Snow day

Hey, Elizabeth, don't you miss living up north? Look at what you missed!

Wednesday was a rare snow day for me--we had almost 15" of snow within 24 hours, and even if I had wanted to, I couldn't have gone anywhere.

What a luxury that day was--no plans, no schedules, no HAVE TOs. Days like this totally reinforce my belief that I will make an excellent retiree, because I manage to fill my days without trying very hard. I don't understand people who say they'd be bored if they retired. I NEVER get bored; I can always find something to do.

Some highlights of the day:

Having a conversation with Santa: I had to call him to tell him that work was closed so he couldn't visit for storytime. Our conversation about shoveling snow then segued into discussing with Santa my current relationship status. I think Mrs. Santa has her hands full with that guy.

After spending the morning snowblowing and then doing laundry, I laid down for a much-needed nap. Five minutes into it, the phone rang. I knew it couldn't be my mother, because she knows better. No, it was Boss/Friend, wanting to chat.

B/F: Isn't this just a lovely day?

ME: Spoken like someone who didn't have to snowblow the driveway...

B/F: No, Husband is doing that. I do his laundry in return.

ME: I snowblowed and did laundry today.

B/F: Oh.


Later in the afternoon (after my nap), I watched my next door neighbor walk all over my front yard, picking up sticks that had fallen from the maple tree. In my front yard, She was picking up sticks in my front yard and then putting them by the curb. In my front yard. Not hers. Um, why? She totally messed up the pristine smoothness of the snow. In my front yard.

The snow is done...for now...but tonight we are under a weather advisory of wind chills up to 20 degrees below zero. Brrr.

Important text message

I am texting you on my cool new cellphone to wish you a very happy holiday season!

That Darn Cat

I swear I'm not watching it...WHY WON'T IT BOIL????

Bohemian Muppetry

This MUST be shared with as many people as possible!

Nature's bounty

The last of this summer's tomatoes



One of my co-workers has a friend who keeps honeybees. She asked me if I would like some honey...sure!



Isn't that pretty? And so, so delicious!

Ladies who lunch

When having lunch out with the girls, it's important to carefully look the menu over to find out what sounds appetizing. Waiter, how is the macaroni & cheese today? Excellent! I'll have that, and bring me a carton of your finest milk.

Does iTunes need an MLS?

If you sort my iTunes library by genre, these are some of the songs classified in the "World" music category:

"In Da Club" by 50 Cent
" Chaiyya Chaiyya" from the Bombay Dreams cast recording
"Keep Me In Your Heart" by Warren Zevon
"Seann Triubhais Uilleachain" from The Legacy of the Scottish Fiddler
"Cry Me a River" by Justin Timberlake

Yeah, okay. I guess they were all produced on this world, but otherwise...


In other news, I downloaded the first volume of the Glee soundtrack. It belongs in the "Awesome" music category.

Put down the duckie!

Sesame Street is 40 years old! Why does it seem lately that everything and everyone is YOUNGER than I am?

Anyway, one of my favorite songs from Sesame Street is "Put Down the Duckie", and for your enjoyment, here is a video of that song. I love the total randomness of the celebrity cameos--Peewee Herman! Celia Cruz! Jeremy Irons!

Catching Up

Okay, finally finished the whole Italian trip thing. Time to move on, or perhaps back, to more mundane things. For example, this is what I did last Sunday:



That's right; I raked every single one of those eleventy billion leaves. Stupid maple trees that surround my yard that don't even belong to me so I can't cut them down. Yeah, those maple trees.

I did have a little bit of drama on Sunday. While raking leaves in the backyard, I happened to glance at the wren house and noticed that there was a sparrow half hanging out of it. It was obviously stuck, and the poor little fellow was panting for breath. I climbed up on a ladder and took the house down. I tried to get the bird out, but he was stuck good. So I took off the back of the house and emptied out all the nest material for a better look. And with access to fresh air, the poor wee birdie was able to breathe a little easier.

Unfortunately, I could see that the bird's bottom bill was stuck in the wood of the house, and I didn't want to yank it out, too afraid I might hurt him.

I called our local wildlife sanctuary and asked if they had any suggestions. Not really, they said, not without seeing him. Could I bring him in? You bet. So bird, birdhouse, and I got into the car and headed for the sanctuary. Two nice rehab volunteers took over and literally sawed the birdie out of the wood. Once freed, he was still fiesty enough to try to bite the volunteer holding him, so we figured he was none the worse for wear. She let him go outside and that was my good deed for the day done.

It seemed cruel to take a photo of him while he was stuck, so here's a photo of the inside of the birdhouse, with my fingers playing the part of the bird's head:



And finally, I bring you...Frankendog:



Yes, poor Alice Faye had to have some surgery a couple of weeks ago to remove a lump. Turns out it was a mast cell tumor, but the surgery removed all of the cells, and we are hoping she will remain cancer-free. She's recovered from the surgery but still has to wear her little doggy coat to protect the incision until it fully heals. Other than being itchy, she feels great.

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno sei

Day Six

Our last day in Florence, and we are on our own for the day. Ann and Florence decide that they want to visit the Boboli Gardens, but there are a few more museums I want to see, so we split up and agree to meet up later.

I head out early, determined to beat the worst of the crowds. My first stop is the Bargello Museum, known for its collection of sculpture. The Bargello was once a prison, and its interior courtyard was the site of many executions.

The sculptures are beautiful, and the collection includes several by Michelangelo and Donatello. I recognize Donatello’s David from my one-and-only art history course in college. He is so unbelievably beautiful in real life; I’m awe-struck by the artistry and skill it took to create the wonderful pieces.

From there, it’s a short walk over to the Palazzo Vecchio; I’ve walked past it almost every day this week but haven’t yet had the chance to go inside. There’s a long line at the entrance because the security is being especially thorough. All the museums have x-ray machines and metal detectors, but here it looks like actual police, rather than just museum guards, are also hand searching people’s bags. It seems that there must be some special event going on, because there are many people dressed up in party clothes—obviously not the tourist crowd.

As I’m standing in line, I hear a couple behind me asking someone about entrance fees. I start chatting with them, and it turns out that they are from Seattle (this brings on a very short discussion about Mike Holmgren); they are on a cruise ship and have a shore excursion to Florence for several hours. They ask me about some good places to see, and I mark some things on their map, like the Duomo. Ultimately, I say, they’d probably enjoy just walking around and seeing the streets and buildings. They suggest that I’d make an excellent tour guide (darn the luck that my Italian isn’t fluent; I would LOVE that!).

The Palazzo Vecchio isn’t a complete disappointment, but after the lavish museums I’ve been in, it’s a little more minimalist. The rooms are gorgeous and the frescos (more frescos!) are outstanding, but there isn’t much else to see. As I’m walking down a staircase, I round the corner and find a group of men, sitting in a window seat, all dressed in Renaissance costume. They are obviously part of the event that’s going on, and they look fantastic. I wish I had been brave enough to take their photograph!

After that, it’s a quick walk over to the Mercato Nuovo for some last-minute souvenir shopping. I make the mistake of stopping to look at a leather backpack (love those backpacks for some reason) and the stall vendor starts her spiel on me. For me, a special price, it’s her last one. Just for me? Really? Well, it is beautiful and beautifully made and the price isn’t outrageous. Why not? I decide to splurge.

I do a little more shopping, stopping in at a local department store and a fancy grocery store to pick up some chocolate and panforte. Outside the store, I stop to reorganize my bags; I take a little too long and I can see some gypsies headed my way to panhandle. Whoops! Time to move on.

I head back to the hotel to drop off my purchases and eat a panino I purchase on the way back. Then it’s over to Santa Maria Novella to see inside the church that was closed yesterday. I walk around the church, pausing to look in the chapels and see various artworks here and there. In front of one, Masaccio’s Holy Trinity, there are two American women standing. The one woman, obviously an art lover, is explaining to her friend how this fresco is so important because it pioneered the use of perspective. “This painting is the whole reason I came to Florence,” she says. Wow!

I sit in the piazza in front of the church, enjoying the sunshine and the people watching. Suddenly, there’s a lot of clamor in the street, growing louder. It’s some kind of political parade, with banners and drums and police escorts. People are hanging out of their apartment windows to watch, but I can only understand about every 10th word. It’s still fun to see.

From there, I make my way back to the San Lorenzo area. On the way, I run into another parade. This one seems to be celebrating wine and grapes. There are marchers dressed up in peasant costumes, and big white oxen pulling farm wagons full of bottles of wine in straw baskets. Best of all, they seem to be selling the wine right out of the wagons! People run up with money and they hand over bottles. Now this is my kind of parade!

I go into the church of San Lorenzo and look again at another beautiful Renaissance church. It’s interesting to me that some of the churches, Santa Croce, for example, and especially the Duomo, are all clad in marble like fancy wedding cakes. And others, like Santo Spirito and San Lorenzo have the plainest of facades that mask beautiful interiors. I walk through the cloister garden and visit the crypt, but the Laurentian library isn’t open today. Rats! My one chance to visit a library…ah well.

Back to the hotel to meet up with Ann and Florence; we go out for our last dinner together in Florence. We choose the Trattoria da Garibardi, where I have bruschetta and taglieri con tartufe (pasta with truffles). And one more glass of Chianti.

What a fabulous trip this has been. Florence is beautiful, the people are friendly, and the food was delicious. The best trips I go on always leave me wanting to move to that place, and I can definitely imagine living in a little hill town in Tuscany--walking through the fields in the sunshine, selling gelato to tourists--who's with me?

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno cinque

Day Five

Back in Florence for the day; these days are going by so fast it’s hard to believe the trip is almost over.

We start our day in our own neighborhood, walking to the nearby church of Santa Maria Novella., but darn it, it isn’t open yet to the public. We make a detour into the Officina Profumo, a shop that sells perfumes and other aromatherapy products that were originally produced by the friars of Santa Maria Novella.

Our itinerary says that we next go on to the Ponte Vecchio, but we tell Elisabetta that we’ve already seen it. Elisabetta quickly adapts, leading us through narrow alleys and streets to show us some other interesting spots. She takes us to the church of Santa Trinita. It’s smaller than many of the other churches we have seen, but it has incredibly beautiful chapels. The church itself seems untouched by time and has a quieter, more intimate atmosphere.

Next, we visit the Palazzo Davanzati. This is a medieval residence that has been restored to look as it might have during the Renaissance. Unlike the other palazzi we have visited, this one has the real look of a lived-in house. When we walk in, Elisabetta says to me, “look up”. When I do, I see that the staircases look like something out of an M.C. Escher work. Incredible.

We also squeeze in a quick look at the Orsanmichele, a church converted from a former grain market. This was a trade church, where the various trade groups competed to express their devotion through commissioning statues of representative saints.

There’s still more to see, so Elisabetta leads us across the river to the Oltr’arno district. This district has more of a neighborhood feel, with fewer tourists filling the streets. We walk past Santo Spirito, getting a glimpse of the beautiful cloistered garden. The piazza in front has a lovely fountain, and a few street vendors nearby are selling things like honey and prosciutto. This feels like we’re in a true Italian neighborhood. We finally arrive at the Brancacci Chapel, famous for—guess what!—its frescos featuring the life of Saint Peter.

After all this walking and all these churches, we are ready for a break. We have lunch at il Cantinone. Once again, I choose something I would never eat at home: Degustazione di formaggi pecorini toscani con mostarda di fichi e miele al tartufo—also known as “Assorted mix Sheep’s milk cheese with truffle honey and fig mustard”, and let me tell you, it was good. I also try pappa al pomodoro, a tomato soup thickened with bread. The flavor is really intense and spicy and the texture of the soup is almost, but not quite, like a puree. Add some chianti and tiramisu for dessert, and I’m one satisfied diner.

Reinvigorated, we make our way to the nearby Palazzo Pitti. Yet another Medici palace, and in some ways the Florentine version of Versailles, the Pitti is now an art museum, but one that showcases the artworks that the Medici collected over the years. The art is arranged not by style or era or artist, as it might be in a traditional museum; instead, the pieces are displayed as hung by the previous generations of Medici. Elisabetta and I debate the merits of Renaissance versus Baroque art, but she agrees with me that the Rubens canvas is pretty spectacular. I also find it amusing that the section of the museum devoted to “modern” art begins with artwork from the 18th century.

At the end of our tour, we say goodbye to Elisabetta, and I feel very sad. I’ve so enjoyed spending time with her; it feels like I’m saying goodbye to a new friend.

That evening, the three of us go to dinner at I’Brindellone, a neighborhood trattoria that Elisabetta recommended. When we show the cab driver where we want to go, he tells us he’s eaten there too—how can you go wrong with the local cab driver’s recommendation? Florence and I decide to be brave and order the bistecca fiorentina. This is a local specialty—a giant steak from a certain breed of cattle. The minimum size order at our restaurant is 1 kg, or 2.2 pounds. Oof. The steak arrives, and it is enormous—at least two fingers thick, filling the entire dinner plate. It is served very rare (I’m usually a medium-well kind of steak eater), but I do my best. And yes, it is delicious.

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno quattro

Day Four…ROAD TRIP!

Today’s the day we hit the road to see a little bit of the surrounding countryside. Our guide today is Alessia and she comes along with a driver, Mario. We head south out of town, through some of the more suburban parts of Florence; we get a glimpse into more of the everyday neighborhoods—apartment buildings, car washes, laundromats.

Soon we are on the freeway headed to Siena. The countryside looks just like you might imagine the Italian countryside to look—rolling hills covered with fields of sunflowers, grapevines, or olive trees. Cypress trees punctuate the landscape, and just about every hilltop is crowned by a villa. There are, of course, more modern going concerns along the way—auto dealerships, gas stations, and stores called “Coop” which look like they might be like a Wal-Mart or Costco.

Eventually we arrive at Siena, a beautiful Tuscan city that is also a designated World Heritage Site. Here we meet our local guide, Cristina, who is a native of the city. Like many Tuscan cities, Siena is a hill town, and Cristina has us marching up narrow, steep streets.

Siena is also known for its traditional horse races, called Palio, dating back to the 1600s. Twice each summer, different districts, or contrade, sponsor a horse and rider in a breakneck race around the public square, known as the Campo. When we see the Campo, it’s hard to imagine that upwards of 25,000 people cram into such a small area.

From the Campo, we walk over to the Duomo. It looks like a wedding cake or maybe Barbie’s DreamHouse Duomo. Inside is even more spectacular, with columns of tiered marble, floors decorated with inlaid marble, and a library with the most elaborately frescoed walls and ceiling. One wall is hung with plaques and silver hearts and assorted objects like baby bibs and motorcycle helmets, all given in thanks for prayers answered. It reminds me that these glorious, historic cathedrals are still very much workaday churches for the people who live there.

After Siena, we travel to a local winery for lunch. Fattoria La Tancia is a family-run business, apparently, and like everything else I’ve seen so far, looks just exactly how you would expect a family-run Italian winery to look. It’s a lovely, sunny day, and we sit on the terrace under an awning. Lunch is simple, but delicious—bruschetta, pasta arrabiata, and salumi e formaggio—along with several bottles of wines to sample. We end the meal with cantucci (what we call biscotti) that we dip into glasses of vin santo, a sweet dessert wine.

At one point, they bring out grandma to sit in the shade outside, and she looks just exactly like you would expect a little Italian nonna to look. Florence starts serenading the grandmother (who, we are told, has poor eyesight and hearing) with a rousing version of Que Sera Sera (and having just gotten to know Florence a little bit, this is exactly what I would expect Florence to do. By day four, I’ve gotten used to it.); Nonna reacts by clamping her hands over her ears. Really, when you are old and Italian, I think you are allowed to dispense with politeness.

We are full and sleepy, but we have miles still to go, so we say goodbye and climb back into the van (did I mention that it is a Mercedes-Benz van? Because that’s how we roll.). Now it’s off to San Gimignano, an ancient Etruscan town that still has many of its medieval towers standing. On the outskirts, the driver pulls over to let us take some photos; it’s like a picture postcard.

The town itself is small, with one main street leading to an open piazza. The street is lined with shops, mostly catering to tourists, and the street is full of tourists. In many ways, it reminds me of a village in Door County, say, Fish Creek or Sister Bay. You have the cute boutiques selling art or jewelry or ice cream or gourmet foods. But the scenery, oh, the scenery. I walk to the Ponte Panoramico (the “Panoramic Bridge”) and look over the beautiful rolling hills of Tuscany. Nearby, under a yellow sunshade, a guitarist plays gypsy jazz. I can picture myself living here.

Back to the hotel in the late afternoon, and we rest up before heading out for dinner. It’s typical to eat dinner late here—no earlier than 7:30 p.m., and true locals sometimes even wait until after 8:30 p.m. Alessia has given us several recommendations, and we end up at Trattoria ZaZas, near San Lorenzo. I throw caution to the wind and order pappardelle al cinghiale, which is pasta with wild boar sauce. Yep, that’s right. Wild. Boar. As in pig. Now some of you will be shocked to learn that I, known to avoid most pork products, would choose such a dish, but you know what? I’m in Italy. And part of traveling means stepping outside of your usual habits. Besides, I’ve eaten haggis, so what could be so bad? I can tell you that cinghiale pretty much tastes like roast pork. So there.

In the piazza, there are several cafes, all with outdoor seating, so it feels lively and fun. A strolling gypsy band walks by and plays music for everyone. I’m surprise, though, when one of the musicians walks around the tables and holds out a cup for tips. Not that I mind giving a little money, but it just seems very bold. Still, it’s a lovely evening, and we have fun watching what looks like a bachelorette dinner across from us.

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno tre

Day Three


No oversleeping for me today; I’m up bright and early. Today we are off to immerse ourselves in the glory of Renaissance art in the Uffizi Gallery. The Uffizi is another creation of the Medicis. It was originally built to house the administrative offices (or “Uffizi”) for the Medici government. When the Medici dynasty died out, the last of the Medicis, Anna Maria Ludovica, willed her family’s great wealth and treasure to the people of Florence in perpetuity.

Elisabetta is totally in her element here. She explains all the finer points of Cimabue’s Madonna versus Giotto’s Madonna versus some other guy’s Madonna. While it can feel a bit overwhelming, keeping all the Adorations and the Annunciations and the Ascensions straight, Elisabetta’s enthusiasm and eye for detail makes me appreciate these beautiful artworks in a way I could have never done on my own.

And here, in the following rooms, as some of the most famous and beautiful paintings I know. Here are Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and Primavera. There are Leonardos, Michelangelos, Titians,, and Raphaels. Elisabetta teaches us about Fra Filippo Lippi, the monk who fell in love with a nun and painted her and their children as Madonna and Child.

While the height of Florentine art occurred in the 1500s, the Uffizi has a few later pieces. I see two paintings by Rubens and an incredibly dramatic Sacrifice of Isaac by Caravaggio.

All this art has made us hungry, so we have lunch at the Trattoria il Porcellino, near the Mercato Nuovo. This lunch, a first course of pasta al pomodoro and a main course of steak and roast potatoes, is probably our least favorite of the week.

After lunch, we wander down to the Ponte Vecchio, the most famous bridge in Florence. This bridge was built in the 1300s and it was the only bridge in Florence not destroyed by the Germans in WWII, supposedly by the direct order of Hitler. As in times past, the bridge is lined by shops, most of which sell gold jewelry.

There is the most wonderful smell wafting through the area from shops near the bridge. As a quick snack, these places sell waffles, cooked on griddles right near the street. They are sold with a variety of toppings, including my favorite, Nutella.

Ann and I drop Florence back at the hotel for a rest, and the two of us go back to the Duomo and to the Duomo’s museum, housed in a separate building nearby. There we see statues, gargoyles, crucifixes, and various other pieces that at one time were part of the Duomo. There is a statue of Mary Magdalene by Donatello that gives me the shivers with its stark, almost modern style.

Have I mentioned the reliquaries? Every church and church museum has dozens of them on display. They are incredible works of art, made of silver, gems, and rock crystal. Unfortunately, most of them still contain their original relics—including at least one jawbone and something that looks like a chicken heart.

For dinner that night, we wander back to the Piazza della Repubblica, and on a nearby side street, we find La Posta. As usual, we choose to dine outside. I have the most incredible meal of gnocchi with gorgonzola and fiori fritti—fried zucchini flowers.

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno due

Day Two

The ringing telephone wakes me up. My room is pitch dark, and I blunder around before I find the phone. It's Ann, one of my fellow travelers. They missed me at breakfast; I've overslept. What time is it? After 8 a.m.--I was supposed to meet them for breakfast at 7:30 a.m., and we're supposed to meet our tour guide at 9 a.m. in the lobby. Oops. When motivated, I don't take long to get ready, so I dash in the shower, zip upstairs for a quick breakfast, and make it to the lobby with time to spare.

We meet Elisabetta, our private tour guide for the week. She is very nice and speaks English with a British intonation and a slight Italian accent. We find out later that her father is Italian, but her mother is English.

Florence is flat, and almost all the sights are within walking distance. Over the next week, we will walk walk walk walk. Elisabetta takes us first to the district of San Lorenzo and the Mercato Centrale. This market is a covered building, something like the Pike Place Market in Seattle, only without the fish tossing. There are vendors selling every kind of Italian food you can imagine--from wine, olives, cheese, to fruits and vegetables, and an astonishing array of meat...ducks, chickens with the feet on, organ meat; it's like a biology lab in there.

The San Lorenzo street market is interesting, but a little touristy. Sellers have these big carts where they sell t-shirts, scarves, shoes, leather goods, trinkets, you name it. Most of these vendors appear to be immigrants, either African, Asian, or Middle Eastern, and we are advised to bargain hard if we want anything.

We walk through the side streets and alleys to the Accademia, which is where Michelangelo's David lives. It's right at this moment that it becomes apparent why we have a tour guide--the line of people waiting to get in stretches around the block. But we have a reserved entry time, so we pop right in.
And there he is--David. He's become quite a cliche over the years--tacky plastic statues, refrigerator magnets with dress-up clothes--but standing here in front of him, you understand why he's a masterpiece. Elisabetta, who has a background in art history, talks to us about his proportions, his stance, what Michelangelo conveyed through his art. As we walk around the statue, I find myself in tears. "Do you ever get tired of seeing him?" I ask Elisabetta. Never, she replies.

On our way back to San Lorenzo, we take a coffee/Diet Coke break at a sidewalk cafe. Then we move on to the Medici Chapels, where most of the Medici family are buried. We walk into the Chapel of the Princes, which is entirely clad in marble, inlaid with colored stone. We also see the New Sacristy which has tombs with figures carved by Michelangelo.

We have lunch in a nearby cafe--Florence doesn't just have "restaurants"...there are ristorantes, trattorias, osterias, rosticcerias, wine bars, places labeled "self service" that look kind of like cafeterias, gelaterias, and panini shops. There are very few ethnic restaurants; over the week, I notice one Indian and one Chinese place. When I ask our guide about this, she said that Italian people just seem to like their own food best. And really, who can argue?

Anyway, our lunch is served by the fluently-Italian-speaking Ryan from Canada. My first course is pasta with pomodoro sauce, although this is nothing like the tomato sauce we have in jars. This is basically diced tomatoes and seasonings, and it is delicious. This is followed by a tortino tomate verde (green tomato tart), which turns out to be a little like a quiche. This is accompanied by a lovely glass of Brunello wine. Wine accompanies just about everything here.

After lunch, it's over to the Duomo and a look at the famous gilded doors of the Battistero, a separate building that was used for adult baptisms. And then it was on to Santa Croce, where I imagine Lucy Honeychurch without her Baedeker. Here we threw ourselves into the whole grab bag of experience--seeing the tombs of Galileo, Michelangelo, Dante, Rossini, and Macchiavelli. There were frescos, frescos, and more frescos, still beautiful and vivid even after 500 years. I also got to see the Cimabue crucifix that I had read about in the book Dark Water. Even badly damaged, it is still beautiful.

The Santa Croce district used to be home to many leatherworkers, and Florence is famous for its leather goods. Part of the church complex includes the Scuola del Cuoio, the Leather School. There were incredibly beautiful pieces of leatherwork on display--shoes, purses, belts, and you could go into various little rooms and buy directly from the artisans. There was also a wall of autographed photos from famous celebrites who had visited, including Noah Wylie and Jeanne Crain. Really!

Elisabetta leads us through alleys and lanes, showing us interesting little sights along the way--the church where Dante's Beatrice is buried, the building that was built on top of the foundations of the ancient Roman amphitheater. She also takes us to her favorite gelateria; on her recommendation, I get a cono piccolo of chioccolata. Now, I'm not usually a fan of chocolate ice cream, but this was outstanding.

That night, the three of us were on our own for dinner. We wandered around the streets for a little while, and finally ended up in the Piazza della Repubblica. There we chose Le Giubbe Rosse (The Red Jackets), where we ordered pizza and drank wine. The waiter, an older man, asked us where we were from. "New York", said the two ladies. "Wisconsin", I said, and the waiter gave me an odd look. "Near Chicago?" I added. The waiter smiled and said that when he was 19 years old, he spent "a beautiful day and a beautiful night in Rome with a girl from Wisconsin. That was 54 years ago." Every time he walked by our table, he'd shake his head and say, "Ah, Wisconsin", remembering his long ago romance. Somehow, the nostalgic romance of that story seemed just perfect for our dinner on the piazza.

It was also on this night that I had my quintessential Italian moment. As we were eating pizza margherita and drinking Chianti under the awning of the cafe, a young woman, accompanied by an accordionist, began singing opera under the loggia of the building across the piazza. My first full day in Italy has a wonderful ending.

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno uno

Day one

Due to an airline schedule change (thanks, Delta!), I can no longer fly with my group out of JFK. Instead, I fly to Detroit, from there to Paris, and from there to Pisa. It means 24+ hours of flying, but at least it breaks up the flights a little. The Detroit airport is very nice, and I spend my layover walking the terminal, thinking it will be the last chance I'll have for awhile to move around.

Layover in Paris: Charles De Gaulle airport (CDG) stinks. There, I've said it. Ugly building, confusing signage. I leave Terminal 1 to find a shuttle bus to Terminal 4. There are two other Americans waiting at the bus stop, too, but they aren't real chatty. They're telling me that they are on their way to Orvieto, Spain, when a woman comes up and starts asking us questions in French. "Sorry" is all I can say. One of the American guys says, "Well, all I heard was autobus" and then looking at me, says, "Well, at least you look like you might be French!" The people at Lands End (where I bought my blouse) would be so proud!

Terminal 4 is clearly not the high-end terminal. There's one bathroom, one duty-free shop, one bookstore, and one snack bar. I glug down a Diet Coke (or Coca-Cola Light, as they call it in Europe) and settle in for the three hour wait. You can't drift off here, because as the automated PA voice helpfully points out, they don't announce flights in order to minimize the noise. So you have to keep checking the departures board to find out when your flight is boarding.

Hurray, just 24 hours since I left home, and I've landed in Pisa. Now to buy a train ticket, find the train station, and get on the train for Florence. I confidently try out my elementary Italian on the ticket clerk. "Uno biglietto a Firenze Santa Maria Novella, per favore". He is impassively unimpressed, but I get my ticket. Now where the heck is the train station? I follow the signs, but they mysteriously taper off. Aha, there it is, two little tracks with a decrepit old train covered in graffiti. The TV monitor says that the train for Florence is leaving from track 5. Track 5? But there are only two tracks. Desperately, I approach the family sitting on one of the benches.

"Dov'e binario cinque, per favore?"

They shrug, and the father answers back in Italian.

"Non capisco...Inglese?"

Nope, sorry, nobody speaks English.

Some old man on a bicycle yells something at me in Italian, none of which I understand. "Grazie" I yell back. Then it dawns on me that the TV monitor is showing the times from the CENTRAL train station, not the airport. Which is probably what the old man was telling me. And I now have missed the last train from the AIRPORT station to the CENTRAL station. Grrr, but at least I know what's going on now.

I go over to the taxi stand and tell the driver to go to Pisa Centrale Stazione. I dash from the taxi to the platforms and find that I'm still on time to catch the train to Florence...I'm feeling very proud of myself right about now.

An hour later, and I'm in Florence, at the Santa Maria Novella train station. I've already scoped out the street layouts on Google Maps, so I know that my hotel, the Grand Hotel Baglioni, is just on the other side of the piazza. I've made it!

In the lobby of the hotel, I meet one of our guides, Alessia, and the two other ladies in the group, Florence, a dentist, and Ann, a computer consultant. Both of them are friends, live on Staten Island, and are of Sicilian descent. After dropping off my luggage, we go upstairs to dinner.

The dining room is beautiful, with a panoramic view of the Florence skyline and the Duomo all lit up. We have a fixed menu dinner, and the waiter pours an incredibly wonderful glass of Chianti. After the first pasta course, our main course turns out to be veal scallopine. Now, ordinarily, I don't eat veal--the idea of it just bothers me. But, I figure that this poor little calf is already dead, and besides, I'm hungry. And my goodness, was it delicious.

After dinner, we decide to take a quick walk to the Duomo. The streets are full of people walking around, and I feel perfectly safe. Most of the stores are closed, but the cafes are going strong, and the piazza is crowded with people.

My hotel room is charming, with wood floors and a beamed ceiling. I don't have a view (just an air shaft), but the window itself is a marvel to behold--an inner wooden shutter, then a glass casement window, then an exterior slatted shutter. The bathroom is tiny, but spotless. I flip through the TV channels, but my options are limited--CNN Europe or BBC World. There are a couple of music channels, but honestly, Italian hip-hop all ends up sounding like Falco. Over the course of the week, I will also watch Scooby-Doo and an episode of Eight is Enough (la famiglia Bradford) dubbed in Italian. I will understand perfectly the plot of both shows despite the lack of English dialogue. Scooby-Doo does an excellent job of matching the Italian voices very closely to the original American ones.

I'm so 3000-and-8

Have you seen that Pepsi ad that features Bob Dylan singing "Forever Young"? It compares the Pepsi Generation of 40 years ago to today's Pepsi drinkers. I was at the movies last week when the ad started playing before the movie previews. One of my friends who was there is a member of the Woodstock generation, and in fact, is from the very same small town that Bob Dylan is from...

Me: I'll give you a million dollars if you can name the person who's singing in the ad along side Bob Dylan.

[The answer we were looking for was: will.i.am from the Black Eyed Peas, BTW]

Friend: I...I don't know...P. Daddy?

She's just so 2000-and-late.

Find out what it means to me

I just found this old fortune-cookie fortune that had gotten stuck behind a refrigerator magnet:

You deserve respect and will eventually get it.

Yeah, it's that eventually that is giving me trouble. Soon would be good; now, even better.

Sssshhh!!

You know that game you teach babies about animal sounds? "What does the cat say?" "Meow" "What does the cow say?" "Moo" and so on. My 19-month-old niece Maggie Bea has been learning some unusual ones: "What does the wolf say?" "Aaaoooooo!" "What does the opera singer say? "Laaaaaaa!" Her aunt taught her, "What does the cowboy say?" "Yee hah!" I taught her one too, and this is what her mother reported to me yesterday:

Maggie Bea very randomly says to me this morning: Mama …Linnnaeriaaaan…(garbage talk I can’t understand)

Mama: What honey?

Maggie bea: Linnneariannnn….shhhhhh

Mama: Shhhh? What are we being quiet for?

Maggie Bea: Linnnnearrianann…shhhh …Mama …collie…linnnnearrrian…shhhh

Mama: Oh…What does the librarian say?

Maggie Bea: Shhhhhh

We got through it together!

You are inspiring little librarians everywhere

That child is SO in my will!

Eurotrash

So I'm preparing for an upcoming trip overseas, and I decide to go to the bank to buy some euros. No one uses travelers checks anymore, and ATMs can sometimes be iffy overseas, so I just thought I'd get the cash here. This is what it took:

Day 1

I visit My Bank, and explain that I want to get some euros. Teller B says sure, but I can go directly to Other Bank and buy them there. They don't keep them on hand and have to order them in. No, that's okay, I reply, I'd rather do it here. Okay, and he proceeds to call the International Funds Department of Other Bank to place the order. Phone rings and rings and rings but no one answers. Apparently, Teller B and I decide, they must be closed for the day (this is before 5 pm). Must be nice to work actual bankers' hours. I decide to return on a different day.

Day 2

Visit 1

I have the morning off, so I decide to go to Other Bank and purchase the euros directly--saves a second trip to pick them up. I enter the lobby of Other Bank first thing in the morning, and wait my turn in line. When it's my turn, the teller looks at me and says, "Are you here to buy foreign currency?" Actually, yes I am, I reply. (How does she know this? Do I have that International Jet Setter look about me?) "Yes, I thought so," she says, "The person who does that won't be here until after 9:30 a.m." Oh, so I misunderstood the signs that say "International Currency sold here between 8:30 a.m. and 4:30 p.m."? Did I mention that Other Bank is a large banking corporation with branches in several states? Okay, fine, I'll be back.

Visit 2

I return to Other Bank and wait in line. I get to Foreign Currency Teller and tell her I want to purchase some euros.

FCT: I can help you with that (Hooray!) Do you have an account here?

Me: No

FCT: Then there is a $5 fee and I will need to take payment in cash.

Me; You can't take a check?

FCT: No, not unless it's drawn on this bank. But we do have an ATM at the end of the teller row.

Me: Okay, I'll get the cash and be back.

So I go over to the ATM, which tells me it will probably charge me a $3 fee for the withdrawal because I am a non-account holder at Other Bank. Oh, and yes, it won't give me enough cash to purchase the number of euros I want. Sorry.

I leave Other Bank.

Visit 3

I go back to My Bank and Teller B, who remembers me and my need for foreign currency. This time, the order goes through quickly. Thanks, Teller B! I should have never strayed from you.

Srey

I'm sorry that the summer is over too.

You said who with the what now?

LADY: There's something wrong with my computer; can you help me?

So I go over and look. The problem is that in the URL line, she's typed in google without the ".com". I point that out and tell her she needs to type in google.com.

LADY: [types her email address into the Google search line] Is this where I get my mail?

ME: No ma'am, that's for searching. See where it says "Sign In"? Click on that and then put in your username and password.

Short time later...

LADY: There's another problem; can you help?

I go over and look. The error message says that her username and password don't exist. I look more closely and notice that her username is something like "janedoe@yahoo.com".

ME: Your email says Yahoo, but this is Google. Do you have a Yahoo or a Google email account?

LADY: Yahoo.

ME: Okay, you have to go to yahoo.com. See where it says "Mail"? Let's click on that.

LADY: [clicks on search line] Is this where I put in my email address?

ME: No, where it says "username" and "password".


I give up...

New camera!

Eggscuse me?

I so TOTALLY want one of these:




Chicken girl, that's me.

The Book of Love

One of the other blogs I read regularly posted this clip from the finale of the show Scrubs. I DARE you to watch it without tearing up. If you can, you're made of stronger stuff than I am, my friend.



Listen carefully to the song that plays during this segment--it's absolutely lovely, It's called "The Book of Love" and Peter Gabriel sings this version. If you're interested in tracking it down, I found it on the soundtrack CD for the movie Shall We Dance?

Packrat

Do you think my dog has a hoarding problem??

Sweet nothings

When I woke up this morning, the first thought that popped into my head was possibly the three sweetest words in the English language--

"I'm on vacation!"

One big happy

Now that all the grandchildren are growing up and spreading out, it gets harder and harder for all of us to get together. Fortunately, this weekend, most of the family was able to meet up and celebrate my mother's 80th birthday. We sure do laugh a lot when we're around each other! Mom was surprised and thrilled by her iPod and stereo--now she can download the Black Eyed Peas and Lady Gaga with all the other disco kids.

I had to miss the petting zoo excursion ("CORN!!") and I forgot to take pictures during the actual birthday party, but here are some photos of us in action:

Now, I can die a happy person

Very possibly the coolest email I've ever gotten--

Funny, or awesome? You decide!



Yoko Ono is now following you on Twitter! Inbox X

Reply


Twitter to me
show details 2:02 AM (4 hours ago)
I

Hi, Collie.

Yoko Ono (yokoono) is now following your updates on Twitter.

iQuest

Earlier this week, I was on a quest, searching iTunes for a song that I had heard snatches of on the radio. I found it, and it is currently my favorite song. In fact, I'm going to declare it my Official Anthem of Summer 2009:



Just makes me wanna dance.

I will admit that I also searched for and bought a couple of Michael Jackson songs. Even though I was never a HUGE fan, I do have one LP (remember those?) of his: Off the Wall. That was the one he released before Thriller. I was in college when Thriller came out, and MTV was such a big deal at that time; it was all anybody could talk about. "Have you seen Thriller yet?" Everybody, whether they were Jackson fans or not, thought the video was incredible. MTV would even announce when they would be broadcasting the video, so you could make sure to see it. Even after all these years, it still looks astounding.

So for the last couple of weeks, with all of the sad news, I've had an almost non-stop loop of Jacksons music playing in my head. But this is some pretty great music to have as an earworm. And in the end, this is how I would like to remember Michael Jackson: a talented performer who gave us some really good songs. Boogie down!

Happy to be here

Lately, I've been watching The Tudors, a sexed-up, soap opera version of Henry VIII's life. I've also been reading Ken Follett's World Without End, which is a historical novel set in 14th century England, so I've been immersed in court intrigue and knights and vassals and plague and corrupt monks and cardinals.

And may I just say that I am thrilled to live HERE and NOW?!!??? I am very grateful for private land ownership, women's rights, antibiotics, and hot and cold running water, among many other things. Oh yes indeed.

Why no new post?

Because nothing, absolutely nothing worth talking about has been going on. Really. So unless you want me to talk about how sleepy and achy I felt this weekend or hear me describe looking for songs on iTunes, I'd suggest you'd just move along now. Nothin' to see here, folks.

Girls' weekend

We had a really nice weekend up north with just the girls. Sliding, ice cream, and baby bison were all on the agenda. I'd tell you about picking wood ticks off the dogs, but Kate says I need to toughen up.

I always suspected as much

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Happy day

We drove out East this past weekend to attend a family wedding. The bride was beautiful, the wedding was lovely, and it was nice to see family we don't see nearly enough.

Lots of love and best wishes to Nate and Elizabeth as they begin married life together!




**Click on the slideshow to see it in album format...

At Last

Spring finally announced its presence with authority this week, and I, for one, couldn't be happier. May is one of my favorite months, when the long, cold fingers of winter have finally loosened their grip, the sky is blue, the sun is bright, the birds are singing, and you can practically hear the buds bursting forth.

May also means a lot of outside work for me--cleaning the driveway of maple flowers, cleaning the gutters of maple flowers, cleaning the driveway (again) of maple flowers, pulling maple seedlings, weeding, digging, fertilizing, trimming, mowing, hauling outdoor stuff out of storage, and did I mention cleaning up after the maple trees?

I've also done several inspection tours of the garden this year, checking for bare spots, looking for what survived this year and what didn't, where things need to be dug up and moved, and so on. As long and cold as the winter was this year, it was a good one for the garden, because all that snow kept things insulated, and we didn't have the thaw-and-freeze cycles that have killed so many plants in years past. I'm always surprised at what makes it through and what doesn't. This year, I had a clump of Italian parsley that somehow survived, and it looks like the cilantro has reseeded itself quite nicely. The Oriental poppies I had left for dead have come back healthy and HUGE. The verbena didn't make it, but that was a long shot. I had given up on the swamp milkweed, but I just noticed yesterday that there are little green shoots starting to poke up.

So, I predict several trips to the garden center over the next couple of weekends to collect mulch, peat moss, new pots to replace ones that broke, and many visits to the plant section to linger over all the choices--do I want to try tomatillos again this year? How many flats of impatiens? Shall I do all white again or go for a mix? Any good tomato varieties? How about herbs? How's the perennial selection? Decisions, decisions...

In other good news, my committee work is almost wrapped up, which means I can start choosing my own reading again. You have no idea how excited I am about this. I have a long, long list of books, books that have waited patiently for me while I slogged through my assigned titles. So many happy hours of reading pleasure to look forward to! I can't wait!

Doggone Blues

Now busking for Milk Bones on a street corner near you:

All in a day's work

Here is today's best phone conversation:

ME: Hello, how can I help you?

CALLER (male): Yeah, I got a couple questions for you. My first question is, uh, OH, CRAP! [pause] Uh, my second question is...

Favorite Things

Here in the House of Too Many Pets, I constantly fight the battle against pet hair, and the pet hair usually wins...until now...

Pledge, I owe you one.

All in a day's work

So, this guy called again earlier this week. The conversation went something like this:

Guy: What does it mean with they say "Sir Isaac Newton"? What does the "sir" mean?

Me: It means that he has been knighted, and "Sir" is his title.

Guy: Oh. So what do they call a woman who has been knighted?

Me: If it's a woman, then her title is "Dame".

Guy: Oh. I thought they called her "Miss Madame".


Then today, I got this call from a different man:

Man: Yeah, I need some information. You're a woman. My wife is having a birthday; what could I do for her that would be really romantic?

Me: Weeellll, I don't know if I can give you any suggestions. Since I don't know your wife, I don't know what she would think is romantic.

Man: Oh, I was thinking we could go to a state park. She doesn't really like motels, but she could put up with one--one that's maybe not too expensive. With a pool. Like maybe the Holidome. Does that sound good?

Me: I think whatever you decide, just be thoughtful and do something she would think is special, OK?

Man: Yeah, ok.


It's almost like I make this stuff up.

You said it

My favorite book title of the week (so far)...

All the Wrong People Have Self-Esteem by Laurie Rosenwald

I'm flattered, I think?

Wow, You're a Labrador Retriever!

Labrador Retriever
The Caretaker

Your family is what makes you tick, and you never "flea" from an opportunity to hang out with the whole gang. A family picnic complete with hot dogs, deviled eggs and a refreshing swim in the lake is hard for you to stray from. Your sparky temperament and dogged intelligence mean you are not only a blast to hang out with, but great to work with as well. Your close pals appreciate your patience and forgiveness, knowing you'd rather let sleeping dogs lie than dwell on the mishaps of the past. Your dashing good looks may one day lead to a modelling career, if only you can tame the unfortunate clumsiness that sometimes causes you to go flailing from the catwalk.

FAMOUS LABRADOR RETRIEVERS: Bill Cosby, Jackie Onassis, Dr. Phil, David Beckham

LIKELY PROFESSIONS: Doctor, Sales Executive, Teacher

You can take the quiz yourself here

What's wrong with me???

So I'm walking down the basement steps when, out of nowhere, the following pops in my head...

"Drink Dr. Pepper, the joy of every boy and girl!
It's the most original soft drink every in the whole wide world!
Dr. Pepper!"

Which prompts the following questions:

Why is this still in my head? Whatever happened to David Naughton? Seriously, what is up with my brain?

A cautionary tale

One sign that you might be overtired and preoccupied...

After showering, you mistakenly moisturize your face with your hair product.

*sigh*

Spring fever

It's been a quiet week here in Lake Back-of-the-Woods. I'm so hungry for spring that I can hardly stand it. The snow has almost melted away, but underneath, the lawn just looks brown and messy. We've had a few days of warmth and sunshine, but it's so hard when it chills back down again. One of the local weathermen said today, "Once people get a taste of those warm days, they want them to stay." So true.

Two things I discovered this week that have made me happy. I'm sure people much cooler and hipper than I am have heard about these long ago, but what can I say?

Anyway, the first thing is a music group called Bitter:Sweet. Itunes classifies them as "electronic", but I don't think that's quite accurate. They're kind of jazzy, trippy electronic.

My other discovery is a TV show called Flight of the Conchords. It's about a pair of clueless New Zealanders who live in New York, trying to make their band a success. It's very silly and full of goofy songs sung with complete sincerity. I'm also enjoying the New Zealand humor ("New Zealand...don't expect too much...you'll like it") and accents ("He may be dead." "He maybe did what?"). Here's a sample of their music; don't expect too much and you'll like it!

Why I love Jon Hamm

"Lex Luthor Bailout" with Jon Hamm - watch more funny videos

My brain is melting

Last night in Italian class, we worked on possessives—mine, yours, hers, theirs. Pretty straightforward, right? Oh no, not in Italian. Like other romance languages, Italian assigns gender to nouns. Flowers are masculine; cars are feminine, and so on. So when you make something possessive, the possession has to agree with the gender of the noun.

Mio fiore (my flower) but mia macchina (my car)

And get this—if the noun is plural, the possessive has to agree in gender AND plural!

Mio fiore, but miei fiori
Mia macchina, but mie macchine

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!

When you use possessives, you ALSO have to use the article “the” in front of it, and THAT also has to agree in gender and plural.

Il mio gatto (my male cat)
I miei gatti (my male cats)
La mia gatta (my female cat)
Le mie gatte (my female cats)

EXCEPT!!!

If you are discussing a family member, then you drop the article

Mia madre (my mother)

UNLESS

You modify the noun with an adjective

La mia madre vecchia (my old mother)

OR

You are talking about more than one family member

Mio zio (my uncle)
Il mio zio alto (my tall uncle)
I miei zii (my uncles)

Il mio cervello sta fondendosi. My brain is melting.

You too?

Hello, boys. I've missed you.

Well, I'm still on my first listening of the new album, so I'm not prepared to give my opinion yet. It always takes me a few listens to sink in to the music. Whatever you say about U2 (and I could say so much), they really force you to pay attention to their songs.

It occurs to me that I've really spanned the ages with this band. I was 17 years old when I saw my first U2 video (It was "Two Hearts Beat As One" from the War album), and I was hooked. I started out buying 45s and vinyl LPs, moved to cassette tapes, CDs, and now digital downloads. And it's all been outstanding.

Happy St. David's Day!

"I do believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint [D]avy’s day."

--Shakespeare, Henry V

St David is the patron saint of Wales, and his feast day is March 1st. He was born in Wales, probably during the 6th century. He became a monk, and later a bishop, and helped spread Christianity throughout Wales and neighboring regions. Perhaps his best-known miracle is that, when speaking to a large crowd, he caused a small hill to rise beneath him, allowing those gathered around to better hear him.

As the shamrock is the symbol of Ireland and the thistle is the symbol of Scotland, the leek is the national symbol of Wales. According to legend, St. David suggested that Welsh soldiers wear a leek as a badge to identify themselves in battle against the Saxons. The daffodil is often used as another symbol. In Welsh, leek and daffodil share similar names (“cenhinen” and “cenhinen bedr”, respectively).

Both of my grandmothers had Welsh ancestry. In fact, my grandfather claimed that my grandmother, whose maiden name was Griffith, was descended from the last kings of Wales. If this book is true, he may very well have been right!

You’ve got to love a country that celebrates poetry and music with a national festival. I thought about posting a video clip showing two Welsh actors reciting Welsh poetry while sitting on a California beach, but a friend of mine (who shall remain nameless) said that listening to Welsh was like “listening to someone gargling.” Some people have no appreciation for Welsh actors reciting Welsh poetry. However, if you’d like to see it, you can find it here.

Instead, I’ll share a video of one of Wales’s favorite sons. Although the video quality isn’t fantastic, I chose it because even at age 68, dude can still sing his heart out. Ladies and gentlemen, Sir Tom Jones…



Cymru am byth!

(Header photo courtesy of Visit Wales)

There's a name for that

I’ve always known that I’m an introvert (INFJ for you MBTI fans). Runs in my family. I wouldn’t characterize myself as a worrier, but it might be fair to call me an overthinker. I often find myself, especially at work, running things through over and over in my mind. “What about…?” “What if…?” Running through every possible scenario, trying to get things worked out just right ahead of time. So while it may seem that I’m slow to change, the truth is not that I don’t like change, it’s that I want to do it right…the first time, preferably. Unfortunately, what happens sometimes is that I get so overwhelmed trying to figure everything out that I freeze up, feeling like I can’t do anything. That’s when I have to calm myself down, take a deep breath, and just work on what I can.

Now, thanks to the insightful people at O Magazine, I’’ve discovered I’m not an overthinker. No indeed, what I am is (are you ready?) a defensive pessimist.

According to this article, "Defensive pessimists…prepare for a situation by setting low expectations for themselves, then follow up with a very detailed assessment of everything that may go wrong." Once they've imagined the full range of bad outcomes, they start figuring out how they'll handle them, and that gives them a sense of control.”

The article goes on to say that defensive pessimists are often very successful because they use the planning as a tool to prepare for every outcome, including failure. And my favorite quote: "Research shows that if you pressure defensive pessimists into being optimistic, or try to manipulate their mood, their performance deteriorates.” So shove off, all you Pollyannas, I’m pessimizing here!

Actually, all things being equal, I really consider myself an optimist, but it’s nice to know that my overheated little brain might actually be doing me some good.

For further reading:

The Introvert Advantage
Learned Optimism
The Art of Possibility

Office politics

Elizabeth reminds me that I haven't posted recently. As I told her, though, not that much has been going on that's been worth blogging about.

This past week, I finally watched Series 2 and the Christmas special for The Office (UK version). I had seen the first series years ago, and I'm a big fan of the US version too. These shows can be difficult for some people to watch, mostly because of the squirm-inducing sensation of watching completely clueless people make fools out of themselves. However, if you've ever worked in an office, you realize that while some of the characters are a little over the top, they aren't so far off the truth either.

My first job out of college was working in the trust department of a small bank in suburban Minneapolis. There was a group of us there, all just a few years out of school and not yet ground down by the corporate rat race. We dealt with stocks and bonds and trust assets in a "back office" environment, where we never had direct contact with the actual bank customers (and a good thing too). Although we worked hard, we goofed around a lot too, which just amazes me now that I think about it. I guess that's why I like laughing at The Office so much; it reminds me of all those quirky characters that seem to be a part of every working environment.

Here are some of the things I remember we did:


• Our offices overlooked the bank’s time and temperature sign. Every morning, the boys would start a betting pool as to what the temperature would be at 3 pm that day.
• We had another betting pool on how many days in a row our boss, Dino, would wear the same suit.
• Waiting until we knew Paul was in the restroom and then having him paged. When he came back, we’d ask, “Paul, did you hear your page? Where were you?" just for the sheer pleasure of watching him turn beet red.
• Keeping a list of the stupid things people said…like when Kim was complaining about her dry feet and Jayleen recommended that she use a pubic stone on them (she meant a pumice stone). I think I still have that list somewhere…
• Taking Kim’s ugly clown figurines that she kept on her desk and putting them in awkward positions.
• The bank subscribed to a Muzak service, and there was a speaker in our offices that we couldn’t turn down. Oddly enough, one of the songs included was the theme song to “The In-Fisherman”. Whenever it played, we would sit at our desks and pretend to fish. I can still hear that song in my head...Doo do doo, da doo doo doo doooo

So as a tribute to all those eccentric office dwellers out there, here's a little Series 2 Office action (Ivy, feel free to join in):

The Cute One

Just watched Paul McCartney perform "I Saw her Standing There" on the Grammys. You know, he is still so much fun to watch. And how cool was it that Dave Grohl played drums? Rock on!