Bang Ups and Break-Ins

My poor car! Since moving to Naples my car has received more dings, dents, and scratches. It has been hit twice, once by an unknown either American or Italian in the parking garage at work and once I was run into intentionally by a trio of Italian "boys" in a completely junked Neapolitan car. Why did they run into me? The driver did not like the fact that I passed him, I am guessing. He did not hit me hard but just enough to cause damage to my delicate Honda bumper. My car was even dented by some American punching it while it was parked on the base. I am guessing it was a rogue teenager set to roam wild in what we term "the cage" which is the Navy's support site. It is completely fenced in so parent's feel safe letting the kids roam free and don't feel accountable for what their kids do. We call this christening of cars "being Napolized" (pronounced nah-pol-ized).

Along with all its bumps and bruises my car has been violated on several occasions. . The first time was at least three years ago. I was parked in our gated parking area and I very wrongly left an empty packet of gas coupons in the center console for any gypsy or thieving Napolitano to see. They broke out one of the small back windows to get to it and in the process got a walkman and several Cd's. It took a bit of time for me to replace that window and I was grateful that they kindly did not break one of the larger ones. This taught me NEVER to leave anything in my car and now, while it is parked in the gated area I do not even bother to lock the doors. This practice almost cost me my car on a couple of occasions. Twice we awoke to find our gate had been forced open but both cars were still there. I am not sure what happened, whether they couldn't get the cars started (mine has to have the key with the computer chip in it) or if they were interrupted but after the second attempt we started padlocking our gate and have never had another issue like it.

On December 11th I attended our Christmas Party at a lovely Italian restaurant in Pozzuoli. There were about 17 American couples. I was in a tizzy because I could not find the restaurant and my beloved Tom Tom was not working. After about twenty minutes of driving back and forth I finally found the restaurant and in a dither I broke my one cardinal rule. I dumped my Tom Tom and it's accessories in the glove box. As I locked the doors and walked away I realized I had forgotten my white elephant gift and returned to the car to retrieve it. I was sure I locked the doors. The evening was splendid with wonderful food, fun games (the white elephant gift exchange), and great company. I got in my car to depart and was confused to see the contents of my glove box piled neatly on my seat and my glove box opened. A moment later it dawned on me that someone had been in my car! Cleesy (that is my pet name for my Tom Tom because we downloaded John Cleese's voice) was gone! I did not tell any of the other guests of my misfortune. I hate to be made a fuss over. And besides, those thieving you know whats got a broken Tom Tom for all their trouble! Along with all these thoughts I beat myself up because I figured I must have left the doors unlocked.

Well, I posted my mishap on facebook and was informed by another of the guests that I was not the only victim. Larry, one of our surveyors, suffered the misfortune of a damaged passenger door but they only got his sunglasses. Aaron, one of our techs and the responder to my note, got hit much worse. They got his sunglasses, Tom Tom, car stereo, 140 liters of gas coupons, and other things. He was devastated and suggested I check my car for damage. I stood at the back of the car and glanced down the side. I saw nothing and did not inspect further and I figured they must have gained access because I did not lock my doors. Several days passed and bits and pieces of information trickled in, like the parking lot attendant just "happened" to be home sick that night. This set my suspicions on fire and I strongly feel we were a hit. He called his buddies because the "rich" Americans were going to be easy and lucrative targets. He calls in sick and he is covered. I am probably right. This is Naples, after all. Anyway, after a few days I was parking my car in the car park and some little inkling told me to walk to the passenger side and take a peek. The damage you see in the photo is how they got in my car. At least I don't have to beat myself up for leaving the doors unlocked anymore, because I didn't.

25 Random Things about me.

1. I am ordinary. I used to believe there was something wrong with being ordinary, but I have come to realize who I am is exactly who I am supposed to be. This realization has really brought joy into my life.

2. I am easily distracted. (Squirrel!)

3. There is not a single person that I hate, in fact, I can find something to like in every person I meet. (I consider this one of my strong points.)

4. I don't care about "the details" which is probably why I am having such a difficult time coming up with 25 things, facts, habits, or goals about myself that I did not say in my last "25 things" note.

5. I would like to quit my job and become a homemaker. And when I say homemaker I mean a person free of work, free to create in the kitchen, free to create (words on paper), free to use my time as I wish to use it.

6. I am about to be an empty nester and I don't think I am going to have a hard time with it.

7. It discourages me that people don't communicate via letter writing much anymore. E-mail has its place but there is just something about getting a letter in the mail.

8. I hate politics.

9. Moving to Italy has given me an appreciation for history that I never had before.

10. My all time favorite authors are Ernest Hemingway and William Faulkner.

11. When I grow up I would like to be a wacky English Professor with an office strewn with books I have read over and over with marked, bent pages, stacks of papers precariously perched on the edge of my desk, and a lone philodendron sitting on the windowsill.

12. I wish I had a personal shopper to buy clothes for me. I don't like clothes shopping. In fact, I wish there was someone who would lay out my outfit, complete with accessories, for the day so I won't have to think about it.

13. I am strongly considering becoming a wellness coach.

14. I know something about just about everything but I don't know a lot about anything. I get to a certain point and can't get any further OR I lose interest. (Refer to #2)

15. I am both social and antisocial. I draw my energy from people and strongly desire my "me" time.

16. My favorite country that I have visited so far is Scotland. It seems so clean, innocent, untouched (and their accent ain't bad either). I am not referring to the big cities here.

17. I like a shot of Highland Park scotch in my Green Mountain Roaster's Fair Trade Wild Mountain Blueberry™ coffee on a chilly afternoon.

18. I don't think, just because one gets older, her hair should get shorter.

19. The more I learn about Van Gogh's life, the more I admire his art.

20. I don't really care if my name is remembered after I die. I just hope I affect some people positively while I am alive.

21. I have no obsessions although my husband will attest that I am compulsive obsessive about some things (like lining my car up just so when I pump my gas. What? Doesn't everyone do that??)

22. I have an Amazon Kindle. I do enjoy it but I still prefer the feel, smell, and weight that comes only from holding a hard or paper back book.

23. I consider myself a good cook but I have just discovered I have so little knowledge about it. (refer to #14). I would never have survived cooking every recipe in the Julia Child cookbook like Julie (from the blog/book/movie "the Julie Julia project") did.

24. I love to wear blue jeans.

25. I really don't like talking on the phone. I don't "get" the signals like I am supposed to. It is just uncomfortable.

Thing of Beauty

Brett took this picture of a leaf in the front yard. We don't know what the substance is on the leaf but we do know it is NOT water.

Baci Baci

It is a strong misconception that Italians kiss everyone they meet on both cheeks. We think it is their custom. My experience is that an Italian will not unless they know you and have some sort of relationship with you. Most Italians do not actually put their lips to your cheek unless you are dear to them and/or they trust you. They kiss the air and cheeks never touch let alone lips on the cheek.

This story is told specifically about a man who has become my friend…ever so slowly. Our friendship has been developing for about a year and it has had some very clear and definite stages. The way this friendship has progressed is indicative of how most friendships go between Americans and the Italians, I think. They grow slowly, take firm root, and blossom into a mighty oak that will endure into the ages.

Antonio is probably in his early 50s. I have never asked. I don’t want to offend. He is a small man, perhaps 5’4” tall, slim, dark olive skin. He is always immaculately dressed; his outfit always finished with a sport coat. His voice is a deep bass, smooth like viscous oil that flows around and envelopes you. Antonio and I see each other every day in the parking garage as we are coming to work and as we are leaving work. We are both creatures of habit and park in the same spot every day. We arrive at about the same time & we depart at about the same time.

Stage 1: Staring. Yes, I did say staring. Neapolitans are famous for this. They are very curious about things and look…intensely. I never know what to do when I am faced with the staring so I just smile which is usually met with a stern look. This stage may never end. Frankly, it gets old.

Stage 2: Acknowledgement. You can expect a head nod, no smile. That’s it. This stage can last several weeks or even months. If you get this far, you are getting somewhere.

Stage 3: A word. Out of the blue your paths will cross and you will expect a head nod (without a smile) but instead you will be graced with a Buon Giorno AND a head nod. Honestly, when I hit this stage with Antonio I really felt I had made some progress.

Stage 4: A Helping Hand. Daily I walk to my car burdened with some box or bag. I knew my friendship with Antonio had taken a new step when he grabbed my box from me and carried it to my car admonishing me the whole way about us Americans and all the bags and boxes we carry. "Why do we need so much stuff?" When I opened my trunk exposing two old rickety beach chairs, he laughed. I couldn’t understand why so I asked what was so funny. He said that I am so typical American. We ALL have beach chairs in the backs of our cars. I laughed to and then I wondered…do we? Every time we see each other since that moment there is comfortable discourse about jobs or life or his wonderful vacation with his family on the Island of Ischia. We have been building a foundation of friendship and trust.

Stage 5: A touch. Italians are funny if you touch them without being invited. The friendly American touch of an arm or a hug is not really welcomed here. Antonio and I hit stage 5 yesterday as I was leaving work. I got to my car as he was pulling out of his parking space and of course, I stopped him to say goodbye. As he was leaving he put his hand, palm up, on his windowsill. It looked like he wanted my hand so I put mine on his. He squeezed slightly and said see you tomorrow. That was that.

Stage 6: Baci Baci. Today I arrived in the parking garage as he was walking away from his car. He waited for me to gather my things. I approached him with my normal “HELLO & GOOD MORNING!” and I was greeted with a gentle kiss on each cheek.

I have arrived; I have finally arrived. Why? How? I don’t know. Apparently I stepped over some invisible line of trust. Perhaps it happened during this week when I had a cart full of boxes to haul to my car and the parking garage elevator was out of order. I was taking the boxes back up to the office when he stopped me and insisted he carry them to my car. I said no, over and over, because the boxes were not light, there were many of them so it would take more than one trip, and I was parked on the 3rd level. He kept insisting so I told him he was stubborn. He did not understand that word so I explained as best I could. He said, “NO, I am not that way. I just want to help you. I just want to help.” He walked with me part of the way back to my office and as we were parting ways he said in his thick fluidy accent, “At the end of the day when you need help with those boxes, I will not help you,” and promptly stuck his tongue out at me. I laughed. Hard. Perhaps that was a test and line that was crossed.

Oh Great Green Grasshoppa!

I am trying my hand at growing stuff. I thought I should start small with something easy. I fell in love with mint tea in Amsterdam. Mint seemed a logical plant to start with. It is easy to grow, not too temperamental, and it grows fast. My landlord procured a tiny plant for me. My husband planted it in a big round pot that is about 10 inches high & 24 inches across. My mint plant took off. A couple of weeks ago I noticed that many of my mint plant's stalks were leafless and brown, and there were these strange looking dark things all around it & in it to. They looked slightly larger than the chocolate decorative sprinkles for cupcakes. "Strange," I thought to myself with crinkled brow. I thought maybe my little, OK, not so little now, plant was getting too much sun so I moved it further in on the porch, closer to the house, and I started watering it two times per week. The plant started to thrive again. I was still seeing the chocolate sprinkle things and began to wonder if we might have mice because those things looked exactly like mice poop. As I was watering one day there seemed to be a flourish of activity in my plant. Then I saw it, the most beautiful green grasshopper.
EUREKA! Those chocolaty looking sprinkles were not mouse poop after all, but rather grasshopper poop! My mint leaves reduced to little pellets of poop! So, I comment to Bill, "I wonder if his grasshopper poops smell like mint?" I cannot bring myself to pick one up, smoosh it and smell it. I am curious but not quite that curious. Well, I cannot evict Mr. Grasshoppa as my husband suggests. A grasshopper has to eat too, doesn’t he? Well, Monday this week I come home from work and wiggle the stems of the mint plant. I love seeing the grasshopper there but I can never find him if he doesn't move. I catch his movement from the corner of my eye. It is not my beautiful grass green grasshopper I see. It is some behemoth. He is twice his normal size and brown green. I was panicked for a moment. Had some bully cricket come and scared my grasshopper away? A closer inspection shows that he is sitting above his old skin. It is only a 3rd of his size! How did he ever fit in there in the first place?

Not OK

Do you ever have days when you are not OK? Today is one of those days for me. I don't mean a day where you are sick, or injured. It is something much deeper, something unsettled, something more dark than "sick and tired". Today everything feels askew, wrong, confrontational. My skin even feels as if it is on wrong. What is there to do on days like this but ride out that sour feeling, breathe deeply and wait? I think our room was invaded last night by some pain body. It penetrated both my husband and myself, deeply, to our core. He is in a rage today, ready to quit the job that supports us, ready to return to the homeland. I sit and listen and tell him if you want to go back, I am ready. Other times, I am pacifying him. Today, I mean it. Perhaps all of the offness I am experiencing is because I feel the pull to be near my family, my son. There is so much happening in his life right now and I feel I should be there to help, to guide him. My youngest should be getting his learner's permit, wants to be closer to his family. I see both sides and today, if could blink my eyes to make the change, I would do it without even a second thought. Now, where did I put that fairy dust?

L'Antica Pizzeria da Michele - Update

I just wanted it duly noted that my landlord and his father came over yesterday to work on a septic problem. We told them we ate at da Michele's. They were very impressed & RAVED about how good the pizza is there, they literally glorified it. Nino poo poo'd at my liking La Vera's better. Hmmmm.

L'Antica Pizzeria da Michele - What's all the hubbub, bub?

I read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert about two and a half years ago. I remember I was already living in Naples. I heard about the book from my mother, a very good read she had heard. Ms. Gilbert attributes approximately four pages (Don’t shoot me if I am wrong. It’s been a while since I read the book) to Naples and for the most part all of her observations are on the mark. Unfortunately, we have a difference of opinion where L’Antica Pizzeria da Michele is concerned. In the book, Ms. Gilbert fawns about, oozes over, melts for the double cheese pizza. "So Sofie and I have come to Pizzeria da Michele, and these pies we have just ordered - one for each of us - are making us lose our minds. I love my pizza so much, in fact, that I have come to believe in my delirium that my pizza might actually love me, in return. I am having a relationship with this pizza, almost an affair. Meanwhile, Sofie is practically in tears over hers, she's having a metaphysical crisis about it, she's begging me, "Why do they even bother trying to make pizza in Stockholm? Why do we even bother eating food at all in Stockholm?" (p.79) She describes the oozing cheese and the softness of the crust so succulently that I file away the name of the restaurant in the dark recesses of my mind with the thought that we will definitely have to try this place out, one day.

Fast forward to June, 2009, my mother has come for a month long visit. One afternoon we were in the commissary and we ran into my friend, Beth. Beth asks all the pertinent questions of my mother about her visit, places she has been, things she has done, sights she has seen. Then Beth volunteers that we absolutely have to try this restaurant, the pizza is to die for. You guessed it; it was da Michele’s. She told us it is the very restaurant mentioned in Eat, Love, Pray. She described the pizza like this: Italy has the best pizza in the world. Naples has the best pizza in Italy. And L’Antica Pizzeria da Michele has the best pizza in Naples. Well, that did it. I was sold. We were definitely going to have to find this place & try it out. What better time for such an adventure than when we have a houseguest? Beth gives us general directions: It is straight down from the Garibaldi train station, a 10 minute walk. Look to the right. It’s off one of the cross streets. (This is loosely paraphrased. You don’t get real directions in Naples. Everything is explained by curves in the road and landmarks.) Beth’s directions leave me uneasy; we are VERY American after all. I find Pizzeria da Michele’s quite easily on Google and from there it is a breeze to get the address. We make the decision to drive rather than take the train and we set the date for Tuesday, June 23rd, after work.

Skip to the evening of June the 23rd. We arrive at L'Antica Pizzeria da Michele. The restaurant is bare bones, old looking inside, all the walls are a dirty white, sparsely decorated, white marble topped tables, heavy metal chairs. I couldn't figure out why the floors had sawdust all over them, and that is still a puzzle; however, perhaps it is because the floors are the slickest marble I have ever had the pleasure of sliding across? Immediately, I notice the coolness of the waitstaff and an underlying impatience. You have three options for pizza: marinara (pizza dough with tomato sauce, oregano, and no cheese), margherita (pizza dough with tomato sauce, basil, and mozzarella) and double cheese (margherita with double cheese). You can get either small or large. The pizza was good, only good. I had the marinara.

I ate less than 3/4 of it, not because it was bad but because it was big. Now factor in that for our 3 hour trip we were in the car for a total of 2 hours & 10 minutes fighting downtown traffic (normally a 30 minute drive with no traffic); walking time there & back was another 20 minutes (not to mention almost being killed a zillion times while trying to cross those streets); we only spent 30 minutes in the restaurant for crying out loud! During high season people wait for about 1.5 hours to have this pizza so the waitstaff is used to getting people in and out. Thankfully we did not have to wait at all because if we had I would have been really disappointed. Will I ever return to L’Antica Pizzeria da Michele? Probably not. The restaurant does have 3 advantages: (1) It is old. It has been operating since 1870. (2) All of the 12 ounce drinks, that’s water, soda, and beer, are only €1.50 (which is really cheap compared to other restaurant prices). (3) The most expensive thing on the menu is the large double cheese pizza for €5.00. However, they are not enough to bring me back. Heck, they don’t even sell t-shirts.

So, where do I think the best Neapolitan pizza is served? That is a very difficult question. I can tell you I have found my own favorite spot though. When we arrive and walk in the door the waitstaff greet us with smiles. They do not treat us as though we are a contemptible piece of furniture. In fact, I can tell they are genuinely happy that we are there. They know that I prefer (and always order) Fischer beer. We can order just about any topping we choose for our pizza which gives us virtually an unlimited number of choices. And the waitstaff lets us sit as long as we desire, savoring our pizza, sipping our beer, talking, never to be treated like herded cattle. It is a very small place, run by a family. It is called La Vera Pizza and the most beautiful thing about it is I can walk there in 5 minutes. Kyle and I visited this establishment last night and I had a marinara pizza with mushroom and onion. Buonissima!

Friday Fill-Ins 126

I got this from a blog called Write Anyway http://www.writeanyway.com/. There were no directions but I believe she gives you a word or phrase & you have to make a sentence with it. I am going to try it out.
1. It's cold and I am sitting here on the couch with my favorite cup of blueberry coffee made indulgent by a shot of Highland Park 12 year scotch, sipping, savoring, and enjoying the warmth.
2. There is nothing better than homemade Neapolitan bruschetta made with tomatoes grown on the side of Monte Vesuvio.
3. My favorite health and beauty product is oil free eye make-up remover by Mary Kay.
4. The mountains of the Abbruzzi's are calling to me for a nice long drive.
5. Well, first of all I wouldn't judge folks so harshly about things I really do not understand.
6. Kyle, Brett, and Crash; those were the cast of characters in a recent dream and it was happy and fun.
7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to possibly eating Chinese food or we will make pizza and then watch movies, tomorrow my plans include doing all those things I normally do on Sunday like grocery shopping, laudry, etc., and Sunday, I want to have a great time touring the Vatican!

Stain

"...people who stain your life." - James Salter (letter to Robert Phelps, April 30, 1970)

I am finding I am stained, stained like the tipped glass of red wine permeates and forever colors the white linen tablecloth. I never knew that people could affect me in such a way. I never knew that I could be so deeply & profoundly touched. It is the Italians. Americans flutter in my peripheral vision, barely seen. But those Italians, with their deep brown eyes, black thick hair, macchiato skin, open genuine smiles, their warmth, grab me with just a look and hold my senses captive. Their eyes so watchful, taking in every detail, draw into me. I want to melt into each one, get lost in the way they experience the world. I want to live like they do, feel the way they love from their perspective, experience life through the deep dark pools that are their eyes. I let the feeling stain me. I will never forget the faces. I will never forget the look. Why is it I feel so alive when I am in the presense of the Italians?

Speech Impediment

I have a speech impediment. I never knew it. It came as quite a shock to me when I discovered it at the ripe old age of 39, a shock to learn that I may not be so normal, so average Josephine, after all. And now my little me cowers and cringes in the recesses of my mind, waiting for the inevitable pin drop silence that we all expect when we make a vocal blunder. She whispers as I speak, "They all hear it. They are all looking at you. They are pointing their perfectly manicured fingers at you, and are laughing their crystalline laughs at your expense." Of course we all know that when we feel insecure even the most hideous of beings with teeth missing, foul breath of rotting eggs, hair greasy and unkempt, and fungus under the nails is perfect compared to our single horrible self. My particular speech impediment is not the tripping, stopping, starting, skipping impediment of the stutterer. It is not the childish, effeminate, softness of the lisper. It is not rhotacism, also called Elmer Fudd syndrome, where "rascally rabbit" becomes "wascally wabbit". Sometimes I do stammer. This is an actual speech impediment in which the speaker may have difficulty in beginning words or sentences and may be unable to express sounds, but this not the impediment that vexes me. My problem showed up when I left my country and had to learn a different language and I had to be able to roll my Rs. Lo, I cannot. When I speak Italian, instead of the beautiful trilling of the R coming from me, I hear instead the thick tongued thump as my mouth struggles to imitate the sound. It is sad. It used to be embarassing. Now, I ignore my little me and get on with it. The Italians don't really seem to mind at all.

My former father in law is Cuban and those Cubans roll their Rs too. He taught me this Cuban tongue twister to help me practice.

R con R cigarro,
R con R barril,
rápido corren los carros
cargados de azúcar al ferrocarril.

I tried it. And I decided I much prefer to listen to him say it. It sounds much better that way.

Pathetic

It is simply pathetic that I have reduced my writing to only the "fun facts" printed in our one time weekly events pamphlet at work. It seems at the times I am available to write all the great things I had wanted to say while I was standing in the shower, the ideas are gone. They have left me as if they were washed away with my final cream rinse application. I should write something down to help me remember the thought. How can I do this while I am soggy & dripping, while there is shampoo in my eyes, and soap up my nose? I need to find a way to remember just a tidbit of the thought because a tidbit would bring it springing back to me like the blade of grass that is pushed over by the dull mower blade springs back up defiantly once the mower has passed...

Elephants

Most elephants weigh less than the tongue of a blue whale.

About 17% of humans are left-handed. The same is true of chimpanzees and gorillas.

Magazines

I have been craving Barnes and Noble and their HUGE magazine racks lately. Here we have a few magazines, you know the normal stuff like some craft magazines, travel magazines, sports magazines, some cooking magazines, some game magazines like Sudoku, we have Mad magazine, all the entertainment magazines, and sometimes Oprah, sometimes Rachel Ray. There is plenty to interest the young male sailor Playboy, Maxim, and probably all of the others that are out there. But when I browse our very small magazine rack at our very small bookstore I am always left wanting. Part of what I love about magazines is I am able to sample a little nibble of another's life and interests...without committing too much. What we have here is a superficial sampling. There are no literary magazines here. What? Does nobody read? What about Scifi mags, spiritual magazines, or something else for me to have as the tiniest diversion when life is slow? I don't care about fashion. I hate to shop. I don't like gadgets. I don't ride motorcycles. I could not give a rat's patooky about what the celebrities are up to. I hate politics. I don't want to know what is going on in the world (at least not all that negative stuff). Ah, to be at Barnes & Noble where I could grab a small coffee, browse all of those wonderful shiny magazines, select 3 or 4 to peruse, and then plop myself on the bench that runs parallel to the racks and lose myself in something new...different...exciting (?).

The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson

I am reading a very interesting book called The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson. Actually, interesting is not the right descriptive word for it. The story starts off with a VERY vivid description of a car accident; the driver is on cocaine, tries to take a swig of his bottle of bourbon which he drops. He leans over to pick it up, and when he looks back up he is hallucinating that some unknown enemy is shooting fiery arrows at him which causes him to swerve, lose control of his car and thus he goes over the side of the mountain. The story grabs you from there and drags you along kicking and screaming into every detail of the accident and after. I could barely put it down last night. I am dying to pick it back up again today.

My New Love

This is my new toy, the Kindle 2. I received it in the mail Tuesday. I was dying to get home and download my very first book. That choice seemed so important. Which book will take me on the maiden Voyage of my Kindle? I read the beginnings of several books on amazon.com; Twilight by Stephenie Meyer, Coraline by Neil Gaiman, Son of the Circus by John Irving to name a few. I was also considering one of John Saul's creepy horror stories. I finally chose Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. I have heard great things about the book. It seems to be written for the older teen/young adult population. What pushed my final decision was my sister asking out of the blue if I had read the book. She highly recommended it. I downloaded the book easily enough. I read it Tuesday night and off and on on Wednesday. Then last night I decided I NEEDED another book to give me some options when reading time rolls around. I chose Coraline because within the first few pages it had really gripped me. It too is a younger generation read. Both books have me hooked. As for my Kindle 2, I love it. It is easy to use and comfortable to handle. I love the built in dictionary feature (put the cursor by the word and it displays its meaning at the bottom of the page), the fact that when I have to set the book down I can turn on the read to me feature and it does. The voice doesn't sound nearly as robotic as I expected. Now I am dying to get back into the U.S. so I can try out the Whispernet feature where I can get a free sample of any book, then if I want to buy it I push a button and within 60 seconds the book is on my Kindle. How cool is that?

13 Reasons I love Crash

Why I love my cat...

1. He is the only living creature in my house who can make me smile with just a nonchalant glance over his shoulder and his head cocked just so.
   
2. He doesn't talk back...heck, he doesn't even talk.
   
3. He makes me laugh!
   
4. He really gets stoned on catnip.
   
5. He doesn't give me "the look" when I have had 1 too many drinks.
   
6. He always appreciates my cooking.
   
7. He eats broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, lima beans, and corn.
   
8. His favorite food in the world is KitKat.
   
9. Where I am, he is, unless it is during his naptime.
   
10. He urges me to get comfortable no matter where I am so he can sit by me, behind me, on me, or some combination thereof.
    
11. He gets angry and gets over it.
    
12. He lives in the NOW. To him this moment is the only moment.
    
13. Unconditional love.
    

Snow In Naples?

Practically unheard of in these parts, yet there it is outside my window. Those big, wet, snow drops practically drenched me when I ran outside to snap a picture or two. (click on the picture to enlarge)

Colors

At 8 o'clock every morning on the base here at Capodichino they “ present colors”. I am unsure if I am using the correct military term for it but a group of sailors stand at attention for 5 minutes, then a horn blows signaling the beginning of the "ceremony". First, the Italian national anthem plays and they raise the Italian flag. All of the sailors are saluting now. As songs go, I am not particularly fond of the Italian National Anthem. It is upbeat and bubbly and doesn’t lend a feeling of grandeur and pride, at least not to my ears. Then our National Anthem plays and they raise the American Flag. It sends goose bumps up my arms as it always does. The sailors still stand, saluting and I am so puffed up I want to salute too. When it is over there are another three notes from a trumpet signaling it is OK to move about. Well, now I get to the reason for this blog. I am not on the quarter deck very often at 8 a.m. as my shift starts at 7, but what I see when I am really makes me pause. There are no bands of people (American or Italian I might add) down there ready to show their pride and patriotism. In fact, any people outside who are not part of the ceremony make haste to get in doors so they won’t have to stand still for a minute or two. Some people even run, I kid you not. It saddens me that people are in such a hurry that they cannot stop and take a minute to remember what it is about being their particular nationality that makes them proud. So, for all who care to know, here are 10 reasons why I love being an American (a lot of this discovered AFTER becoming an ex-patriot):
1. We have every gadget available to man, for example the Kindle 2 which will hold 1,500 books and will read to you and we even have a piece of Tupperware that holds your salad & you push a button on top and it squeezes out the salad dressing for you.
2. Our road systems make sense.
3. We have room to move about in our country, after all it is a continent, not a piece of one.
4. We have a million choices in every imaginable product.
5. We are the great melting pot. I love that when I say that I am American to an Italian one of the first questions is what is your origin? Meaning what nationalities are you made of? It is almost like giving my pedigree.
6. Cheap gas! You guys can complain about the prices all you want. With gas coupons we pay at least $5/gallon and if we run out of gas coupons it is a minimum of at least €8 which translates to $10.52/gallon at today’s exchange rate!
7. Freedom of Speech.
8. Freedom of Religion. If we were in any other time I am sure I would have been hanged several times for blasphemy.
9. We have every type of food we could possibly want and probably as takeout. Here, you get Italian, Italian, and more Italian, and generally no take out, AND the Italian restaurants generally all serve the same stuff. If you ask an Italian their favorite cuisine, it is hands down ITALIAN! Now having said that there are a couple of different cuisines here: Chinese, Japanese, and I did have Paella (it was terrible by the way) but there are not too many.
10. Mid-sized cars. I live in Naples, Italy population over 3 million & growing. Lots of people, very narrow roads, many many cars. Need I say more?
There are so many more reasons for us Americans to be proud and ten fold more why we should be grateful. So if you happen to be around while our boys present colors, stop a moment, look at that flag and thank your lucky stars.

THE LARGEST TOY
DISTRIBUTOR
IN THE WORLD IS
MCDONALD'S.
(Now that is something to
think about!)

What Do you Say...

My youngest son was born on Christmas day, 1991. From the day he was born until this morning he has been a challenge to me. Every "no" from my mouth is an open invitation for him to practice his debate skills. And he is quite good at debate too. When he was 3 weeks old my former mother-in-law pulled his crying, inconsolable form from my arms and said, "He was born to be your nemesis." She said it in her certain way that could have meant she was teasing or not. I could never be sure. None the less, her comment rang true. There was a time when I grew quite weary from his constant queries, challenges to my authority, and his strong sense of independence. I wanted to throw in the towel so to speak. At that point I thought he was lost to me; a stranger to me on every level. We could not communicate without a fight. My weariness instructed me to stop resisting, to release, and allow. I did simply because I could not struggle & fight him anymore. Something amazing happened. In the car one day as I drove him home from the Support Site he was telling me that his friends thought I was a pretty cool Mom, and that he thinks I am too. I was utterly shocked. This comment coming from the kid who loved to tell me why I am wrong and why I am dumb on a constant basis! WOW! Things have grown increasingly smooth & easy since that day a year or two ago. He shares everything with me, and he trusts me. Recently he surprised me by spending the money he received for Christmas on a tattoo of my name on his left arm. I found out about it when I asked him point blank if he had gotten a tattoo, because I knew he wanted to. He told me he wanted to honor me and was trying to save it as a surprise for Mother's Day but since I asked he had to show me. So, what exactly do you say to your son who expresses his love for you in such a way? I love you too, baby. I love you too.

Living in the Shadow of a Sleeping Volcano

So, what is it to live in the shadow of a sleeping volcano? When I first arrived in Naples, Italy "Mount Vesuvius" really had no more meaning for me than a ride at our very popular Busch Gardens amusement park in Virginia. I did not like history in school and certainly did not pursue it once I got out of school. I thought it was boring, useless even. Then I visited Pompeii, Italy. It is estimated that when Mt. Vesuvius blew its top in 76ad it blew off the top 1/3 of the mountain. Pompeii lay in its wake and was buried under 60 feet of ash and pumice! That little bit of information really blew my mind. Instantly I was interested in the history of Pompeii. During our visit I was astonished at the way the ash had preserved the homes and businesses. The murals on the walls looked to be no more than a couple of hundred years old, with the colors still vivid and the scenes still clear. The tiles on the floors and walls looked as if it could have been laid yesterday.
As the archaeologists dug they found voids with skeletons in them. They filled the voids with plaster and discovered the shapes of bodies and the positions they were in when the blanket of death finally enveloped them. Pompeii came alive for me that day and I realized perhaps History might have a place in my life.

I was then introduced to a book called Pompeii: A Novel written by Robert Harris. I believe it is what is called historical fiction. When he wrote Pompeii he placed great detail in the facts but built the story around a fictional character named Marcus Attilius Primus who was newly assigned as the aquarius to the aqueduct Augusta just days before the volcano erupted.
It includes what the people were doing, what life was like, good guys, and "villans", and then the eruption. Another piece of history brought to life for me. Now I have such a healthy respect for the volcano Vesuvius. Look closely at the picture of Vesuvius above. Notice the lights travel to the base of the volcano. What you cannot see is that the lights continue up its sides. I live in its shadow but these people live on it! When Vesuvius blows again, and she will blow again, all of those people will die. So, what is it to live in the shadow of a sleeping volcano? I have learned the from the Neapolitans to take every moment and savor it "for tomorrow we may all be dead." Every day as I drive into work Vesuvius grows from a figure far in the distance until she is the looming Goddess of beauty and destruction. I work 8 miles from her as the crow flies. Some days the very sight of her takes my breath away. She is so beautiful and yet so ferocious and powerful. Good morning Vesuvius, Thank You for another beautiful day!

The Moon!

At first I thought this was a silly card. Then I looked more deeply and realized this is really a profound statement. The barn can be considered all the baggage of life; the ego, the material things, the mind stuff, thoughts, past, present. The moon can be seen as consciousness, freedom, oneness, truth. When you let go of the ego and all of the stuff it brings with it, then you can see truth, life, and all that it holds for us. I believe this is called enlightenment. I am in the process of burning down the barn. How? By living in the NOW, savoring each moment, being present.