOGdzYB0MAlu02DVlq7wn4JDbVwolyiOqp1-lmO5WKsLfJSn3Mv_er/s400/IMG_0935.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On a water taxi, headed to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ca%27_Rezzonico">Ca' Rezzonico</a>, a grand canal palazzo turned museum of 18th century Venice</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJuo8-CurLheQWqho7Os1eZ_hkBw5KatB-lIZ8xL8pSBIJKJF-9FYLfpqJG3Y6eklGVPmMgotDw7Xxr3AYLmdYjmceQnfMj9E2-S3DEJV0B0G4GIejo1MNzRCVrl_2mykMzp-/s1600/6285453662_0b8d302955_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJuo8-CurLheQWqho7Os1eZ_hkBw5KatB-lIZ8xL8pSBIJKJF-9FYLfpqJG3Y6eklGVPmMgotDw7Xxr3AYLmdYjmceQnfMj9E2-S3DEJV0B0G4GIejo1MNzRCVrl_2mykMzp-/s400/6285453662_0b8d302955_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMYvu2aWRQApQjqVnXJHrEULrty8PBfHP4tGWqII8CTjnJkHsERidQBjalRaE-nGuglZoKMkOkzghhZaZwVwqF291lneLohsyBa6JvimcdCfrYMEMrjgPVPwtAipAREVHIow8/s1600/IMG_0889.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMYvu2aWRQApQjqVnXJHrEULrty8PBfHP4tGWqII8CTjnJkHsERidQBjalRaE-nGuglZoKMkOkzghhZaZwVwqF291lneLohsyBa6JvimcdCfrYMEMrjgPVPwtAipAREVHIow8/s400/IMG_0889.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See the table I'm parked on? They make those into a walkway, so tourists don't have to wade through a water-logged St. Mark's square during high tide.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVsdPXPATSsDIrmLargAwkvvYXSyy9qCI4HwGi7Jql-Uzkuw9LSEd9bUw_lH2t_1pXnE6lGFGaSGo4xQQmhDg7bj_El8YZESQZFBMD09Kc5Ss35g8ONURUh_48iko1O-bHtLgX/s1600/6285137647_e2dfcbb4ab_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVsdPXPATSsDIrmLargAwkvvYXSyy9qCI4HwGi7Jql-Uzkuw9LSEd9bUw_lH2t_1pXnE6lGFGaSGo4xQQmhDg7bj_El8YZESQZFBMD09Kc5Ss35g8ONURUh_48iko1O-bHtLgX/s400/6285137647_e2dfcbb4ab_o.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVsdPXPATSsDIrmLargAwkvvYXSyy9qCI4HwGi7Jql-Uzkuw9LSEd9bUw_lH2t_1pXnE6lGFGaSGo4xQQmhDg7bj_El8YZESQZFBMD09Kc5Ss35g8ONURUh_48iko1O-bHtLgX/s1600/6285137647_e2dfcbb4ab_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpL0SIaGjLMaFEhRyoAdoZ6aV-3tw3NPrCQlP03YSwK0mj6giJ0ev5OsCG47QpsICk-uPMR5PD2vS6c2h2wKc0zxaxU0ltCA9Q_DfZo3v3Gv3VkdZyHYY_-PhflxcuI9-yQjf/s1600/IMG_2177.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbpL0SIaGjLMaFEhRyoAdoZ6aV-3tw3NPrCQlP03YSwK0mj6giJ0ev5OsCG47QpsICk-uPMR5PD2vS6c2h2wKc0zxaxU0ltCA9Q_DfZo3v3Gv3VkdZyHYY_-PhflxcuI9-yQjf/s400/IMG_2177.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAX8UR5-wI56Lo7Eyn4ssNHZokkS3OjtCcmCUosI893yPWj3ifIxI-7PbPOBEJknVUUi1vGrP7yYI0fqw4IdpAGybj0W-yup8rgQ_S-IgzTmGHvfurZt0dAjDH-EOlK4hTaNN4/s1600/IMG_2179.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAX8UR5-wI56Lo7Eyn4ssNHZokkS3OjtCcmCUosI893yPWj3ifIxI-7PbPOBEJknVUUi1vGrP7yYI0fqw4IdpAGybj0W-yup8rgQ_S-IgzTmGHvfurZt0dAjDH-EOlK4hTaNN4/s400/IMG_2179.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picnicking. Salami, cheese, fresh basil and oregano, and fluffy bread. Focaccia, maybe?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqmqxT5pTGa6OXTUUCD7VrhwKgSg5yoHzNIyTrd7p4xFJoKIaKMKXhFk70g2k3jaQMKwaN2Retk7OETl3bjTrdFKL-fA9cAbkK6aD26MC9kIhEOq67Zite9LXm28HHAq-CxXa/s1600/IMG_2202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqmqxT5pTGa6OXTUUCD7VrhwKgSg5yoHzNIyTrd7p4xFJoKIaKMKXhFk70g2k3jaQMKwaN2Retk7OETl3bjTrdFKL-fA9cAbkK6aD26MC9kIhEOq67Zite9LXm28HHAq-CxXa/s400/IMG_2202.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the best gelato place in Venice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAavyNoHGEXGMBFELtct1E6YTRo9Y5v1gwAhL_juIyZMZ4qdfcYz2B-4C8de-LCww30cnlDdfXW8aK9Tiz4YyjGFBJHLn-clqeQhWeOoVBtgD59hRXe5hnRs-I8TYlLaHGPHYw/s1600/6285138715_049ccf03cb_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAavyNoHGEXGMBFELtct1E6YTRo9Y5v1gwAhL_juIyZMZ4qdfcYz2B-4C8de-LCww30cnlDdfXW8aK9Tiz4YyjGFBJHLn-clqeQhWeOoVBtgD59hRXe5hnRs-I8TYlLaHGPHYw/s400/6285138715_049ccf03cb_o.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeN6mjMvZrGpfK5nisx_OCcsiwmkHOCI5IyrfNUWh4dhRccxSgijMlSHu1Agj8sQHe64qOe5gZ3APD-tQ1J_gSwMzLwiFXers5jQ_xmEtvYC5_nqraVbmViwqNiLOqF3o6yuAk/s1600/6285470874_68a735f3c5_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeN6mjMvZrGpfK5nisx_OCcsiwmkHOCI5IyrfNUWh4dhRccxSgijMlSHu1Agj8sQHe64qOe5gZ3APD-tQ1J_gSwMzLwiFXers5jQ_xmEtvYC5_nqraVbmViwqNiLOqF3o6yuAk/s400/6285470874_68a735f3c5_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyxOQMGfldPnUiMPf1sgMEA477oRvi-xmB5iHc-TnOckcWyizT4CXV6S4qjUkdEGQ0TT0CeoT45Ewin_PXRU_GldJLhyY_rplHJcmTtZIEOrUPl_hl4Io9YYdJgwvBtMxMgRx/s1600/6285675690_3eedb7a224_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGKFR29OV5VwZkp8azEgTRxs1IZ6v9ChkPys9d1vyJXc0C6kHvpCAMJbBhUI91JZ3pgYnrkBGipPxCYghdtPQeUAd8vWmk2171MPM1iiVt6jgR__s7kGFbQ7oS2lC09a-WFB6/s1600/IMG_2220.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGKFR29OV5VwZkp8azEgTRxs1IZ6v9ChkPys9d1vyJXc0C6kHvpCAMJbBhUI91JZ3pgYnrkBGipPxCYghdtPQeUAd8vWmk2171MPM1iiVt6jgR__s7kGFbQ7oS2lC09a-WFB6/s400/IMG_2220.PNG" width="266" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyxOQMGfldPnUiMPf1sgMEA477oRvi-xmB5iHc-TnOckcWyizT4CXV6S4qjUkdEGQ0TT0CeoT45Ewin_PXRU_GldJLhyY_rplHJcmTtZIEOrUPl_hl4Io9YYdJgwvBtMxMgRx/s1600/6285675690_3eedb7a224_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyxOQMGfldPnUiMPf1sgMEA477oRvi-xmB5iHc-TnOckcWyizT4CXV6S4qjUkdEGQ0TT0CeoT45Ewin_PXRU_GldJLhyY_rplHJcmTtZIEOrUPl_hl4Io9YYdJgwvBtMxMgRx/s400/6285675690_3eedb7a224_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See the top floor? Synagogue.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We spent an afternoon in the Jewish ghetto (world's first ghetto. Or maybe first place in the world to be called a ghetto). Took a fascinating tour of 4 synagogues. You should go, because it looks like they will fall down at any moment. Boys: they've got lender kippot (yarmulkes) if you don't bring your own.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLS7kRF9xqmiXZ9yls_wpNgujzFaAmY3SG8srH7z-3ChqyerCewRvv2LQ75XAMLVaa6xB3YZ4MIUbtL1v54Ppwt-NBxb7WVjEUww-Ai0YdMUEWyDjSoyBjxs97MdGzXetGyYX/s1600/IMG_2204.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLS7kRF9xqmiXZ9yls_wpNgujzFaAmY3SG8srH7z-3ChqyerCewRvv2LQ75XAMLVaa6xB3YZ4MIUbtL1v54Ppwt-NBxb7WVjEUww-Ai0YdMUEWyDjSoyBjxs97MdGzXetGyYX/s400/IMG_2204.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNbe_MxGjPa8afmilJfA_8O3wiUlcF4_2LIcQE4K40H_TrtYr2EXMeVWKrR242U0EHdL1oxuIzz4_gyFtp04ymS0_h3VR3TSnrTB4ESOtoo0zA-r3M0EbtyX0loPdZ_kN8JEl/s1600/IMG_2210.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNbe_MxGjPa8afmilJfA_8O3wiUlcF4_2LIcQE4K40H_TrtYr2EXMeVWKrR242U0EHdL1oxuIzz4_gyFtp04ymS0_h3VR3TSnrTB4ESOtoo0zA-r3M0EbtyX0loPdZ_kN8JEl/s400/IMG_2210.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ghetto had a big square, which held a big market. If you'd been here about 1500, you could have procured some nice used clothing, full of plague infested lice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijTQ-FR7e3EwlBmVzqqWuEQaf_6LWryWAeMcUF5ukKmUim8BK-jTw6RNphAjaDlD_AunTYhV8X14w0zrWIMZwrb43WRn76MkxhqwRMOjS2H97v_Ixw3yIse7cReVHbnLVyOSQ/s1600/IMG_0990.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijTQ-FR7e3EwlBmVzqqWuEQaf_6LWryWAeMcUF5ukKmUim8BK-jTw6RNphAjaDlD_AunTYhV8X14w0zrWIMZwrb43WRn76MkxhqwRMOjS2H97v_Ixw3yIse7cReVHbnLVyOSQ/s400/IMG_0990.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rialto bridge, on Jake's way out of town. Only like two boats, eight trains, a stroll with a kind and helpful housekeeper on mainland Venice, a wild west-style overnight train with a layover with some petty thieves in Bologna (that's pronounced Baloney, I'm pretty sure), some new Turkish lady friends to protect, two buses, a taxi, two airplanes and 30 hours later, he was home in the warm (100 degrees in October) bosom of Gilbert. And I was in Florence.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Did your kids start school?<br />
Did you forget to take them?<br />
Did you try to start a diet?<br />
Is it working?<br />
Do you have another resolution?<br />
I might need some alternative ideasBeeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-18380014892830126542012-01-01T00:01:00.002-07:002012-01-01T00:18:07.933-07:00New Year's Eve: blogging live from my bed4:00 This afternoon. Payson Wal-mart with Jake, Joey and Tom to buy junk food and weenie baby pajamas covered in puffy squirrels and monster trucks, since we forgot the bag with all of Joe's clothes at home. I count 11 men with beards 1 foot or longer, 7 of them carrying cases of beer.<br />
<br />
5:00 feast begins. Includes chips (both potato and corn), four different sorts of dips, little smokies in BBQ sauce, tiny bagel pizzas and baby quiches (from boxes), fizzy grape juice (red kind), blood orange pop, and bananas for the baby. Who is not really a baby, at 21 months and abnormally large at that, but shhhhhhh. Let's not not speak of it. Is a holiday.<br />
<br />
6:00 cards with children. Jake won't play cuz he is reading new Tom Clancy book called Locked On. Try to teach them gin, but sam is trying to multitask. He is kicked out of the game for making duct tape wallets and forgetting rules and his turn. Jane gets frustrated and crabby, and quits soon after. Ross stays on and even lets me try to shoot the moon (we'd moved on to hearts. We always do).<br />
<br />
7:00 Joey puts the year to bed early. Jake goes back to Wal-mart to get 9-volt batteries so the smoke alarm won't harass us all the night long. He returns and climbs giant ladder onto dangerous ledge 15 feet in air to replace battery. Changes light bulb while at it.<br />
<br />
8:00 children begin to complain of unwell bellies. Tommy writhes around on my bed in his new striped underpants until I get him a bowl to carry around. Apparently they cannot handle their junk food.<br />
<br />
9:00 brownie sundaes. Tommy rallied and begged, but was denied. All others begged off voluntarily. Some of them made ramen. Gross.<br />
<br />
10:00 tub. With jojoba bath salts and my iPad in a gallon sized ziploc. Re-reading Before Ever After to see if it's appropriate for book club. Can't remember if I skipped over something super-yuck the first time around. It's such an interesting combination of fascinating and not-so-well written. Sort of sucked me in like Twilight (I'm not proud of it, but there it is) but more interesting plot and not as much sexual tension.<br />
<br />
11:00 salted caramel hot chocolate. I'm not hungry but I must push through. Coldplay Austin City Limits New Year's show on PBS. It is so good. I love it so much. And all the people in the audience are old and two of the ladies have my same polka-spotted Kate Spade iPhone cover and they are recording Chris Martin while he sings The Scientist. And between the geriatrics and the PBS and how they keep showing Downton Abbey previews, I think I must be old too, and boy do they have my number, those public TV gurus. And I also remember seeing Ke$ha (or however you spell it) on the Ryan Seacrast show last year, and being horrified in the manner of an elderly grandmother, actually saying something like "is this REALLY what the kids are listenng to these days?"<br />
<br />
Tickets for Coldplay's Hollywood Bowl shows go on sale next Wednesday. Anybody else coming?<br />
<br />
11:35 Jake informs me that South Carlsbad state beach now has free wifi. Who thought they could make San Diego even better? Now they are just showing off.<br />
<br />
11:47 us Against the world. Best song on new album.<br />
<br />
11:52 okay so now it's time to go get the traditional fizzy white grape juice in the ceramic mugs and welcome a new year. Jake doesn't want to go cuz he's looking at campsites on the beach with the wifi, but I told him he'd better get some cocktails and get back in and kiss me quick.<br />
<br />
Jake is currently wearing his "California: you can't afford it" t-shirt, which I find humorous.<br />
<br />
11:55 almost there. <br />
<br />
Sayonara, 2011.<br />
Aloha, 2012. <br />
<br />
12:00 Happy New Year, everybody.<br />
Goodnight from under the duvet.Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-51460287908720677542011-12-14T10:25:00.004-07:002011-12-14T10:44:18.197-07:00Hello there friend,<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hi. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">How are you? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'll bet you are busy. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Have you finished your shopping?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Me? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nah, I'm in big trouble over here. And now it's too late to shop online, so I'm going to have to go into a real store.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">The rain? No, I love it. Keep it coming. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yeah. I think Joey's got a sinus infection. We are going to the doctor this afternoon. We will probably pick up something new and frightful while we are there. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">What? Don't judge me for not taking him yesterday. I was at Anthropologie with my Mom and Sister. It was cold and wet. It felt a little like we were in New York. But then, we didn't go to Bendel's afterward, or get tea at the Four Seasons. But we did make Mom sit in the backseat with the shopping bags, like we were in a cab. So that was nice.</span> </div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh yeah? You saw me over on</span><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://acadiawest.typepad.com/little_happy/2011/12/thanksgiving-2011-as-seen-through-the-iphone.html">Kari's blog</a></span>? And our pies? We had a pumpkin pie throwdown and Kari won, because her's wasn't a fiasco. They both tasted good, though. I just need to roll my crust thicker, and remember that I cannot fill the food processor with hot liquids and turn it on high.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Well, </span><span style="font-size: small;">I wish I could take you to the QT and buy you hot chocolate today. Because you are a kind, attractive, talented and smart lady. We would fill our cups halfway with cocoa, leaving lots of room for whipped cream. I would get three shots of hazelnut. You'd take yours with a little powdered creamer. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">But sadly, I can't. </span><span style="font-size: small;">I need to go bathe my baby, because he smells like boogers.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I hope you have a really nice day, though.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">You deserve it.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Love,</span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Kelly</span>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-69379993644747752632011-12-07T11:02:00.005-07:002011-12-07T11:30:04.267-07:00Basis SchoolsSo I took a gander at my blog stats the other day, and I noticed that many people came here looking for Basis Chandler. This might be because in <a href="http://diversifiedbeeson.blogspot.com/2010/12/basis-chandler.html">that post</a>, I actually had information to share, and put important, googlable words in the post title, instead of my usual inside jokes with myself, and my whiny nonsensical wanderings, talking about tasty food and the resulting tight trousers. I'm not planning to change anything. I have a responsibility to my loyal readership (in the double digits daily, thank you all for coming!) to stay true to my self-involved self.<br />
<br />
But still, sometimes I could say something. I'm sure you won't mind.<br />
<br />
I read <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/c-m-rubin/the-global-search-for-edu_21_b_1128004.html?ref=education-reform">this article about Basis Schools</a> </span>published online yesterday. In it, <i>Global Search for Education</i> blogger C.M. Rubin interviews Basis founder Michael Block.<br />
<br />
Two of my kids started attending Basis Chandler in August. I knew it was opening, and that the other Basis schools have long waiting lists, so I thought, if we want to try it, here's our shot. I talked to the kids, read them some articles, told them there would be homework and stiff competition. Jane was in at lockers for 5th graders. Ross was worried it would cut into his Mythbusters and SuperScribblenauts time.<br />
<br />
So here we are, 4 months along.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>What do we like?</b></span><br />
<br />
You know, this is surprising, but the thing I am most impressed with is that Basis has given my kids responsibility for their own education, and my kids have taken it! With so many classes and teachers, I knew I wouldn't be able to remind them to take their math homework to school, study for the big test, or bug them about the paper due on Monday. I can look in their planners (required to be detailed and up-to-date, and checked at school) to see what is going on, but the kids are in charge. They are still learning to organize themselves and their time, but I am amazed at how well they are doing. <br />
<br />
I like that they have awards assemblies at each grading period, giving awards to kids with average grades above 90%, another award to kids in the top 15% of their classes, and another award to the top 5% of the class. In the first grading period, Ross and Jane both got star balloons for being in the '90s club', and in the second, Ross barely made the cut off for the top 15% with an average of 96% (competition is stiff!), but Jane let her Latin grade slip, so she came home balloonless and bereft this time. (She is a smart girl, I'm not worried).<br />
<br />
I like that my fair-skinned children are a minority. I grew up attending magnet schools in Los Angeles, and I think making friends from different cultures is a great education in itself.<br />
<br />
I like that the teachers are hired based on subject expertise, and not on whether they have teaching credentials. (I spent 2 years in elementary education classes, and I sort of think that teaching teachers to teach is a waste of time.) Ross' physics teacher was an engineer at Intel for 20 years. <br />
<br />
I like the curriculum. These people are not messing around with the math and science. For example, Ross is taking chemistry, biology and physics, plus pre-algebra, English, history, rhetoric, art, and his favorite class (although he talks too much and ends up washing desks after school), Spanish. Jane takes two years of Latin before she chooses her language in 7th grade (Spanish, French, or Mandarin).<br />
<br />
I like the amount of homework. Both kids average less than an hour a day, and they do it without being prompted by me. I find this flabbergasting. And wonderful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>What don't we like?</b></span><br />
<br />
I don't like that school is twenty minutes away. I get lots of help with driving (thanks Jake and April!), but twice a day is about all we can do, so the kids haven't really been able to join any after school activities yet. Ross was interested in fencing and ping pong, Jane in musical theater. Maybe if we can find two clubs on the same day? <br />
<br />
I don't like that they don't go to school with the neighborhood and Church kids. And I know our neighborhood schools are good, so it makes me wonder if I'm nuts to be driving so far. Our neighborhood high school is one of the best in the state. I figure, at that point they are welcome switch if they want! But in the meantime, Jane's best school friend lives in Ahwatukee, which makes getting together outside school a rough business.<br />
<br />
I don't like that they don't have Seminary. They will have to attend an A hour program at a different school, but there are very few LDS kids at Basis, so I suppose it makes sense.<br />
<br />
Mostly, though, I'm thrilled with Basis so far.<br />
<br />
Now, if only they would build one on my block!Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-79638395927990423902011-12-05T15:17:00.010-07:002011-12-05T17:27:26.184-07:00Going to my happy place: a post about gelato<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEins5D7wbqZUNKSqV1ocQda9o2kSyb_bNGtExb9MqNejvX1ZhdTXB83BaMCX95xhYTk37jP5h0cCDKpbPZ7k7GL-zigDlwMlDxJmZ6hK6_k1Elxngw6rchrTTDvrJV_eTo2sk_x/s1600/IMG_0967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEins5D7wbqZUNKSqV1ocQda9o2kSyb_bNGtExb9MqNejvX1ZhdTXB83BaMCX95xhYTk37jP5h0cCDKpbPZ7k7GL-zigDlwMlDxJmZ6hK6_k1Elxngw6rchrTTDvrJV_eTo2sk_x/s400/IMG_0967.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><br />
Reasons one might need to go to her happy place:<br />
<br />
1. She is getting a pap smear<br />
2. Her kids are being super horrible, and she needs something to do while she locks herself in the bathroom and hides from them, but she has forgotten her iPad.<br />
3. She has been dilated 9.5 centimeters for like 45 minutes and she forgot to get an epidural.<br />
4. Sacrament meeting has run too long. <br />
<br />
My happy place used to be a cabana chair on the beach at the Ritz Cancun, a book in one hand, a Coca Lite in the other, and nice waiters bringing me $20 bowls of guacamole all the day long. (That's where I was during the aforementioned natural labor*). <br />
<br />
But now I've got a new happy place. And thanks to Jake, and his surreptitious photo-taking, I can share it with you:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUFBAlMBA3Or4RQ5RigchqZ88TkfCsL_3wunoy3aISH_VgOALqO0Sx0sc8g_MVW33FHwnLWRrIxYnzP664jTIZ6L5RsBBmuG1ItiI_7TEfjcSMrxqocCDLN5zia944p7iGLRy/s1600/IMG_0969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUFBAlMBA3Or4RQ5RigchqZ88TkfCsL_3wunoy3aISH_VgOALqO0Sx0sc8g_MVW33FHwnLWRrIxYnzP664jTIZ6L5RsBBmuG1ItiI_7TEfjcSMrxqocCDLN5zia944p7iGLRy/s400/IMG_0969.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>An intimate moment in Venice between me and my panna cotta gelato.<br />
<br />
I don't know exactly what panna cotta gelato is, but it includes caramel, and Venice knows how to do it right. Orvieto doesn't.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqp7uv99zL5fKWOLmPUnNnGU5zEA3rwh_Dvq8XeM183MMVW29NQYr9pGV1Fxtglm9SXb62oMo-JaDOb4CnSIqb-ROB0zL2_a31JlLR5ENQgFU-X1KTe_FKYPGKW7FFAvPW-W-/s1600/IMG_0973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqp7uv99zL5fKWOLmPUnNnGU5zEA3rwh_Dvq8XeM183MMVW29NQYr9pGV1Fxtglm9SXb62oMo-JaDOb4CnSIqb-ROB0zL2_a31JlLR5ENQgFU-X1KTe_FKYPGKW7FFAvPW-W-/s400/IMG_0973.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The deliciousness of Italian gelato cannot be overstated. It is so good, we ate it three times a day. At least.<br />
<br />
We got the best gelato in Venice at <span style="font-size: large;">La Boutique del Gelato</span> (next to the Hotel Bruno, and somewhere in the maze between St. Mark's Square and the Rialto Bridge). I mean, I can't be certain it was the best in Venice, because we only tried like 15 others. (There is an unconfirmed rumor that Jen may have had 9 scoops of gelato, from three different vendors, plus some hot chocolate, all in one 40 minutes period. The stuff of legends). But best or not, it was remarkably good. It was rough, because maps and GPS were almost useless in Venice, and our legs grew very tired, but we managed to find it three different times. I'd recommend the coconut, the pistachio, and a double scoop of nocciola (hazelnut) with chocolate. The best was the grapefruit sorbet. I can't explain to you why it was the best. But it was so good I might have cried a little.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6paeU6BLuSWlAOy2ABH7Rkox7AsY0u8qHaeZ62a15iwemS0ZjsArEhgM2S6SznvntwBXSsuXtAykFVneYG41oCMl1qBfLRQoZoYU3S5SJYw8b0KcX22nzWVxphG8K8Af81Zcw/s1600/IMG_0975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6paeU6BLuSWlAOy2ABH7Rkox7AsY0u8qHaeZ62a15iwemS0ZjsArEhgM2S6SznvntwBXSsuXtAykFVneYG41oCMl1qBfLRQoZoYU3S5SJYw8b0KcX22nzWVxphG8K8Af81Zcw/s400/IMG_0975.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Honorable mention in the sorbet competition goes to the strawberry at <span style="font-size: large;">Gelateria Carroze</span>, in Florence, right on the Arno, between the Ponte Vecchio and the Uffizi. You probly won't hate the coconut, either.<br />
<br />
And the Tartufo gelato at <span style="font-size: large;">Tre Scalini</span> in Rome's Piazza Navona was nice, too, in case you were thinking Rome's gelato can't measure up.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Where is your happy place? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Is there ice cream or guacamole there? </span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">* To clarify: I did not <i>actually</i> give birth on the cabana chair in Cancun. Was only there in my mind.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1fgZe9XtCb5eGr-IzCA6f44GEYFGOnOz0G6Ft5_KDmz7IqZSAeJeoCLhZARywyN4pPj5cMRbii3pDvdZT2NQSwmhQnzqENf4HLQJzcnjIb3qtTmqq6NbmYbCX4mDK0SZCa9v/s1600/IMG_0977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV1fgZe9XtCb5eGr-IzCA6f44GEYFGOnOz0G6Ft5_KDmz7IqZSAeJeoCLhZARywyN4pPj5cMRbii3pDvdZT2NQSwmhQnzqENf4HLQJzcnjIb3qtTmqq6NbmYbCX4mDK0SZCa9v/s400/IMG_0977.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-49123300878158723862011-11-29T10:31:00.003-07:002011-11-29T11:39:55.319-07:00I hate my big, fake Christmas tree, Sting sings country, we drink half and half, I reminisce about my cross-dressing days, and our elf is MIASo, it's that time of year again. The time when I drag my big, fake Christmas tree out, set it up, growl and yell like a toddler when half the lights don't work, then spend $50 and 5 hours buying and applying new lights over the top of the old ones. It is also the time of year when I eat pie three times a day, and when the children whine that we've run out of milk, instead of going to the store, I announce "let them drink cream!" in a nasally accent, as if I were on a balcony at Versailles, instead of under my duvet reading <i>In the Garden of Beasts</i>.<br />
<br />
Then the kids whine that all the cream is whipped, in aerosol cans, and gone, since I needed it for all the pie. So then we drink half and half. It is very tasty with Rice Krispies.<br />
<br />
I know I should just get a real tree, but that requires strapping things to cars, which is stressful, because I'm always sure whatever is bungeed on is sure to fall off in the street (I am told this is an irrational fear, sort of like my fear of swimming with fish, except that, well, stuff DOES fall off cars, and who knows what that fish is planning? He looks fishy to me) and also because a real tree means EVEN MORE lights to apply (at least in theory). So anyhow, for the past 7 years, I've used the fake one, whilst cursing it. Annually. Here I am kvetching in <a href="http://diversifiedbeeson.blogspot.com/2007/11/big-awesome-fake-tree.html">2007</a> about the horrors of 2006.<br />
<br />
But Thanksgiving was good. Our friends from Utah came bearing about 15 pounds of chocolate, and we went to a Sting concert. Who knew he had like 3 albums I'd never heard, including at least one that is entirely COUNTRY? Do you know how weird country sounds in a British accent? But he looked and sounded great, and if all the songs had been as fantastic as his acoustic<i> Message in a Bottle</i> encore, I might not have nodded off in the middle, somewhere around a song about a western movie crossed with an old Broadway musical. I think Sting is a little out of touch, just sitting over in his castle next to Stonehenge, making all sorts of love and writing songs about barley and foxes. Sometimes it works (the barley, the sex- I'll have to take his word for it), sometimes it doesn't (the foxes weren't my favorite). Either way, he's still hot and rich, so what's it to him? We also watched a movie called <i>Stardust </i>(a little every night, since I kept falling asleep because I am either old or still jet-lagged), which was very good, and we ate Thanksgiving, where I ate so much I almost threw up, but did not (which means I consumed the perfect amount of Thanksgiving), and we went to SAS fabrics (where I became overstimulated sifting though a vat of old patches, but luckily Kari had some hard candies in her purse she keeps for her toddler, and I was ok again after I sat on the floor for a minute while she examined the rickrack), and got doughnuts on the way home (just found an apple fritter I hid from the kids, but it isn't good anymore, dangit. I hate when my food hoarding backfires), then met more friends (actually, relatives) for dinner at Joe's Farm Grill, and afterward we all retired to our living room, where we drank Martinellis from silver flutes, played some Peter Breinholt on the guitars, and talked about how when we all lived at the Riv over to the BYU, we used to dress like men, but also how I dressed the most like a man of everybody. (Even the men? This wasn't clear). <br />
<br />
So now I've got to do something about our elf, who is not on the shelf, but is MIA. He didn't show up after Thanksgiving dinner, like he's supposed to, and the children are starting to riot. <br />
<br />
So do you loathe Christmas lights as much as I do? Did you know about Sting's country songs? Did you wear men's clothes in the 90's? If you have an extra elf, can you send him here? Thanks in advance.Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-6830072382139787562011-11-16T15:00:00.006-07:002011-11-17T11:53:52.020-07:00Rome wasn't blogged in a day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>So, at long last I have accumulated everyone's iphone photos of our trip, and now I shall publish them on the internets, even though in many of them I am wearing very tight, very unflattering pants. <br />
<br />
On October 3, we took the overnight British Airways flight from Phoenix to London. This was difficult for me, because although I really like British Airways and the stewardess' retro hats and how they offer you biscuits (that are really just cookies) with their lovely accents, and even how they sometimes serve weird airline curry that stinks everything up for hours, we only had one hour in London. No time for a West End show. No time for even a Cadbury chocolate bar from the Marks & Spencer, or a browse around the Harrod's in the airport, since we were running at top speed for like 4 miles between concourses. And then, to salt the wound, London was sunny and 70, which never happens. But whatever.<br />
<br />
So, you probably want to hear about Italy, but first I need to tell you about a miracle. My eyes had been bugging me all night, but about an hour from our destination I decided: INFECTION. So then my Mom produced from her <span style="font-size: large;">carry-on bag</span> a bottle of prescription antibiotic eye drops. Right there, high above the French Alps! A miracle, I tell you. So then, I didn't have to go see a Roman doctor, or have to look like a 1950s librarian in all my Italy photos (my glasses are horn-rimmed, you'll thank me later). I literally wept with joy (although eyes were also perhaps already moist with infectious ooze).<br />
<br />
Bacteria thwarted, we arrived at the Donna Camilla Savelli Hotel. Trastevere is supposed to be gritty and full of real Romans. But the Donna Camilla is also nearby the American John Cabot University, so it is also full of Valley girl accents and even a has place called T-Bone Station that serves (edible but not great) nachos. (I won't tell you how I know this.) Lots of restaurants and enotecas, gelaterias, pizza-by-the-slice type places (I really liked the potato and rosemary pizza).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEaGIpG-GewUJnqPnro7z2Ogf7p6j8GWWgYlXbPq2dU1RNQN9xCnz192mUDi78HONc5X8mU756Xk4XVQXr0xS0a-HBtRhQ4bVqNsi7sanAnFpJf3ZnhQ9xxEhkyL1gXiOfCYUw/s1600/6285600222_700f0af245_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEaGIpG-GewUJnqPnro7z2Ogf7p6j8GWWgYlXbPq2dU1RNQN9xCnz192mUDi78HONc5X8mU756Xk4XVQXr0xS0a-HBtRhQ4bVqNsi7sanAnFpJf3ZnhQ9xxEhkyL1gXiOfCYUw/s640/6285600222_700f0af245_o.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
Via Garibaldi, perhaps 9 p.m. By midnight, when we'd come back from our Rick Steves night walking, the whole street would be full of people, standing outside the restaurants and drinking.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1z0tox3hEmvZfn0glmr38BazgfWC72px5ux7HjTvhORg4QQ4EXtUwj5zCvck0EGa0x1MQJhTr2g3oo04xxMmRXk3aRCHuoGW5Zx-Re0ZrUkVMcR31blHiqmyf-FaWpt9_GY4/s1600/6285070128_1d68a6c92c_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1z0tox3hEmvZfn0glmr38BazgfWC72px5ux7HjTvhORg4QQ4EXtUwj5zCvck0EGa0x1MQJhTr2g3oo04xxMmRXk3aRCHuoGW5Zx-Re0ZrUkVMcR31blHiqmyf-FaWpt9_GY4/s400/6285070128_1d68a6c92c_o.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
Jake, in the gelato place just outside the hotel. Coconut? Or pistachio?<br />
<br />
Some photos I 'borrowed' of the hotel:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9nusdb3qnEya3QH7EVHDJqaJgMQWD5pxFN0wWIPZ2egdQIqs-A-WOHft_qfBKU4BRYC3tmtPMsYWBGoLJWkQpYsmWFj8tvfP3f4RcSbnaIA6hNK7HlrJBfxih3uqn-boU5Bn/s1600/donnacamilla3" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV9nusdb3qnEya3QH7EVHDJqaJgMQWD5pxFN0wWIPZ2egdQIqs-A-WOHft_qfBKU4BRYC3tmtPMsYWBGoLJWkQpYsmWFj8tvfP3f4RcSbnaIA6hNK7HlrJBfxih3uqn-boU5Bn/s400/donnacamilla3" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3q8zysxELFwoWcF4DQmW0v2Tag7UW-TMSu3iywW7sfVhXAL2pVS91fhDuFwmhGQpwYRGtwUnX-o_MTddOYvXvx1-0AMM7hlemMjW6AnEb0hg6I1ePsY7GGHWrVbX_KayXjZxC/s1600/donnacamilla2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3q8zysxELFwoWcF4DQmW0v2Tag7UW-TMSu3iywW7sfVhXAL2pVS91fhDuFwmhGQpwYRGtwUnX-o_MTddOYvXvx1-0AMM7hlemMjW6AnEb0hg6I1ePsY7GGHWrVbX_KayXjZxC/s400/donnacamilla2" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifX6eoMINLOe37ksfq1ERbxsk6rc5WJW_-S2jgxzzevMDp1pVp8QLMkjzlTarOcclqIJHsYjqHpt9YM6VmL2qKDHFYtvxIjYDr5xO_jWX9AI6q93H-bhqFkiDq7Fi8p_O6M5mD/s1600/donnacamilla6" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifX6eoMINLOe37ksfq1ERbxsk6rc5WJW_-S2jgxzzevMDp1pVp8QLMkjzlTarOcclqIJHsYjqHpt9YM6VmL2qKDHFYtvxIjYDr5xO_jWX9AI6q93H-bhqFkiDq7Fi8p_O6M5mD/s400/donnacamilla6" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast garden</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmvBRyuSZMMh3nbNElJPUR5tyGkbNePTabAEvuRj9ORsbQFBpnIce73gnxySg5NyGHp53QtG4JsBeY7QVpQtY6ZrObxLR8xMFPLt6bcHPPwppHXNiiomUPBAIv2KZM_HJzO2z-/s1600/donnacamilla5" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmvBRyuSZMMh3nbNElJPUR5tyGkbNePTabAEvuRj9ORsbQFBpnIce73gnxySg5NyGHp53QtG4JsBeY7QVpQtY6ZrObxLR8xMFPLt6bcHPPwppHXNiiomUPBAIv2KZM_HJzO2z-/s400/donnacamilla5" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaimSgkd5yuGJys7yqiPvppjuUfZL4WX-9oLvzHLvwKBArThHgCELFCbbnstF21DNNrbOz8qJeJK0dzM5dsTaQUN2Vctcgy0QL2J-8hq0e0GYhd2i3sDtT0d5Mqt9X-f1ZfvnH/s1600/IMG_0687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaimSgkd5yuGJys7yqiPvppjuUfZL4WX-9oLvzHLvwKBArThHgCELFCbbnstF21DNNrbOz8qJeJK0dzM5dsTaQUN2Vctcgy0QL2J-8hq0e0GYhd2i3sDtT0d5Mqt9X-f1ZfvnH/s400/IMG_0687.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>That's me on the rooftop terrace. This place was built as a convent in the 1640s, and became a hotel two years ago. There are still a few elderly nuns living in one of the wings, who wander around the garden during breakfast, and pray in their impressive chapel just off the lobby entrance. I would have felt bad for taking over their place, but they've got bigger things to worry about, what with rationalizing that vow of poverty with living in a 4 star hotel.<br />
<br />
The view from our room:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdLRxl0Gm6rugsartV43oeH8sqC5RJglyg6RTuvUK8ijxtJOhyphenhyphentfCw93HdYFGxVGZpjtqJkxxWtvSsPaujT0ZUlZUfLW1OFbHWZcbJhkA1ZH-to-48Mgt-KeaJ-sR-pzGg-dzY/s1600/IMG_2174.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdLRxl0Gm6rugsartV43oeH8sqC5RJglyg6RTuvUK8ijxtJOhyphenhyphentfCw93HdYFGxVGZpjtqJkxxWtvSsPaujT0ZUlZUfLW1OFbHWZcbJhkA1ZH-to-48Mgt-KeaJ-sR-pzGg-dzY/s400/IMG_2174.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyhow, Rome.<br />
I liked it.<br />
<br />
On day two, we hustled over to ground zero: the Forum/Coliseum/Palatine Hill complex. We toured Mamertine Prison (where Peter and maybe Paul were perhaps incarcerated. There is no historical record of them being there written before the 5th century, but pilgrims had already been showing up, and this was the only prison in Rome for a very long time.) They had a super creepy English audio guide that had a lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous voice saying cryptic things about water and tables. Then they made us stand in the dark, before having us watch a weird, equally enigmatic video. Only later, between the Bible and Rick Steves, was I able to figure out what went on there (or didn't).<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1Tzkgog-RVfGEmQQRn0Qo3Sa33jbRCHvlh7A4TxnQoUl4eu-z4qAfohNWqLxqt4iGAFtzWegolqcpzLStY_Y85i6wKAlZQyiHFcYfovdj-IXNLeICh2h12IPMAYRPnyY0wl3/s1600/IMG_0693.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1Tzkgog-RVfGEmQQRn0Qo3Sa33jbRCHvlh7A4TxnQoUl4eu-z4qAfohNWqLxqt4iGAFtzWegolqcpzLStY_Y85i6wKAlZQyiHFcYfovdj-IXNLeICh2h12IPMAYRPnyY0wl3/s400/IMG_0693.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Mamertine Prison. Sister Noel and Sister Beeson</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1MWTBuLT7v6DjtKIKPRydTEzl6mvhWXLW1rvFW_5t6AWsg7SZVLkgTATt2ICN5filvO44sE9juUKt9Y7FFHc_blP9nzH0y9t1GnPpZIdfpYN-l9tfcHLYvDa48YzgQ0U9N8dI/s1600/IMG_2142.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1MWTBuLT7v6DjtKIKPRydTEzl6mvhWXLW1rvFW_5t6AWsg7SZVLkgTATt2ICN5filvO44sE9juUKt9Y7FFHc_blP9nzH0y9t1GnPpZIdfpYN-l9tfcHLYvDa48YzgQ0U9N8dI/s400/IMG_2142.jpg" width="298" /></a><br />
Then, we ate some super tasty paninis from a street cart, didn't get food poisoning, then met our tour guide at this little cafe with a great view. Jake is chatting up a waiter.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBY6gLokbWSI5VXk496ldzckCF2KyYaMAfKojGGt-7GrcVd9sroeHQqMijsFiI91balisLsxMmGlkjeL6iyUYDS-O2opS5e5Q70O81JGfKH8huXG79gWHAorSpGz0Ot4ahe8pl/s1600/IMG_0703.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBY6gLokbWSI5VXk496ldzckCF2KyYaMAfKojGGt-7GrcVd9sroeHQqMijsFiI91balisLsxMmGlkjeL6iyUYDS-O2opS5e5Q70O81JGfKH8huXG79gWHAorSpGz0Ot4ahe8pl/s400/IMG_0703.jpg" width="298" /></a><br />
So here we are in the forum (ancient marketplace turned political and religious center of Rome). I included this photo because my arm looks skinny. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4uRPhOHhU_eiZFabUi2xuAne1X6j_yEKGSx2TGjaACKztHrs6QOjmW9ai2KDQqYB44ll4H8wbOev1ytmqTO2DYxH8jcNWNBzOyPeTIjcEwxkKJsKBjlUZ9UrTRlvx480yeUuw/s1600/IMG_0726.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4uRPhOHhU_eiZFabUi2xuAne1X6j_yEKGSx2TGjaACKztHrs6QOjmW9ai2KDQqYB44ll4H8wbOev1ytmqTO2DYxH8jcNWNBzOyPeTIjcEwxkKJsKBjlUZ9UrTRlvx480yeUuw/s400/IMG_0726.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
A view of the forum from Palatine Hill. This is where all the ancient Italian movers and shakers lived. They worked down in the Forum. The Curia (Senate house) is the tall building at the top left of the photo. The Vestal Virgins lived in the bottom right. Maybe.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMnbIQBgSr3KQ3mDpNaMFDewtxLfCVc9ILrXUf6GmpnClHGxCK0BrcRDaUxj07wUXGiCWecHQh4I3pXQqc6qisNzK_X9GAFAwFS5omTHAR68QeEIVGsGAv1zaBWy45PVlfBNn/s1600/6284349805_7b560aab59_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMnbIQBgSr3KQ3mDpNaMFDewtxLfCVc9ILrXUf6GmpnClHGxCK0BrcRDaUxj07wUXGiCWecHQh4I3pXQqc6qisNzK_X9GAFAwFS5omTHAR68QeEIVGsGAv1zaBWy45PVlfBNn/s400/6284349805_7b560aab59_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I smell a holiday card</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5OhwDqc24xPMmmDFriE1gxVG3UIFsjvpX016oTVltnKFJDDcqzSIHJDvebO7RFbY1vP4pdIRC9c_GEgvQqTHcjSfSEM1ud9gvVzzo5QEIcOucxuensGoVRsJ83VA1yTQpj45/s1600/6284547979_a3f9649b1a_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5OhwDqc24xPMmmDFriE1gxVG3UIFsjvpX016oTVltnKFJDDcqzSIHJDvebO7RFbY1vP4pdIRC9c_GEgvQqTHcjSfSEM1ud9gvVzzo5QEIcOucxuensGoVRsJ83VA1yTQpj45/s400/6284547979_a3f9649b1a_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryan</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_Qw5yR-D8y-a3r207UaShmQG-9z2cae8ygSgH5HoSBhuSwwFL6FW_-v0FASzwiCgwM-UGoqj7DW0lVMAMRebmLhehleqxlFCnz4PJoLpIUd5QePguvVxfYCDQolgyC4727NK/s1600/6285059106_342a89be92_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_Qw5yR-D8y-a3r207UaShmQG-9z2cae8ygSgH5HoSBhuSwwFL6FW_-v0FASzwiCgwM-UGoqj7DW0lVMAMRebmLhehleqxlFCnz4PJoLpIUd5QePguvVxfYCDQolgyC4727NK/s400/6285059106_342a89be92_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
So I pretty much loved ancient Rome. It was really hard at first to comprehend how OLD this stuff is. Some of the temples are from the 8th century before Christ. (Although none of the really ancient ones are original, except for the foundations, but have been spruced up or rebuilt, then knocked down again, the new ones only like 2000 years old. Mussolini righted some pillars on the Temple of Vesta. He also built a horrid thoroughfare right down the middle of the Forum, but I think Rome got her (his? Since Rome is probably named for Romulus (Remus' brother) comeuppance with the whole shooting, hanging from a meat hook, stoning thing they did to him in 1945 in near Milan). 800 B.C. That's 1800 years older than Westminster Abbey! 1600 years older than the oldest Pueblo Villages found here in Arizona. 2400 years older than the oldest remaining early American buildings. (Don't look too closely at my maths.)<br />
<br />
Tired and hungry, we headed back to Trastevere to change and eat before heading back into town. Jen was hoping to see something that wasn't ruined. She was in luck.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5OhwDqc24xPMmmDFriE1gxVG3UIFsjvpX016oTVltnKFJDDcqzSIHJDvebO7RFbY1vP4pdIRC9c_GEgvQqTHcjSfSEM1ud9gvVzzo5QEIcOucxuensGoVRsJ83VA1yTQpj45/s1600/6284547979_a3f9649b1a_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><br />
</a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGragBhPOnsa7pendnbwM5BON7gslPYLMfF9fNUWZjMdOP8txNIq6LhB6ZVK0h5hukCjn9-lPEqGdR4Hik_B-HdR1iJmCyMUZp6tWWqyuzbnBpHvFlUzoOpMwTyzQm-uM425M/s1600/IMG_0744.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGragBhPOnsa7pendnbwM5BON7gslPYLMfF9fNUWZjMdOP8txNIq6LhB6ZVK0h5hukCjn9-lPEqGdR4Hik_B-HdR1iJmCyMUZp6tWWqyuzbnBpHvFlUzoOpMwTyzQm-uM425M/s400/IMG_0744.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spanish Steps</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2lIbx_BcMtBowVZsWqo8mCq9CFrtl7ENClocv7NF-00dclLZ5lz4af1p0Prv1envlGXKQH5fj4Ug1Cp-KyLXSyq5g0ej6idSlv9tsq-K30q5x8rMHT8FMLtjsd9oBtCD1_ORh/s1600/IMG_2153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2lIbx_BcMtBowVZsWqo8mCq9CFrtl7ENClocv7NF-00dclLZ5lz4af1p0Prv1envlGXKQH5fj4Ug1Cp-KyLXSyq5g0ej6idSlv9tsq-K30q5x8rMHT8FMLtjsd9oBtCD1_ORh/s400/IMG_2153.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trevi fountain.<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Day three began with the Pantheon, built 126 A.D. I'm not sure I've even seen anything in my life cooler than the Pantheon. It was like all the stuff in the Forum, only not sacked by barbarians and looted by medieval Romans.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMGNtHbBXz7vOa2UAKx04QmewI-hbkkKTjbsAH29zRi9rhyRYIeInOTkMu82lUydQkqKm1tBHYrXd74Nj-3Ssorr90DwoRIVolpsjn2aTZTZ9I4glfStXbfVuF2O2aLC2-C_V/s1600/IMG_2155.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZMGNtHbBXz7vOa2UAKx04QmewI-hbkkKTjbsAH29zRi9rhyRYIeInOTkMu82lUydQkqKm1tBHYrXd74Nj-3Ssorr90DwoRIVolpsjn2aTZTZ9I4glfStXbfVuF2O2aLC2-C_V/s400/IMG_2155.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<br />
We met our guide, Jeb, and headed over to the Vatican. Those Catholics have collected and stolen some really great stuff over the past two thousand years.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYnrur6ZqOIp19TEtrWaLZA-W6YRB5RMHuokT9aBB2r3TyWwC24Vvjy8uM2pIxPZ8d7eur2OAubZVHb1JkPIH-Qr4smCYLFx4MYxvm_Bwp95GoN9iP8EAZLnd1GG8IhpkSJoPu/s1600/6285622710_ff80dc9cf8_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYnrur6ZqOIp19TEtrWaLZA-W6YRB5RMHuokT9aBB2r3TyWwC24Vvjy8uM2pIxPZ8d7eur2OAubZVHb1JkPIH-Qr4smCYLFx4MYxvm_Bwp95GoN9iP8EAZLnd1GG8IhpkSJoPu/s400/6285622710_ff80dc9cf8_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This huge head, for instance. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIIa-kcHAxiPYqi7Op29XNQq336MI4lhL5XMRgyCFz4lrkANhVwu95GolQ6FAtGh41rfpwSoL3PmpGux9JJHRdNyOB4d6k-YWtbwLij4Qs5Pl4kA3kIOEaxbyWCigzbp6jPksz/s1600/IMG_0768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIIa-kcHAxiPYqi7Op29XNQq336MI4lhL5XMRgyCFz4lrkANhVwu95GolQ6FAtGh41rfpwSoL3PmpGux9JJHRdNyOB4d6k-YWtbwLij4Qs5Pl4kA3kIOEaxbyWCigzbp6jPksz/s400/IMG_0768.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The Sistine Chapel didn't do much for me.</span> I wrote that small cuz it's pretty embarrassing. Sure, I appreciate that painting thousands of naked people, contorting and cavorting every which way, all in the throes of something (passion, sin, greed, pain, religious ecstasy, damnation, covetousness) is a tough project, and that until Mike and all his Renaissance posse dug up and copied the Roman copies of the Greek statues, nobody could do that stuff. Maybe I'm a closet pagan, but I found the Pantheon more impressive. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;">St. Peter's Basilica was something to see. It was like if you could take another cathedral, say, Notre Dame, and inflate it to like twice or three times the size. It was HUGE. It isn't crammed with graves like Westminster, (only saints or popes on their way to sainthood are in the church, the rest go in the crypt) so it looks cleaner, more beautiful, but maybe not as interesting, nook-and-cranny-wise.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;">So I think I'm getting pretty tired, because I just wrote "nook-and-cranny-wise," and I am planning to leave it as is, and hit publish. So I should probably quit for today. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;">Next stop: more ruins! Pompeii. And the pizza right across the street from the <i>Eat, Pray, Love</i> pizza. (Very tasty, and no line.)</span></div>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-9317059306882956372011-11-02T12:58:00.001-07:002011-11-16T11:20:38.696-07:00Does my baby look like James Bond?So every time I think of something super important I want to put on my blog, like how the family in the pew behind us at Church said Joey looks like a baby Daniel Craig:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9Wz7FQE-cEMRQnjVlYDm60TQQ_yzpTmRYtOnXvhyphenhyphenzoI-sg9o1SEEEhuW-DvMgwGh46gz6xQNN4vfbgjTpbBOYX6IIHTVZpkesqO6Ja-VvPnfKW1M7-xDBlq2bcQ9MX1cPE2k/s1600/daniel-craig1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM9Wz7FQE-cEMRQnjVlYDm60TQQ_yzpTmRYtOnXvhyphenhyphenzoI-sg9o1SEEEhuW-DvMgwGh46gz6xQNN4vfbgjTpbBOYX6IIHTVZpkesqO6Ja-VvPnfKW1M7-xDBlq2bcQ9MX1cPE2k/s400/daniel-craig1.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNSl-hNi3aeiAV3ZpMhhBxZHGulkpuT9FXFo2Is9YajYE6aH0O0FzfFairHmQRC9Elqxq11fW1Ue6q650mVtel-t_lRWINjjQrjerMJoUSA3CqV-A6QxBWIQccrIMPQDLaKH2Y/s1600/IMG_1905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNSl-hNi3aeiAV3ZpMhhBxZHGulkpuT9FXFo2Is9YajYE6aH0O0FzfFairHmQRC9Elqxq11fW1Ue6q650mVtel-t_lRWINjjQrjerMJoUSA3CqV-A6QxBWIQccrIMPQDLaKH2Y/s400/IMG_1905.jpg" width="297" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(I'm dying to know what you think),</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">or how it is only 80 degrees outside, or how I washed down my family room walls this morning because they were covered in kid slime (was mostly dirt, but also snot and food), I think, I should write that down, but first, I should put up some pictures of Italy, so everyone doesn't think I made it all up and really went to Las Vegas to get plastic surgery (I hear that's a thing). But really, I don't like messing with pictures (ones not already on my computer or the internet). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Instead, I'd like to tell you how I saw the movie Anonymous last night, and liked it in spite of poorish reviews, because c'mon, of COURSE I'm going to like it. They had me at everybody being upholstered in brocade. Plus, it starred Spike from Notting Hill. Only I didn't recognize him without his goggles, and with his pants. But Jake did. He says he'd know Spike anywhere.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-fyxQjpXGi9pVQB75fd8PP72mt_9G1mArdx3Wae5z0PjaFU1IVdrqocI9hbf6clxxlhZq0HUIkLusF7tLMOHym5fwUE4dACRgVB_nKKvhz8RVNZfJ-tDxJywMYDR47qqM39G/s1600/Notting_Hill+-+Spike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-fyxQjpXGi9pVQB75fd8PP72mt_9G1mArdx3Wae5z0PjaFU1IVdrqocI9hbf6clxxlhZq0HUIkLusF7tLMOHym5fwUE4dACRgVB_nKKvhz8RVNZfJ-tDxJywMYDR47qqM39G/s320/Notting_Hill+-+Spike.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BKxoiwWpSg80kvbhhUW34O2SOU6butEbSVeMNgt9wYVMxmAQTMS3FdL3vAgkSgFrB_KjurJmxOKry7KYmxDn7XzcgHKQ8bcDlVI3l2T4yH1S6GdbqKB5n0AcIhGDtZfNgh3r/s1600/anonymous-movie-photo-075f3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5BKxoiwWpSg80kvbhhUW34O2SOU6butEbSVeMNgt9wYVMxmAQTMS3FdL3vAgkSgFrB_KjurJmxOKry7KYmxDn7XzcgHKQ8bcDlVI3l2T4yH1S6GdbqKB5n0AcIhGDtZfNgh3r/s320/anonymous-movie-photo-075f3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> And Spike was married to Emily, Ross Geller's British second wife, who is still as uptight as ever. I should warn you that the whole thing is completely fabricated. It has no basis in actual history except that Queen Elizabeth had red hair, liked plays, and had a hard time keeping her throne away from her sister Mary and the rest of the Scottish Tudors. Also, since I'm warning you, I should tell you that I was digging in my bag of Halloween candy, trying to tell mini Baby Ruths from mini Milky Way Darks with only the light from my phone, so I can't be sure, but I think William Shakespeare's hiney was in the movie. It might have been hairy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Have you seen the movie? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Did you like it better than Footloose 2.0 (that was last week's movie)? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Do you think Joey looks like James Bond? </div>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-50692617946652593042011-10-17T03:53:00.003-07:002011-10-17T06:07:03.298-07:00But it's nearly lunch time in RomeHome!<br />
<br />
I thought I was really beating back this whole jet lag thing (been home more than 24 hours now), but then I decided to take a quick Sunday afternoon power nap. So now I'm up, quite refreshed.<br />
<br />
Ready to start my Monday.<br />
<br />
It is 3 a.m.<br />
<br />
I'm not really sure how Jake kept the kids quiet all evening, but it appears he did.<br />
<br />
When I first awoke, I tried to catch up on two weeks worth of what my friends did on Facebook, hoping it would make me sleepy (didn't, you all are very interesting), checking my email to make sure tomorrow isn't picture day (it isn't), finishing a book (<i>The Language of Flowers</i>, quite good), started a new one (super weird, became bored), went to the toilet, then finally tip-toed down the dark hallway, praying my bare foot didn't find an unsuspecting scorpion (already had a near miss in the master bathroom last night), and booted up the old Mac. I'm also pretty hungry. I might need a snack.<br />
<br />
Italy was really super great. We saw all kinds of stuff: big stuff, old stuff, Churchy stuff, naked stuff, tasty stuff: even most of the small museums I had on my secret nerdy-history-major-itinerary. It was pretty easy. I'd just be like: <i>Oh, what luck! We just happen to be staying three doors down from this restored medieval house (that I've been checking out on the internet for like three months). We should stop in on our way to lunch.</i> We visited the Forum/Palatine Hill/Coliseum/Mamertine Prison, Vatican/Sistine Chapel/St. Peter's, Pompeii, pizza in Naples; Doge's Palace, shopping at Rialto, Ca' Rezzonico, Jewish Ghetto in Venice (I might have accidentally slept in and missed St. Mark's); Uffizi Gallery, Palazzo Davanzati (the restored medieval home), Pitti Palace, Medici Crypts, Duomo, Accademia to see David in Florence; wandered around Umbrian hill town (Orvieto); headed back to Rome to tour Christian Catacombs and Capucchin Crypt. There were too many Churches, pizzas, and ice cream to name individually.<br />
<br />
But it is funny. It turns out that when you give birth to five children, and then leave them to go to a different continent, you begin to miss them. This process takes 9 days, if you are having a really good time. Less, if it is raining or you are a better mother than I am.<br />
<br />
On the 10th day, Jake texted me a photo of Joey, sitting in his high chair wearing only his diaper, lovingly clutching his new Italian Fiat police car to his chest (remember, Jake left from Venice, while I went on to Florence. He had a class to teach and a business to run). Joe's rheumy, unblinking blue eyes (it was a photograph, you'll remember) told me that he had come to terms with his abandonment, had been through all the levels of grief, and knew that lots of motherless children go on to lead productive lives. It seemed like, had his limited vocabulary allowed, he might have started singing Annie songs. <i>Tomorrow, Maybe,</i> or <i>It's a Hard Knock Life</i>, but probably not the one one from the movie where Miss Hannigan comes on to Daddy Warbucks. That one doesn't seem appropriate for 18-month-olds. So then I started crying right in front of the leather goods salesman I was dickering with in the covered market on the Via Porta Rossa.<br />
<br />
I showed the leather guy the photo, to explain my tears. He nodded in empathy. But when my Mom mentioned that I had four other kids, back at the ranch, the guy checked to make sure there wasn't language confusion, then proceeded to look at me in the same way I look at Michelle Duggar. It didn't help that my mom motioned to my sister's midsection and smiled: <i>number eight!</i><br />
<br />
Which leads me to the first in the series I will call: "<b>weird stuff I noticed in Italy, which may or may not be true, because I was only there 12 days, only talked to a few people, and only speak Italian gelato</b> <b>flavors</b>." (I also know the important universal sign language for "waffle cone, large.")<br />
<br />
So the first weird thing is that people are flabbergasted by big families. Like they've never seen or heard of one. I mean, fine. This is Europe. These are cities. I get it. But also, aren't these people Catholic? Or lapsed Catholics? Or related to some Catholics? Cuz I went in about 40 Churches, on like every corner like 7-11s, and all of them were Catholic (except for the three synagogues we visited in Venice.) I fully expect to be a freak in England, France and the Netherlands, but<br />
not Italy. I was so confused, I just googled it. Turns our I was right. Italy's birth rate in 1994 was the second lowest in the Western World, at 1.23 children per woman. Apparently the government is worried there won't be enough young workers to support the aging population in just a few years, and is paying cash bonuses to mothers. And the Pope? He isn't thrilled, either.<br />
<br />
Well, enough of that. <br />
<br />
So, in my determination to pack light, I brought only a carry-on sized backpack and a small purse (large enough only for lip balm, sunglasses, Rick Steves, and a few euros). We did laundry once. The only thing I regret leaving home? My real camera. I'm not much of a photographer, but still. I wanted it from day 1. The iphone camera just didn't cut it. (Also, I wish I'd brought a jacket with long sleeves. At night, in Venice, my forearms grew chilled.)<br />
<br />
Speaking of Rick Steves. He was in Italy with us, and we almost saw him, but didn't. He was in the Piazza Navona, at midnight, only a little bit drunk and <a href="http://blog.ricksteves.com/?p=4469">filming stuff</a>, either the same night or the night before we were. So we ate the tartufo gelato he recommended at Tre Scalini, approximately 22:00, then headed off toward the Pantheon on his Night Walk Across Rome, like the good Rickites we are. Unfortunately, this put us at the Spanish Steps at midnight, listening to some Italian kid playing acoustic 90s hits on his guitar (very well, I might add), holding hands, kissing, and chatting about the house where Keats died. Little did we know that meanwhile, Rick had got his buzz on and was out on the town with his cell phone video camera, back over by the ice cream and the Four Rivers Fountain (full of marble men with surprisingly muscular buttocks).<br />
<br />
So anyhow, maybe sometime when it is light outside and I don't have to risk being stung by creepy lobster insects to get back to my room, I will get the (low-quality) photos off my phone and share a few with you.<br />
<br />
Now I will maybe go make my kids some waffles. Since I'm up. I will try not to think about the salami and cheese panini (just off the Piazza Signorina) and fresh strawberry sorbet (from that spot next to the Ponte Vecchio) that somebody is eating for lunch, nine hours ahead but right this minute.Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-92026645372313598002011-09-29T11:38:00.004-07:002011-09-29T12:27:56.479-07:00Training for Italian Marathon, Anne Taylor the pants genius, slip and fall, giving up on the Twelve Caesars, shoes and a neck pillow<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqDLq-sX_Hz_lQoFMb6ZdIqz-m2hC7B8a2n44ZLyQ3ES8A2vlmGtKxwZF1p_qSDzxsXWCfdV3OAt7d7S16XSYDessikL-Z93bHjHxuovaK4DxH6sTUPnuq_5NpwgNU7R7fzrL/s1600/fe6b96cce44f525597769675167434d414f4541.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-size: small;">So when I got off my treadmill the other night, I announced to Jake:</span><span style="font-size: large;"> three and a half miles tonight! I am going to be ready for the Italian Marathon. <span style="font-size: small;">(The Italian marathon includes walking from an enormous Church full of famous dead people and Renaissance art to a pizza place to a museum full of marble nekkid people, to a gelateria, to a big pile of rocks that used to be something really important to a some fellas named Caesar, then taking a taxi to dinner. My apologies to the real Italian marathon, if there is one, and its actual athletes).</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">So Jake said:</span> great, now get up and do it again at 3 a.m., and it will feel just like Venice.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm sure midnight treadmill riding in Phoenix is nothing like Venice. In Venice I plan to ride around in boats while I eat my pizza and ice cream, reclining lazily on crushed velvet cushions. I don't know if there are really any velvet cushions; maybe I've watched too many movies about the 19th Century Grand Tour. Now that I think about it, there might not be any parasols around, either. The good news: I won't have to get my lady's maid to loosen my stays after the pizza and gelato binge. I've bought myself some large and stretchy pants! (Anne Taylor Loft has got a size 12 that will accommodate a slim sumo wrestler. Are even bigger than Banana Republic.) </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Moral of this paragraph: You can learn a lot from your Baedeker's, </span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqDLq-sX_Hz_lQoFMb6ZdIqz-m2hC7B8a2n44ZLyQ3ES8A2vlmGtKxwZF1p_qSDzxsXWCfdV3OAt7d7S16XSYDessikL-Z93bHjHxuovaK4DxH6sTUPnuq_5NpwgNU7R7fzrL/s1600/fe6b96cce44f525597769675167434d414f4541.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqDLq-sX_Hz_lQoFMb6ZdIqz-m2hC7B8a2n44ZLyQ3ES8A2vlmGtKxwZF1p_qSDzxsXWCfdV3OAt7d7S16XSYDessikL-Z93bHjHxuovaK4DxH6sTUPnuq_5NpwgNU7R7fzrL/s200/fe6b96cce44f525597769675167434d414f4541.jpg" width="142" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span>but you can also learn a lot from Nacho.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0MEVvjKIlJMzJDkNnTRln_IgbpIp1C2PqCHvtsIbIVWysnmx5NZzam8ALpiZfLik2M6ExirGeA8tw9Xd8630R0Pg2S_PCy8Ga0TqzQzmGhy35gk1jD4teoWae32_Lp70V-SL/s1600/xin_230603191448551168628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0MEVvjKIlJMzJDkNnTRln_IgbpIp1C2PqCHvtsIbIVWysnmx5NZzam8ALpiZfLik2M6ExirGeA8tw9Xd8630R0Pg2S_PCy8Ga0TqzQzmGhy35gk1jD4teoWae32_Lp70V-SL/s320/xin_230603191448551168628.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">So, about a month ago I sprained my ankle. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was skiing in Switzerland. Totally not embarrassing.</span></span><br />
<br />
Or, maybe I slipped in the shower, old lady style. As I lay there on the shower floor (shower is weird design that is huge like football locker room, so there is plenty of room for sprawling) and stared up at the etched glass windows with the desert scenes which I hate, but do not include howling coyotes or kachinas, which I could not tolerate, I thought, it has really happened! I've fallen and I can't get up! And I'm soggy, and naked, and already bruising in so many odd and painful places! But after a cursory inspection, I found both my hips still firmly in their sockets, and my head not cracked open.<br />
<br />
A silver lining, indeed.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so I've been babying the ankle and wearing flat shoes to Church (a real hardship), and when I got on the treadmill the other night, I was afraid I'd mince along for like 15 minutes, then fling myself on to the nearby bed, apply ice and pant for 30 minutes more. But I didn't. Is good news.<br />
<br />
Okay, so my Italy reading list might be a little ambitious. I started reading the<i> Lives of the Caesars</i> with Tiberius. I don't think it is the beginning, but he did have to divorce his pregnant wife, who he liked, and marry Augustus' daughter, who was a real tramp, and maybe a shrew. So that was sad and interesting. But I'm not sure I'm really getting the big picture. Might need to read faster, and skim all the parts where they fight the Germanic tribes or murder fellow Senate members.<br />
<br />
I also read a Rick Steves' <i>Europe 101: History and Art for the Traveler</i> book I found at D.I. It is from 1985, so it is probly a first edition and worth like ten grand. So it's old, but filled with timeless jokes like this one, about the dawning of the Renaissance, and the labor shortages created by the plague: "Serf's up!"<br />
<br />
So hotels are <span style="font-size: small;">reserved</span>, train tickets bought, and even booked us our own guides at the Vatican and Colosseum/Forum/Palatine Hill. One nice thing about traveling with seven people is getting your own guide is nearly economical. I made us reservations to see the Uffizi and David in Florence. I've got my eye on a social history walking tour about <a href="http://www.contexttravel.com/city/Florence/walking_tour_details/Daily_Life_of_Renaissance_Florentines">medieval Florentines</a>. But my Dad's got his eye on another about <a href="http://www.contexttravel.com/city/Florence/walking_tour_details/Medici_Money_Finance_Banking_and_the_Art_of_the_Italian_Renaissance">banking and the Medicis</a>, so there might be a walking tour standoff. (I foresee this will end with me and my Dad going to see the bankers, and everyone else going shopping.)<br />
<br />
I bought a suitcase and some packing cubes. I know Inkmom recommended the MLC Patagonia, but this one spoke to me (with its cheap price tag). It is the <a href="http://www.ebags.com/product/ebags/mother-lode-tls-weekender-convertible/143101?productid=1370035">Ebags Mother Lode TLS Weekender Convertible</a>. I bought black, to be practical, even though I really wanted green.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6KiXeNw6i3fOg-oA_RIwVkuO8se0FwpjTwFlAX6fDgUMj3T1xNDQlkpVKFLIC8Hrd_vrhgidaaIhfXAcmdWdfZUDh6viCTE1AF4ZTiZm6YBjXgJTNgpFdaURbyvU5PfJPgx_/s1600/143101_3_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6KiXeNw6i3fOg-oA_RIwVkuO8se0FwpjTwFlAX6fDgUMj3T1xNDQlkpVKFLIC8Hrd_vrhgidaaIhfXAcmdWdfZUDh6viCTE1AF4ZTiZm6YBjXgJTNgpFdaURbyvU5PfJPgx_/s1600/143101_3_1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7JB0U784eiZoJU9cwIMMn-UoL18HnV_f4xBFOB-_t4w5bmsDqi1DoM0PEdSUxCpA4JnLTJBqehKW6aCoYff3A9zR37K9CQ-6PR1sCWjW1fv8HDWow6jlOp22xKV2fIYFGt80a/s1600/1303945-p-DETAILED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqDLq-sX_Hz_lQoFMb6ZdIqz-m2hC7B8a2n44ZLyQ3ES8A2vlmGtKxwZF1p_qSDzxsXWCfdV3OAt7d7S16XSYDessikL-Z93bHjHxuovaK4DxH6sTUPnuq_5NpwgNU7R7fzrL/s1600/fe6b96cce44f525597769675167434d414f4541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>And finally, my friend and travel guru, <a href="http://acadiawest.typepad.com/little_happy/">Kari,</a> who goes all over the world, but never blogs about it, told me that my Joseph Seibel walking shoes (black, but with some tasteful velcro) would not be acceptable in Italy. That Italian women wear stilettos to the toilet in the middle of the night (she might not have said this), so I was going to have to step it up. So I got these, and Kari approved them:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7JB0U784eiZoJU9cwIMMn-UoL18HnV_f4xBFOB-_t4w5bmsDqi1DoM0PEdSUxCpA4JnLTJBqehKW6aCoYff3A9zR37K9CQ-6PR1sCWjW1fv8HDWow6jlOp22xKV2fIYFGt80a/s1600/1303945-p-DETAILED.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7JB0U784eiZoJU9cwIMMn-UoL18HnV_f4xBFOB-_t4w5bmsDqi1DoM0PEdSUxCpA4JnLTJBqehKW6aCoYff3A9zR37K9CQ-6PR1sCWjW1fv8HDWow6jlOp22xKV2fIYFGt80a/s320/1303945-p-DETAILED.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cole Haan Air Penny Tantivy Driver. There's Nike Air in there!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
So anyhow, one Lewis 'n Clark brand original neck pillow (was famous neck pillow they took with them to explore and map the American West), and a few free Italian phrase apps for my ipad (My kids keep yelling things at me in Italian, and they all sound like come-ons, so they must be doing it right), and that's it. I'm ready.<br />
<br />
Except for my house.<br />
And my laundry.<br />
<br />
I should go do that.<br />
Instead of blogging.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Any last words of advice? </span>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-32031021889792555342011-09-02T12:34:00.002-07:002011-09-02T12:39:32.134-07:00Reading list for Italy?I just made my first <span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/lm/R2M5IMIHNVXM12/ref=cm_lm_pthnk_view?ie=UTF8&lm_bb=">Listmania</a> </span>list. I don't think I'm going to get through it before I leave for Italy. (Especially if I start with <i>The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire</i>, in six volumes.) You have anything I should add? Or detract?<br />
<br />
(This is what I do instead of booking hotel rooms. ) <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-64955494886451904042011-08-30T10:12:00.007-07:002011-08-30T10:53:42.211-07:00It's not a dry heat. But that's okay because I'm leaving.<span style="font-size: small;">Last Friday I was out in the heat, doing stuff, as I do. It was a hot heat. A wet heat. The van's brand new air conditioning couldn't make any headway, it was nearly powerless against the brick wall of steam. I was sweating so hard my wet hair was stuck to my wet neck and a moderate stench of mildew was coming off my sopping wet t-shirt (not the sexy sort of wet t-shirt), or perhaps my underwear (do not leave clean clothes in a front loading washer for even an hour in this weather, or you will regret it). I felt defeated. I kept fantasizing about San Diego, and cursing all the people who live there and drive up real estate prices. And I thought, I can't do this for another two months. I will do something criminally insane, and then they will send me to a nice, air conditioned asylum where I can spend the remainder of my days in a Land's End maillot and a microfiber straight jacket. Which doesn't sound bad, except that my children don't brush their teeth enough even when they aren't motherless. The dental and asylum bills will bankrupt us.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">So, Friday turned out to be some sort of record: 117 degrees plus all kinds of monsoon humidity. And I felt better, because it validated my concern that <i>people can't and shouldn't live in this kind of heat.</i></span> Because normally, it is only like 110 with humidity. And if it is 117, it is usually dry. <br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">So maybe I can make it to Halloween. If temperatures return to their normal ranges.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Or maybe, if I take a couple weeks off and go to Italy. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I hear the weather in Italy is a lot like San Diego. Only in Italy, I'm told, they have way better architecture, ancient Roman stuff, pizza, frescoes, huge statues of naked people, and ice cream. At least, that's what I heard from watching my Rick Steves Travels in Europe Italy DVD like 100 times. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I spent most of yesterday on the internet trying to decide if I want to buy Rick's backpack and silk money belt for my trip. Rick says polyester money belts can get very sweaty. And you can imagine, sweaty is the last thing I want to be on my Italian vacation. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Yes, I understand that I sound a little nerdy and a little Rick Steves stalkery. But I swear, it was my sister Jen who googled him yesterday and found out he's divorced his wife and found himself a young Asian girlfriend. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Have you been to Italy? Watched a lot of the Travel Channel? Read <i>A Room With a View?</i> (Or seen the old A Room With a View film, which included a young Bellatrix Lestrange and Minerva McGonagall, and all sorts of surprising dangly bits? Or even the 2006 version, in which Wormtail puts on a good show, but not nearly as good a show as all the 1985 dangly bits, if you know what I mean?) I need your help. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Got ideas for what to see and eat and where to sleep in Rome, Venice, Pompeii, or Florence? </span>None of us (except sister Jen) has ever been, so we'll need to be pretty touristy, but also, I will feel a failure if I bring less than ten pounds of pasta and gelato home in my haunches, so we will need to make time for that, too.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Bon voyage to me!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">(What? Maybe I need to stop looking at suitcases and start looking at Rosetta Stone Italian?)</span><br />
<br />
Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-57619140069402723122011-08-24T13:20:00.004-07:002011-08-24T13:35:25.530-07:00Thinking about (other people) having babies. Also thinking about pie.<span style="font-size: small;">I just spent 3.5 hours cleaning my car. I don't normally do this sort of thing, especially when it is 112 degrees outside. Okay, fine, I do it when I am 9 months pregnant. I make the other patrons at the self service vacuum area of the Dolphin Car Wash very uncomfortable as they watch me grunt and wedge myself into the back seat, but I feel DRIVEN to clean.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I am not 9 months pregnant right now.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">As far as I know.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Although, it would be pretty great if I were, and had no idea, like those ladies on <i>I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant</i>, because hey, I get a baby without nine months of bleeding eyeballs. But honestly, I can't imagine a world in which I didn't know I was pregnant (since I can usually start barfing even before the early pregnancy tests come back positive), and I suspect all those ladies are totally faking it to get on TV.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I'm thinking about babies today because Jake's little sister is in labor with her first baby. And also because my little sister is pregnant with her eighth. EIGHT! (Her fifth pregnancy, she got three kids for free when she got remarried a year ago. Which is cheating, I hope she knows.) And she is so super sick, that looking at her gives me anxiety attacks.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ross and Jane started school at BASIS Chandler. I like to grill them daily about how everything went. I grill Sam and Tom, too, but Tom refuses to give up any information, even under high pressure interrogation, except that the school day is MUCH too long, and that once he went to P.E., and there was a Frisbee involved. Then he clammed up and looked embarrassed that he'd said too much. Sam just tells me he didn't get into any trouble. Which is probably a lie.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">So on the first day, Ross and Jane met some new kids. <i>But</i>, Ross announced, <i>something weird happened.</i> <i>Kids kept coming up to me and saying, Hello! I'm so-and-so. It's nice to meet you. Then, the kid would put out his hand, and want me to shake it! It happened three times. But one kid, Winston, is from India. I think they do things different there. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Jane said<i>, Yeah. That happened to me, too. Shaking hands! Super weird.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I asked Ross if he feels like the work is too hard. He told me: <i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Well, I think I'm ahead in some subjects, like English and Spanish. But I think I'm behind in science and math. Like, at lunch time, Winston asked George if he knew the sorts of Cretaceous dinosaur birds indigenous to Central America </i>(or something like that. I can't be expected to remember this sort of question)<i>. And then, George told Winston he was really sorry, but he was only familiar with the South American varieties. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">At lunch one day, Jane was eating Keira's lunch because she'd left her PB&J in Jake's truck. Luckily Keira had the largest and best lunch in the world. <i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>She had an extra Capri Sun, and cherries, and even a tiny pie from England!</i> <i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Oh?</i> I asked. (The only thing more exciting than a pastry is a British pastry.) <i>Tell me more. Where did she get it?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>In </i><i>England</i>. <i>They just got back this week.</i> <i>But you know what's funny? Divia was sitting with us, and she didn't know what pie was. </i></span><span style="font-size: small;">She's never heard of it, or eaten it<i>. She's from here, but her parents are from Pakistan. She also didn't know what blueberries or bobby pins were, and she has to buy all her meat from a special store.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Are your kids coming home with any good school stories, or do they refuse to talk?<i> </i>.Do you think<i> I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant</i> is for real?</span><i> </i><span style="font-size: large;">Are there other 'reality' shows you feel are suspect?</span><i><br />
</i><br />
<br />
Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11480853.post-19034223473824600982011-08-12T13:56:00.006-07:002011-08-12T14:22:23.839-07:00Retrenchment. Again. Plus, my kids went to school and I spent the day on iTunes.<span style="font-size: small;">Ok, so I went to step class this morning and it was super hard. I haven't been all summer because I've too been busy eating and not moving and gaining ten pounds. About 45 minutes in, right after the 'party track' (is masochistic misnomer), a friend from like 15 years ago says hello, and instead of thinking: <i>is so good to see you!</i> I was thinking: <i>you couldn't have let me know you were right behind me? Had I known, I would have tried harder not to flop around and wheeze like an asthmatic AARP member. And maybe I wouldn't have have lain on my belly while the rest of you were doing that yoga thing.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I'm not proud of myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Last week, I started a post about how I don't care a wink about my ill-fitting pants (you'll recall I went to California and ate VG Donuts and Hula Pie and Mr. Frosty dipped cones). I wrote all about the medium-sized purple muumuu I bought myself at Target for my birthday. (Muumuus run large. Is smart thinking by muumuu makers.). And then I prattled on about how muumuus are the best because they keep people wondering: what's going on under there? Is she a lingerie model? Is she great with child? No one can tell, and guess what? It is none of their business how many apple fritters I'm smuggling around in my lovely lady lumps! I got the wearable-pup-tent idea from my sister, who already had the same dress. So since we both wore it almost every day of our vacation, sometimes we went places with all of our combined 12 children, looking like some sort of matchy-matchy Polynesian sister wives. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Anyhow, like I said, that was last week. From the black night of unhealthy (but delicious) denial has dawned a new era of self-denial. Retrenchment. Which started today. And I'm only telling you so I can't wriggle out of it. So now I'm sitting here eating raw carrots with no ranch dressing, still wearing my stinky yoga pants. You can leave your condolences in the comments.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">But just because I can't eat anything good doesn't mean I can't buy myself stuff on iTunes, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The Decemberists most recent album, <i>The King is Dead</i>, might actually be better than doughnuts. This record sounds like Mary from Peter, Paul, and Mary married Michael Stipe and had lots of bearded children, who then died and formed a choir of hipster angels. (Except for <i>This is Why we Fight</i>, which sounds like the Cranberries.) Listening to them makes me want to get the old band back together (the band being me and my sister, my sister mostly against her will), to sing my original, four-chord dirges, inspired by boys who didn't know I liked them and British Royals of the middle ages. Take a gander at my playlist over right, if you like folk music. (Or Weird Al. Because I bought his album, <i>Alpocalypse</i>, too.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What else should I buy on iTunes? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What did you do with your first day of school? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">What's your favorite doughnut?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> (I like buttermilk old-fashioned with chocolate ganache.) </span>Beeswaxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10418719062005209787noreply@blogger.com6