I won’t go on about the food in Italy. How even if you ate at the last, spaghettio-serving, waiter-was-missing-teeth, hole-in-the-ruins restaurant because it was the night after Rome’s football team had won the World Cup and there were no tables at even the underground bakeries, that even there, even then, the food would still be amazing. No. No. I’m not going to talk about it.
On china cabinets and understanding my in-laws better.
We waited in the rain for exactly two hours to get inside the Vatican Museum. We held umbrellas. Shoved the Russians. Befriended the Azerbaijani. There was a lot of eye-poking. The outer edges of my feet were cramped. Italian dirt had become lodged between my toes.
Once inside. . .torsos, tapestries, busts and bric a brac. I knew they were important. . .I knew they were sacred. . .I even noticed that most of them were naked. . .but. . . Continue reading ‘Italia’
Altruism is trendy in the United States these days. Volunteering is at an all-time societal high, sitting on a non-profit board is a resume builder, and fundraising committee participation is practically required for parents. Charity, now considered somewhat of a band-aid has stepped aside for philanthropy, which attacks society’s underlying problems. God bless Sally Struthers for lying such a firm foundation, but now, instead of sending a check to that child named Udugu on Channel 11, you can loan him money to start a business selling fruit. . . .instead of providing twenty cents a day to farmer in Columbia, you can buy a Starbucks frapuccino to support fair trade. There are coat drives, blood drives, shoe drives and turkey drives. People even escape for pre-packaged, third-world, volunteer experiences. And they pay Continue reading ‘Selfish Endeavors’
Today (okay not today, because I wrote this blog three months ago, so pretend it’s still winter) as Michael parted our red and yellow trying-to-be-regal curtains, which keep out the light about as well as a pair of trendy sunglasses, I breath a sigh of relief. Another cloudy, dreary day. While the sun hangs like a bare, crack-apartment lightbulb in the Midwest during the winter months, it doesn’t even show up in this country. And I don’t mind. But my Colorado native husband hates it.
In his head, he mumbles: A tiny glow of sun is leaking through the clouds, struggling to make an impression on the day before disheartedly slipping behind the horizon, in a couple short hours…maybe tomorrow. . .maybe tomorrow….
Here’s the weird thing. I love this weather. No kidding. I always Continue reading ‘The Old Man is Snoring’
