tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69949928858760623862024-03-13T22:09:09.107-07:00The Hill Town AmericanLiving and raising a child in rural ItalyHeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-77209741245409078372010-06-13T10:38:00.000-07:002010-06-13T10:38:38.713-07:00The evolution of my life<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I was thinking just the other day about how my life here has evolved. I never would have imagined that a life in a small town in Italy could possibly evolve, but it has. My perceptions of things has obviously changed. When you first visit a new country you are wearing what my mom likes to refer to as "rose colored glasses". Everything is wonderful and fantastic and sooooo romantic. I see it when I read other people's blogs about Italy or read books about tourists in Italy and when I think back on how I too first saw Italy. While some of the romantic parts have faded away, and real life has sunk in, I do have to say that I am truly happy. There are things here that drive me crazy, but I somehow always seem to see the good, beautiful wonderful things, just in a more realistic way now.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I've never asked my mom, but I don't think I refer to Italy as a total paradise where things are all wonderful and fantastic (as I used to do, which I know drove her crazy), but I do really like living here. I love the quirks and fanatical things just as much as the natural beauty and the food. Doing this blog has really showed me the good things in my life</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">When I go back to the States, there are obviously things that I miss and spend loads of time doing while I'm there. I miss the atmosphere of Seattle, the smell of the Puget Sound, the feel of Seattle when you walk down its streets. It is something so completely different. Feeling like a true American! It is part of me and I miss it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I am so lucky to be able to visit as much as I do. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I have always said that I keep my sanity by going back to the States every so often. But looking at that statement now, I don't know if it is for my sanity. I'm not sure what it is exactly. I need my family, I miss them dearly and I don't know if I could go much longer than a year without seeing them. I have never been away from the States for more than ten months at a time since I first started coming to Italy eleven years ago. I feel fortunate for this, but I am sure that in the future things will change, hopefully not too much, but it would be silly to think otherwise. So I am going to enjoy every moment that I have in America. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Talking with a friend of mine today, she told me that she hates it when I go away so long in the summer, because we don't get to spend very much time together doing fun things, like going to the beach. I told her that I didn't think I would be going to America all summer every year, although I'd be doing it until I could, until my parents are able and willing to have us with them all summer. If I had been faced with this reality a few years ago, I may have gone into complete panic mode, but there are times now that I am at peace with it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I think the longer you stay in a place, the more it becomes a part of who you are. As I've said before, I am a bit of a hyphen, not truly American or Italian. That said however, I <i>am</i> part of both, and maybe that's even better! I notice it in how I behave, what I say and how I think. (and I'm sure my family notices it too). I suppose I am truly a blend of the two now. One third Italian and two thirds American (that's exactly how much of my life I've spent in both places). Now I wonder if in the future it will be truly 50/50.</div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-66629335915949341942010-06-13T10:28:00.000-07:002010-06-13T10:33:12.487-07:00Summer TripEvery year since my daughter was born we've gone back to Seattle for the summer. When I first moved visits to Seattle were generally for Christmas, but that is hard to do when you have a little one in the mix, not totally fair to keep the baby away from her daddy and Italian grandparents every Christmas, so now we go every summer. I am also quite happy about this since Italy is inundated with tourists all summer and the weather is unbearably hot!! I don't think I'd mind the heat too much if things were air conditioned like they are in the states, but unfortunately they aren't. This also means that you need to sleep with the windows open, which of course means LOTS and LOTS of bugs!! YUCK! I'm not sure if it's the climate but it seems like there are an awful lot of them here compared to Seattle. <br />
Of course like every year, I am getting ready for the annual trip back to my homeland. And just like every year all of the locals are asking me when I'm leaving, how long I'm staying and if I'm happy about it. Some people don't totally understand how I can be away from my husband for the summer, others can. Some don't understand the opposite, How can I live so far from my parents, and therefore understand why I go away for such a long visit. But the answer to their final question is always this: "I am always torn, I am really happy to go home and see my family and visit my country, but I am sad to leave my husband here at work. Then I am always excited to come back home to be with him, but sad I have to leave my family once again." And it's true. On one hand it is really hard but as the local bakery owner said to me, "at least you are always 50% happy about it!" (Most people come home from vacation and are NOT happy, because it is back to the routine and back to work!)<br />
So yet again this year, I am a bit melancholy, I am really looking forward to my summer with my family and all of the things I have planned, but I am also sad to leave my friends and family here, my daily routine and my life.HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-85654350895411535852010-06-07T15:06:00.000-07:002010-06-07T15:13:51.210-07:00Sheep sheering<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3sa_NHmROESFoO3vga1pwFX80b3sd6lBGnPc8MAQNbfUXz6fkYnfmCciz7atgVwN3-pU7giy9AJLWGa1-2QXU_yHXH8Q_7xfOCWoe-sPc1SycjfTrX0CiIWp126EXR65fG2ZZ-4qUT4k/s1600/IMG_0065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3sa_NHmROESFoO3vga1pwFX80b3sd6lBGnPc8MAQNbfUXz6fkYnfmCciz7atgVwN3-pU7giy9AJLWGa1-2QXU_yHXH8Q_7xfOCWoe-sPc1SycjfTrX0CiIWp126EXR65fG2ZZ-4qUT4k/s320/IMG_0065.JPG" /></a></div>When I first moved here there were so many things that I had never experienced living in Seattle, as one might expect. I moved from a fairly big American city to a very small Italian village, pretty much everything is different. One of the things that I had never imagined I would take part in was the annual sheering of sheep. Now it is part of our family's routine in June. The weather gets hot and those poor animals need a trim! <br />
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Today was our turn. I say our turn because we don't actually do the sheering. My husband and brother in law are able to sheer, along with all of their peccorari friends. The problem is that they aren't so fast, and they don't have the proper equipment. So every year Italy like many other countries around the world are visited by some of the worlds best sheep sheerers in the world. Many of them come from New Zealand and the Falkland Islands in the South Pacific. This year we had three guys that we've had in the past, all from the Falklands, one of whom is the world champion sheerer. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The local sheep farmers are all mostly friends and are always willing to lend a hand. There is a real sense of community when it comes to these guys. There are two brothers and another guy who have always come to help out with the sheering. You may ask why all of the extra hands, well I'll tell you why. Today there were 11 guys there to get the job done, the three sheerers, my husband and his brother, my father-in-law, and four friends. Todays work consisted of sheering 500 sheep in two different locations, and the bailing of the wool. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2o3Q3F2tuRZrMPIqfdBm1FVzcyGtW2rulfavBt9CwLddIMMInqXry1iPI_-cpfuBC5iN9jk4PpKeps9wjs-n0jc_4qdr8LkZmFJ42BbYGB5yW90yY_XidTuMVJ5T9vraBXmfW2mWWjw/s1600/IMG_0022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2o3Q3F2tuRZrMPIqfdBm1FVzcyGtW2rulfavBt9CwLddIMMInqXry1iPI_-cpfuBC5iN9jk4PpKeps9wjs-n0jc_4qdr8LkZmFJ42BbYGB5yW90yY_XidTuMVJ5T9vraBXmfW2mWWjw/s320/IMG_0022.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmY3DbkIJv7GqkTJ6v38L871sXuFskQOcdfycPH2vXc4rp5bDOJgbX-hosi-mlrubwwWkP6FGAMhO_LB0DflGIyf4XbQuAPLvbyqLMcHLlBmQfYHpOQJ6EdQn4UTSpesyF0R4j3nDk2Q/s1600/IMG_0047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSmY3DbkIJv7GqkTJ6v38L871sXuFskQOcdfycPH2vXc4rp5bDOJgbX-hosi-mlrubwwWkP6FGAMhO_LB0DflGIyf4XbQuAPLvbyqLMcHLlBmQfYHpOQJ6EdQn4UTSpesyF0R4j3nDk2Q/s320/IMG_0047.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div></div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The process works like this: All of the sheep are herded into a fenced area attached to the milking trailer. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">The sheep are then herded into the trailer and out the back door onto the sheering trailer and then pulled out one by one and sheered by our professional sheerers. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rxE6hF8MyAI7LpJTMWhXrKJ5WNQ4G2deH0GXpJUl2-sc2WVkEZNPFy0DYoE4zmauqJaz2yb7d7jbGFnnZrKMtvNLowaZzcHems9JtFvhDvH41k4BzmcNcqKWsj34i2mhrCvZwhzEUCw/s1600/IMG_0026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rxE6hF8MyAI7LpJTMWhXrKJ5WNQ4G2deH0GXpJUl2-sc2WVkEZNPFy0DYoE4zmauqJaz2yb7d7jbGFnnZrKMtvNLowaZzcHems9JtFvhDvH41k4BzmcNcqKWsj34i2mhrCvZwhzEUCw/s320/IMG_0026.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsG7g8EbH4O_tNtC_zKJuo-AohqoJz6-GOpav9PoYbtvS4c9Oyp_eHHJDYMRwMdzb0JWOAziSBMdF5xdH5xTJlI1uPUF-8fdi1Y910M2WlIRiSQ4tB_8cdGcdtxED_XXYDLA4y7H9mFuQ/s1600/IMG_0027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsG7g8EbH4O_tNtC_zKJuo-AohqoJz6-GOpav9PoYbtvS4c9Oyp_eHHJDYMRwMdzb0JWOAziSBMdF5xdH5xTJlI1uPUF-8fdi1Y910M2WlIRiSQ4tB_8cdGcdtxED_XXYDLA4y7H9mFuQ/s320/IMG_0027.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The wool is then gathered and put into large sacks to be then sold. (mind you not for much since our sheep are Sardinian and bred for their milk not their wool). </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyFPNQ_c9uil0Ebbxp2tuo8YPzRAsJhpB3E89iSsZcMf9lAkiXVv7GvAhEPcdg4-VbtZELJIkv_udofeyYUGGzNCStmbXZAGuHzJUqv0yQ7Y2e_fAxpFUM7v-cn_Dg8gCJvHBeSZaxzM/s1600/IMG_0040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyFPNQ_c9uil0Ebbxp2tuo8YPzRAsJhpB3E89iSsZcMf9lAkiXVv7GvAhEPcdg4-VbtZELJIkv_udofeyYUGGzNCStmbXZAGuHzJUqv0yQ7Y2e_fAxpFUM7v-cn_Dg8gCJvHBeSZaxzM/s320/IMG_0040.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32xPzIbvNIR3U-mdJEz8ZuHx6KLPLghK4m8V-AtIawJ6_ZfziZv2c9upRrIwdZjleP2n21l7mF1JVcuClvJtFq8UJC6SXAyIrdLMk-jeQEVm1E6PjGeYJmOfJxTQ8eN56no_dgyTKJw0/s1600/IMG_0036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32xPzIbvNIR3U-mdJEz8ZuHx6KLPLghK4m8V-AtIawJ6_ZfziZv2c9upRrIwdZjleP2n21l7mF1JVcuClvJtFq8UJC6SXAyIrdLMk-jeQEVm1E6PjGeYJmOfJxTQ8eN56no_dgyTKJw0/s320/IMG_0036.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The main problem is that sheep are extremely stubborn. In order to get them into the trailer you need many men. two or three in the flock then two or three in the trailer to move them down the line. Then you need one or two more people who are constantly filling the bails with the sheered wool. <br />
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The sheerers are incredible. They work with such ease and speed. They are truly amazing to watch. It must be an extremely difficult job to do, not only for the physical strain but also for the type of lifestyle they have to lead. They are away from home travelling around the world sheering for up to 10 months a year! </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3a6ZyvwmxL0yUDaos_cOymfNBsbXZ73uOLhb8UWNfF1sbYYmqTLdfulu8nBocBeHAzz9gDQuLEXKI5DWcWEZJabutYZc1YJAxGDYIdSbMNi8ccIaZ1VhtpILYFBIP9NVIAI3ZuqVRIaY/s1600/IMG_0028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3a6ZyvwmxL0yUDaos_cOymfNBsbXZ73uOLhb8UWNfF1sbYYmqTLdfulu8nBocBeHAzz9gDQuLEXKI5DWcWEZJabutYZc1YJAxGDYIdSbMNi8ccIaZ1VhtpILYFBIP9NVIAI3ZuqVRIaY/s320/IMG_0028.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnXmImVdVZ7AIud33IP7lqWzja2qvYRADJi6q-dy17VeHkdDdBvOG2KVhVoil_6W_ebuFIZWEV4t26sKAy8BgrLWC10hDe6xUB4_IgjaFZ1QoAv6auMSKfuIWH8GCvW0Tr5NPYdub2tk/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnXmImVdVZ7AIud33IP7lqWzja2qvYRADJi6q-dy17VeHkdDdBvOG2KVhVoil_6W_ebuFIZWEV4t26sKAy8BgrLWC10hDe6xUB4_IgjaFZ1QoAv6auMSKfuIWH8GCvW0Tr5NPYdub2tk/s320/IMG_0035.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Another interesting thing about the sheerers is that they have very specific clothing that they wear. Since the sheep's wool is very oily and sticky (just think about getting a short hair cut and the hair that sticks to your neck then multiply it by 100) they have to wear particular shoes and pants. The shoes are hand made and keep the wool from getting into them, the pants are very long and overlap the shoes (which look a bit like moccasins). The wool when sheered can be very irritating to the skin. Of course with our hot weather they don't wear shirts. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwg56vBRhDy83NDgr2Qdjq-xxzcXI_aBcP96HdBohPQOd9oCk2b-vQsGjylUMreYtOjUBqpchrQli1SLO3eZZWV2vYaUDtLjFR5VN07a_TuOWd-sJuC6joarT4kWmalQLkOa4KahB3op4/s1600/IMG_0066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwg56vBRhDy83NDgr2Qdjq-xxzcXI_aBcP96HdBohPQOd9oCk2b-vQsGjylUMreYtOjUBqpchrQli1SLO3eZZWV2vYaUDtLjFR5VN07a_TuOWd-sJuC6joarT4kWmalQLkOa4KahB3op4/s320/IMG_0066.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-Z8bTcyu8wO1Y1FL5xrZivIk-bsfgDuYMeQoW6hMtA_hbOtm9QLIYENfuPkCFt45rTMYF51ci6ZpDNtzo_jUuQ_spxf4il8ivp2Iug4BzIlLYKJ6Vx7JXzWM81e9BA2x0kZP816cRDw/s1600/IMG_0063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-Z8bTcyu8wO1Y1FL5xrZivIk-bsfgDuYMeQoW6hMtA_hbOtm9QLIYENfuPkCFt45rTMYF51ci6ZpDNtzo_jUuQ_spxf4il8ivp2Iug4BzIlLYKJ6Vx7JXzWM81e9BA2x0kZP816cRDw/s320/IMG_0063.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">At the end of the job everyone is then taken back to the house of the herd's owners for either lunch or dinner. In our case this year (as has always been) the guys all came back to my mother-in-law's house for lunch. I am her helper if you like and also act as somewhat of a translator, although the group that came this year has come many times in the past, so they were di casa (part of the family) and have picked up some Italian over the years. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In the end the bells need to be put back on the sheep, but that takes place in the evening when the milking is done. It is still incredible to me that my husband and his brother are able to recognize each of their 500 sheep one by one! Amazing! </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5DcHtrlG-KqaNv_I9z7oh1PL23nU3ri2L0nsIDcI1LjfRB4fkT3S_Eu-6drcYxUh4MbEyqHeWmTHeKa4VEEs2cCcP6LKLncDf1h1okM6HYbh89NOxY3YdjY4VXkclWj0RE9lSPygFiY/s1600/IMG_0071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5DcHtrlG-KqaNv_I9z7oh1PL23nU3ri2L0nsIDcI1LjfRB4fkT3S_Eu-6drcYxUh4MbEyqHeWmTHeKa4VEEs2cCcP6LKLncDf1h1okM6HYbh89NOxY3YdjY4VXkclWj0RE9lSPygFiY/s320/IMG_0071.JPG" /></a></div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-6675015821843611262010-05-29T03:32:00.000-07:002010-05-29T03:32:52.179-07:00Rondini e passerotti<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFE63n01Tz14OLoGmbSEQD_RUEYQIQ90P-9EYis_slxsFtQE-zLcP8V_hynuOyBTCPbkY1sA8GwHFfIgIBfbT-TcPtDKCeQg1tKWos7den0J466QzCt6zgqjwp3WJzwCZ6-Q4kclxl3xs/s1600/IMG_0334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFE63n01Tz14OLoGmbSEQD_RUEYQIQ90P-9EYis_slxsFtQE-zLcP8V_hynuOyBTCPbkY1sA8GwHFfIgIBfbT-TcPtDKCeQg1tKWos7den0J466QzCt6zgqjwp3WJzwCZ6-Q4kclxl3xs/s320/IMG_0334.JPG" /></a></div>The swallow family that built their nest on my in-laws balcony returned a few weeks ago. These birds are obviously migratory birds and leave Italy for the winter but return in the spring. While watching a documentary last year I learned that these birds always return to their original nests. I was so glad to see that they had made the return trip this year. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLbQGWz8aKk_8K2O0am6-fKuWCW1lAsyLDRftthhkDVJ6u9j_qmD-QhIY8XNfolHDe07PoE5ZY1ZAi_kp3nSAg5PwPYLXZP_0p4mBCcVGQNwK_ZTFgeHjX-K-TbdKQ4J2aQ90XtX9Bg4/s1600/IMG_0336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLbQGWz8aKk_8K2O0am6-fKuWCW1lAsyLDRftthhkDVJ6u9j_qmD-QhIY8XNfolHDe07PoE5ZY1ZAi_kp3nSAg5PwPYLXZP_0p4mBCcVGQNwK_ZTFgeHjX-K-TbdKQ4J2aQ90XtX9Bg4/s320/IMG_0336.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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However after about 2 weeks of their reappearance they have mysteriously dissappeared. I do hope that they are fine. Their presence in Italy has drastically declined in the past decade due to fewer places for the birds to nest and the removal of the nests from buildings in the country.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFn0agl1coPlF9WRUtNyy9Kv4LaTpFPiRbVFmSgosIGsn0TimgKG1ydJbDUpLycRxdljLbRfkCMVcg1_zrOlVrTAS1pj_offfZ-Qdjagd88kwtshyphenhyphenY0qmHhDppTx0R3Uw0oy83OXaM8M/s1600/IMG_0087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFn0agl1coPlF9WRUtNyy9Kv4LaTpFPiRbVFmSgosIGsn0TimgKG1ydJbDUpLycRxdljLbRfkCMVcg1_zrOlVrTAS1pj_offfZ-Qdjagd88kwtshyphenhyphenY0qmHhDppTx0R3Uw0oy83OXaM8M/s320/IMG_0087.JPG" /></a></div> On the other hand the other very common bird in our area, the sparrow has also returned and has apparently this couple has built <span style="background-color: yellow;">their</span> home under the roofing tiles of our neighbors house.HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-27769045074058586772010-05-21T08:53:00.000-07:002010-05-21T08:53:30.465-07:00Italian doctors and the truthMy daughter was born it Italy four years ago. When I delivered her she was whisked away from me immediately. I was told that it was for the fact that the room was too cold for her and they had to move her immediately to the nursery. I took that as a reasonable answer and let it go, heck I was so out of it after 14 hours that they probably could have told me anything and I would have believed them. But when I arrived back in my room and asked to see her they told me that she was having trouble breathing. When I asked them why, they hmmed and hawed about it and never really gave me a real answer. I asked if maybe she had inhaled some amniotic fluid and they say <i>"yes, that may be what it is, but we are checking it out"</i>. I started to worry a bit but they continued to beat around the bush and assured me that she was stable. Eventually, after about five hours after delivery they asked me if I wanted to see her. (Stupid question if you ask me). On the way to see her they told me that they would need to transfer her to a different hospital since they didn't have the facilities to take care of her breathing problem. They then told me that she needed an operation to fix her breathing, but nothing more specific than that. Although I was still a bit delirious from the labor and delivery I was really concerned that they get her to a hospital where she could get the care she needed, I wasn't as concerned with exactly what for at the time, because that wasn't really what mattered. Her immediate care was what mattered. She was soon taken by ambulance to the nearest equipped hospital an hour away with my husband and mother-in-law close behind. Later they asked me to start pumping to get my milk going. I thought that was a good sign and was more than pleased to do it. <div><br />
</div><div>The next day my doctor came in to see how I was doing. The whole night before my mom had been trying to figure out what was going on (she doesn't speak Italian) and I was doing my best to do the same, but was also trying to recover from the long, difficult child birth which meant that I wasn't much of a help to her. When the doc came in he very casually said "your daughter came out of surgery during the night and she is doing fine. She just had a hole in her diaphragm and they simply closed it up". He made it sound as if it were nothing at all. My mom then took this and had my dad, back in the U.S, contact our family friend and pediatrician to see what the heck it was. We found out later that our little angel was born with what is called Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia <a href="http://www.childrenshospital.org/az/Site476/mainpageS476P0.html">(CDH)</a>. It is basically the lack of development of the diaphragm which leaves a hole allowing, in my daughter's case, her intestines and spleen to move into her chest cavity therefore displacing her heart to the right and collapsing her left lung. Of course none of the Italian doctors ever told me this. They never gave me the gory details, I had to find them out for myself. <div><br />
</div><div>During our daughter's one month stay in the hospital NICU I realized that this was common practice. The doctors never went out of their way to explain more than the bare minimum. I had to ask about everything. They seem to work on a "need to know basis"> what THEY think you need to know. I suppose that if they had told me immediately after her birth what she had, I may have had a serious psychological crisis, especially not being able to do anything about it. But the fact that they wouldn't tell my husband what was going on until he threatened to start breaking stuff tells me that it wasn't just for my<i> "benefit"</i>. Therefore, I was getting all of my information from this family friend and from a childhood friend of mine who at the time worked in the NICU in Seattle. They were great about giving me information and questions that I should be asking my Italian doctors. Although the doctors didn't come right out and tell me everything, I had to dig to get information, they were very willing to discuss things once I asked about them. In fact they told me "ah you can tell you are a foreigner, most Italian parents don't ask these types of questions". Maybe they just aren't used to people wanting to know the gory details about their children. This all said, I am very grateful for the care that my daughter received while in the NICU and I do have to say that the doctors were incredible, although I would have liked it if they had just come right out and told me the gory details. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So why am I writing about this now? Well I thought that maybe it was all linked to major traumas and things of the sort. In fact when a student of mine (an oncologist at the local hospital) told me that most cancer patients don't want to know the whole truth, so only the close family are told the gory details about how long they have, I wasn't too shocked, shocking as it may seem. But yesterday our private pediatrician told me that my daughter had pneumonia. Only problem is that he told me yesterday, not on Monday four days ago when he first visited her. He told me "Yes, I had planned on coming back to check on her today (he makes house calls, a definite plus) even if you hadn't called, because though I didn't tell you on Monday I knew she had pneumonia. I just didn't want you to freak out!" I thought to myself. Yeah, well if you had told me it was this serious I wouldn't have taken her out to get the shopping this morning!!! Maybe I am strange, I am <i>una straniera</i> (foreigner), but I don't freak out about things my daughter may have, I don't go into hysterics, I want to have all of the knowledge I can get my hands on to do the best job to keep my daughter "safe and healthy". I tell her that everyday <i>"it's mommy's job to keep you safe and healthy"</i>, so how the heck am I supposed to do that if I don't have all of the information. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Our pediatrician is great, he has a wonderful rapport with our daughter and does a great job curing her. He did start her immediately on the necessary medication to deal with the pneumonia, I just wish he had been more upfront with the diagnosis the first day! I suppose doctors are influenced by their environment, if most people around here freak out and go into hysterics then maybe I can see the reason behind it, but as a good friend of mine said recently in a different situation " I am a (kiwi, she said) American shaped peg being squeezed into an Italian shaped hole" and sometimes that is not always easy to deal with some of these differences, especially when it comes to my daughter! </div></div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-51886124365912968412010-05-11T05:55:00.000-07:002010-05-11T05:55:57.832-07:00My five favorite Italian words<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">A friend and fellow blogger of mine <a href="http://networkedblogs.com/3JTp3">Cathy</a> asked me if I wouldn't participate in a blog posting about my favorite Italian words. The idea started at <a href="http://networkedblogs.com/3JTp3">Italophile</a>. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">When Cathy asked me to do this it wasn't the first time I had pondered my favorite words. In fact as an English teacher I've come across this question in the reverse "What's your favorite English word?". I had always thought that it was a silly question, how could you possibly come up with a favorite word! Then while reading the book <i>Eat Pray Love </i>by <a href="http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/">Elizabeth Gilbert</a> (the movie will be released this summer starring Julia Roberts) I came across the question again. In the book she says that her favorite Italian word is <i>attraversiamo</i> (ah-trah-vair-<b>tzee</b>-ah-moh) which means let's cross. Even then I thought that it was a difficult question especially since that is definitely not one of my favorites. So I have spent the last couple of days thinking over the question and this is what I've come up with.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Some Italian words I like for the way they sound and feel in my mouth. Yes, strange but some words feel good in your mouth (unlike ones that may be difficult to say and leave you tongue tied in knots), they just flow out so smoothly. Other words I like for the fact that they are so much better than the English equivalent or embody their meaning so well that you can't put them in to English.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">So here they are:</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>1) sapessi </b>(sah-<b>pe</b>-see) is the imperfect subjunctive of the verb sapere (to know) or in English "I knew"</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"> <i>Se io sapessi come funziona, lo userei. (If I knew how it worked, I would use it)</i></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I like the way it sounds when I say it as well as the fact that it unfortunately isn't used very much in everyday Italian since most Italians aren't very good at using it, so I feel pretty cool about the fact that I can. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>2)farfallina </b>(far-fa-<b>lee</b>-nah) little butterfly. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I love butterflies and they remind me of the person who convinced me to come to Italy in the first place nearly eleven years ago.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>3)furbizia </b>(foor-<b>bee</b>-tzee-uh) cunning or <b>furbacchione</b> (foor-bahk-<b>yo</b>-nay) a sly dog (when referring to people)</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I like these so much better than the English equivalents, plus I like the way they sound.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>4)basta </b>(bah-stah) (like pasta with a b)- that's enough, stop it</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I really like this one because it is straight to the point.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><b>5) un etto</b> (oon- <b>et</b>-o) you use this when ordering 100 grams of something like prosciutto or salami. If you want more you can ask for <b>due etti </b>(<b>doo</b>-eh <b>et</b>-tea)<b> </b>200g <b>or un'etto e mezzo </b>(oon <b>et</b>-o eh <b>meds</b>-o)<b> </b>150g for example. There is just no equivalent for it in English (of course we use pounds in America anyways!)</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">In closing I would like to say thanks to Cathy for asking me to do this, it was a lot of fun, always a good question for our expat get togethers too!!</span></span><br />
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</span></span>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-51137238701018388092010-05-04T04:40:00.000-07:002010-05-04T04:40:47.368-07:00Italian Birthday partyYesterday my baby was invited to her second "Italian" birthday party. This is her first year at preschool so she has only ever been invited to Dutch and Kiwi ones before. One thing that drives me crazy about them is the late notice. I received the invite for this party on Thursday for the following Monday. I suppose this technically gave me 3 1/2 days to go get a present, but of course shops are closed on Sundays, Thursday afternoon is the local day of rest and I had to work Monday morning. This left me with Friday and Saturday to get something for the little girl, and in the end I sent my mother -in-law to get something on Monday morning anyways.<br />
However, this said I have known the mom of the girl for many years now and her family as well, so I was of course happy to take my daughter to the party. Plus they were having it at their restaurant, which is of course one of my favorites in the area. <br />
First of all the location of the restaurant is incredible, there is an incredible view of Civita di Bagnoregio from the terrace, then of course the food is incredible. Of course they didn't serve my favorite <i>faggotini pere e formaggio</i> which are to die for, but the desserts were incredible! There wasn't the usual pastry shop trays but tasty mousses, homemade cream puffs, crostini, apple cakes and of course pizza! <br />
One thing that was different for me this time was the fact that they had called two <i>animatrice. </i> They were two girls likely in their early twenties dressed as clowns. They did hand painting, not face painting (which was a bit odd to me, but I am glad it was on their hands since they used markers for the outline and my little one still has the outline of a blue butterfly on her hand). They did preschool games with the kids and balloon animals (first time I've seen them here) and they took care of the presents. Basically taking the presents when the kids arrived and putting the child's name on the gift (birthday cards aren't used much here!) and once it was present time everyone was given back their present and they all sat in a circle and watched the birthday girl open them all the while chanting <i>scarta la carta! scarta la carta!</i> "open the paper! open the paper". <br />
In the past I have always seen the kids open the presents as their guests arrive (something I really hate!) so this was a nice twist to the whole thing. <br />
The animatirice were very entertaining for the kids and it gave the parents the opportunity to take pictures and video. I had tried to do games and things at my daughter's party with no success but apparently I needed to be dressed like a clown to have gotten their attention!HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-58045119107583922922010-04-30T05:17:00.000-07:002010-04-30T05:17:42.328-07:00My daughter's future ambitionsThe other day my little one was playing on her Barbie motorbike and kept getting off to "fill it up with gas". Later on when we were talking I asked her what she wanted to do when she grew up and she said "I want to be a gasser mommy!" (taking the word gas and adding the -er like teach-> teach<i>er</i>, only problem is <i>gas</i> isn't a verb)<br />
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Later on I went to her parent teacher meeting and one of the things that they have been working on at school is drawing what they want to be when they grow up and there she drew a picture of herself and nonna, here the title was "when I grow up I want to wash the dishes with nonna"<br />
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I hope this is just her misunderstanding of the question (she is obsessed with getting bigger, but relative to what a four year old sees as bigger...being able to reach the top shelf, ride the bus alone, etc) not with what her future ambitions really are! I am sure this is the problem because the question in Italian is "cosa vuoi fare da grande" and What do you want to do when you grow up in English. For her growing up is getting taller and being "grande" is pretty much the same thing. In fact when I asked her what job she wanted to do when she was a mommy she said (after saying cook dinner and do the dishes) I want to help teach the kids. (Probably since that is what I do!)HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-82427878109462429622010-04-30T05:09:00.000-07:002010-04-30T05:09:09.561-07:00A four year old's understanding of deathI have always been fairly straight forward with our little one about death. Trying to explain things at her level but being honest about it. (The cat didn't go to someone else's house like nonna says, he probably died) Maybe it is a bit harsh, but I lost my baby brother when I was five and was not told anything but the truth about it and I was much better off for it. <br />
Last year my husband's grandfather of nearly 91 died after many long years of battling prostate cancer. We went to the funeral (that time my daughter was 3) and I tried to explain that we were sending nonno to be with baby Jesus. She took that as good, and made the connection with the fact that he was no longer at his house when we went to visit. Later on during a thunderstorm my mother in law said to her "ah that's nonno shelling the nuts!" She repeated this line a couple of times, but now doesn't really believe it. <br />
At the beginning of the week my in laws went to the cemetery to take flowers to Nonno Peppone's grave for the one year anniversary of his death. When my daughter asked me where they were going, and I told her that they were taking flowers to nonno because it had been one year since he'd died she said in a very happy voice "IS HE COMING BACK!?" It was such a sweet thought that nonno had gone to visit Jesus, but was now coming back to be with us. Unfortunately, I had to tell her that no he wasn't coming back anymore. She was a bit bummed about it, but let it go pretty quickly. <br />
That was almost as cute as my sister (age 3 at the time) asking my mom if there were phones in heaven so she could call our little brother in there.HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-91322985666181797912010-04-16T10:23:00.000-07:002010-04-16T10:23:16.205-07:00My daughter's "mother tongue"Being an ESL teacher in Italy I obviously teach English to a lot of Italians. Many of my lessons are individuals since I don't usually work evenings, and many of these are conversation lessons. One common question my students ask is: "Does your daughter speak English?" To me that is the silliest question ever! OF COURSE she speaks English! But it comes as a shock to most people. They ask how I manage to do it, and "doesn't she get confused?" and most recently, "what is her first language?". This one got me thinking. According to the standards set by Cambride (I am an oral examiner for their exams), English is not considered her mother tongue. But in my opinion it IS. <br />
<div>From the time I got pregnant I decided that I would speak exclusively to her in English, no matter what, and over the past four years I have stuck to this vow. She therefore had a very clear idea of who spoke what and until recently she has always responded to me in English and is easily able to flip into Italian if necessary without a second of thought. I say until recently because she now attends preschool at the local school and is learning a lot of new vocabulary at school, that I don't necessarily use, so they occasionally get thrown in here and there. For example today she said "mommy, you know I sure have a lot of <i>terra</i> in my shoes, I need to dump them out!" </div><div>So why do I think that her first language is English? For a few reasons. First, when she began speaking her first words were in English, when she started making sentences her first sentences were in English and last summer at the age of three upon our return to Italy after two months in America, she had completely forgotten how to speak Italian, she could only remember a handful of words. Another funny thing is that when she talks in her sleep it is in English. </div><div>Another reason that I think it is her first language is that the level of English that she uses is very advanced for her age. She uses many synonyms and has a very large vocabulary. Whereas in Italian she has the vocabulary of a four year old, which is her age, and of course completely normal but making a comparison between the two she is more advanced in English. </div><div>I don't know how she will continue to develop once she is in Elementary and secondary school, but my hope is that with annual trips to America and continuing to speak to her in English she will help stay ahead in her English.</div><div><br />
</div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-19081675054908057982010-04-05T13:20:00.000-07:002010-04-05T13:20:11.557-07:00Christmas in AmericaEver since I started coming to Italy and even after I moved I have always spent Christmas at "home" in America with my family. This of course all changed when we had our daughter three and a half years ago. I didn't feel bad being without my husband over Christmas before having her because we always had New Year's together. But I didn't feel that I could take our daughter away from him on this special day...of course not EVERY year. With my husbands job he is unable to travel around the holidays so I am faced with the choice of staying in Italy every year for Christmas or leaving him here with his family while I go to see mine. In the end it has come down to me and my daughter going to America every other year to spend it with my family. Of course it would be better if he would come with us, but that is just part of being married to an Italian farmer, you can't always have what you want when it come to travelling! <br />
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The reason why I've always gone "home" for the holidays is obvious I miss my family, and for me Christmas is <i>the</i> holiday of the year. One of the reasons Christmas is so important for me is the family traditions that my family has. I have fond memories of this time growing up. Every year we would go downtown for dinner with our family friends and visit Santa. We still do the dinner even if the Santa pictures have gone by the wayside. That is until this year! Finally I was able to take my daughter to see Santa!!! This wasn't the first year that we were able to spend Christmas in Seattle but it was the first year I was organized enough to do it! She was three and a half this year so we didn't have the terrified pictures with her screaming and red eyed. She actually thought Santa was great! As per family tradition my mother got her a beautiful Christmas dress for the pictures which she loved because she loves being "fancy" (she actually got two just in case she might need two Christmas dresses!...sure does help being the only grandchild!) <br />
The other family tradition that I love so much is that my mother has always done Christmas Eve dinner at our house. I come from a very large family so our Christmas Eve dinners have always been big. I am the oldest of four and the second oldest of nine cousins on my dad's side and my mom's sister's family always comes too so that is two more cousins. Generally there are about twenty to twenty-five people for dinner. In the past few years this number has increased because friends with family far away have come to spend their holiday with us. <br />
When we were children Santa would come to the house after dinner to deliver gifts (ours were always matching pajamas, another family tradition that continues to this day). Now we are all adults so Santa doesn't come to visit. Instead we have a gift lottery. Everyone brings a gift of $10 or less and puts it in a pile. Every person then draws a number and chooses a gift in that order, being able to choose from the pile of wrapped presents or "steal" from someone who has already opened a gift. Some of the presents are really nice and some not so nice, so it is always fun. To add to this fun my cousin brought a gift to the exchange that she had "re-gifted" about five or six years ago. It was a stocking holder but the awful part about it is that it is a canoe with Santa, Frosty and a random black bear in it. This "gift" has been recycled in the gift exchange every year since. (usually hidden from sight with a note wrapped in the box with something like "you are now the proud owner of the Christmas canoe".)<br />
One tradition that I do miss is midnight Mass at the NPCC. A few years ago our pastor moved churches and it was hard to see him go, but for Christmas Eve we would merely go to his new church in West Seattle, but now that my parents have moved West Seattle is quite a drive and all of the local churches have their masses at nine which is very early.<br />
Christmas morning usually consists of mom's homemade cinnamon rolls, mimosas and coffee and now we have a new latte stand that is open on the 25th so coffee has been replaced by lattes and mochas. We then open gifts and laze around the house until dinner when we go to our aunts house (now two blocks away) and enjoy French onion soup, crab salad Turkey, potatoes and of course Auntie Jan's cookies and candies. <br />
New traditions have also started my daughter and I made a gingerbread house this year (something that doesn't exist in Italy) and we all go for a family Christmas pedicure grandpa and kiddo included! We also went on the holiday carousel downtown after seeing Santa and out for holiday lunch with my sisters and mom. Christmas afternoon also includes a family movie although this year it was sold out.<br />
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I miss these traditions when I am in Italy although I am happy to be with my husband. In Italy there are different traditions. On Christmas Eve there are only seven of us. My husband, my daughter and me plus my in-laws and husband's grandmother. (basically the same thing as any old Sunday lunch) Catholics don't eat meat on holiday eves so we have fish (yuck) nothing like having spaghetti and tuna with fried fish to ruin your Christmas eve! The tree is very small and the house isn't decorated for Christmas. Last year I decided to make the best of Christmas so I gave my mother in law my old tree to replace her sorry holly bush that she was using as a tree, and a new Christmas table cloth with matching towel and apron. I also offered to do the dinner but was told not to worry, so I made halibut and green beans to add to the traditional meal. One thing that I do enjoy about Christmas in Italy is the Presepe vivente (or live nativity scene) and the mass in Civita. On Christmas Eve. Weather permitting we make the long trek up the bridge to Civita to attend midnight mass (which actually does finish at midnight) The church is cold and you have to be bundled up, but there is flute music played and the priest is wonderful. In the corner of the church is a very large nativity scene which is elaborately decorated with not only the manger but the whole city of Bethlehem around it. They sing Christmas songs and the priest talks about the meaning of Christmas. On December 26th the town hosts the Presepe Vivente which entails decorating the entire town as if it were Bethlehem with craftsmen of the time, basket weavers, blacksmiths, bakers (with the old ovens fired up) a traditional market with live animals and cheeses for sale. The local people, including children dress up in elaborate costumes made by a local woman and spend the whole afternoon wandering around the town as if it were Bethlehem. At five o'clock Mary who is waiting at the bottom of the bridge is brought up on a donkey and walks through the town looking for a place to stay. Finally they find the stable where she is met with her child (Sofia and I played Mary and Jesus when she was nine months old). Locals and tourist wander through town eating traditional Christmas cookies, drinking wine and eating cheese. These are two traditions that I truly love in Italy. <br />
Of course the years that I am in Italy for Christmas I have continued my family's traditions as best I can. I have a wonderful Christmas tree and I deck the halls (although not as well as my mom does). I make Christmas cookies and we have panettone and coffee for Christmas breakfast. Sofia always gets special Christmas pajamas and I usually wear mine from the year before. My girlfriends and I also have a holiday party for the kids where they exchange gifts and we have tea and cookies while they play. This year we had more of an Epiphany party because two of us had gone home for the holidays, and it actually snowed that morning! <br />
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In the end I am happy that my daughter has both experiences and that she can have two very different traditions to love.HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-52800523744427856742010-04-04T09:34:00.000-07:002010-04-04T09:34:32.272-07:00Good Friday Procession<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhseHJn74JlSWb0FgR4I1MDkFEmcezc3_6pbRw-UklrPnqMc5OJTP6c-w1VQL3zQBjfXXhop5DXuaBcSbnTz4Y0z3qj0Ni6NTvrhxnh9l12fleUzFtPLdlqrvjbuRgykNGOFb87Xo2uflA/s1600/CIMG5306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhseHJn74JlSWb0FgR4I1MDkFEmcezc3_6pbRw-UklrPnqMc5OJTP6c-w1VQL3zQBjfXXhop5DXuaBcSbnTz4Y0z3qj0Ni6NTvrhxnh9l12fleUzFtPLdlqrvjbuRgykNGOFb87Xo2uflA/s320/CIMG5306.JPG" /></a>As I promised below in my "Preparations for Easter" post. I will talk about the Italian traditions that we have for Easter. This year, like every year, we bundled up and left the house after dinner at around 9.30. We walked down the candle lit main street of the historic center of town and waited in the main square in front of the Cathedral for the Good Friday Procession. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDomLkTHZQ04OK5utgW5Z5acYRxr2ksP1xJdx74qqwvc_8dFbvI-vrsF8_JD-dekCpkzA1EnsBK0R4plw3_IOaimTyzu4g9H6KJtawAnF-hBCMBy4YWOhBQwjJlkueGaN8wubezbT5ow/s1600/CIMG5332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDomLkTHZQ04OK5utgW5Z5acYRxr2ksP1xJdx74qqwvc_8dFbvI-vrsF8_JD-dekCpkzA1EnsBK0R4plw3_IOaimTyzu4g9H6KJtawAnF-hBCMBy4YWOhBQwjJlkueGaN8wubezbT5ow/s200/CIMG5332.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSgVqr28UYGlopheZ4P-DbJu0kB36ZT7tIX3YDk1CbRAwnmUJc4TnU_N6bb2U-vVEBZtDQZrSXEJNGFM1oYga5-Es7hSrpWDO7kZIBUKwvwz37mia8hUgebUlpZhcpvcffUVLwAlbdkTE/s1600/CIMG5333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSgVqr28UYGlopheZ4P-DbJu0kB36ZT7tIX3YDk1CbRAwnmUJc4TnU_N6bb2U-vVEBZtDQZrSXEJNGFM1oYga5-Es7hSrpWDO7kZIBUKwvwz37mia8hUgebUlpZhcpvcffUVLwAlbdkTE/s320/CIMG5333.JPG" /></a>Our town, like many others in Italy, puts on a living Nativity at Christmas and a Good Friday Procession at Easter. Local residents are dressed in typical clothes of the time to commemorate the birth and death of Jesus. It is a very heart felt event for the locals and as my husband noted as my camera batteries died "sono sempre quelli, le stesse persone che fanno i soliti personaggi. Se fai la foto quest'anno sara' uguale anno prossimo" It's always the same people playing the same roles every year. If you take a picture this year, it will look the exact same as the one the following year. This is absolutely true. It is something that starts at a young age. Some of my daughter's older classmates participated and as my mother in law said, it is something that the parents talk about from the time the children are young so it is ingrained in them to participate. It is so important that about two weeks before Easter you can find signs around town announcing times to come and try on and reserve costumes for the event. Something also very interesting is that the costumes are all made by the local woman who owns the award winning ice cream shop.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSepPiNs6zQTCluvSwzFoSzx8W-CsglwDu0vIXJDm3ZWdQIX5YqNFWsmOxKKzQBHdQAJ75FNYNX0IbJ1DX4S_L6jPVaxmQhNJ6y5McU_aPr8cz0Kt3NGHYKX8lXJUOft8KLrakMaAvRug/s1600/CIMG5299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSepPiNs6zQTCluvSwzFoSzx8W-CsglwDu0vIXJDm3ZWdQIX5YqNFWsmOxKKzQBHdQAJ75FNYNX0IbJ1DX4S_L6jPVaxmQhNJ6y5McU_aPr8cz0Kt3NGHYKX8lXJUOft8KLrakMaAvRug/s320/CIMG5299.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Before the long procession in the main part of Bagnoregio, there is a mass in Civita di Bagnoregio where Jesus is removed from the Crucifix and laid on a red velvet bed. He is then transported by four local "Jesuits" to the procession, followed by the local priest, and local parishioners carrying large lanters and other locals praying and singing for more than a mile walk each way with an steep uphill climb at both ends. He is the final part of the procession representing Jesus after the crucifixion on his way to the tomb. The wooden Crucifix is from the 15th century Donatello school and is very precious to the Civitonici (the local population, my husband being one of them). One of the incredible things about this crucifix is the fact that the wooden figure of Jesus can be removed and his arms placed at his side. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclr1y68ttrUywp5KinSkAFB2DLGgQvqcl-djfmtT51iZdatrLvX8i5aD630nrH0rctRy3eiHOn8tHV4VqDfGGIqUtFzi_EqDwc4Iss3W5abN_09LGRe1Prsi8M5hlMyiIg8byHkKfpFg/s1600/CIMG5356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclr1y68ttrUywp5KinSkAFB2DLGgQvqcl-djfmtT51iZdatrLvX8i5aD630nrH0rctRy3eiHOn8tHV4VqDfGGIqUtFzi_EqDwc4Iss3W5abN_09LGRe1Prsi8M5hlMyiIg8byHkKfpFg/s400/CIMG5356.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">After the procession has ended in Bagnoregio Jesus is brought back to Civita and welcomed with a large bonfire in the dirt square in front of the Duomo di San Donato and placed in front of the alter where the Easter blessing is said and local people are able to touch and kiss Jesus. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-sTPqOZKoCxBjd9i87ujxKQlirEtNTnv5-Rev-S9z9JFks-obew3gKF-pBMO_N38JSPD7VwHsHlMjIH2uZxGQrS-ZcbRD74DwaIunUuwYHguDgx3fns6r8YeixKD-DXRZ4kCOOQiQNQA/s1600/CIMG5360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-sTPqOZKoCxBjd9i87ujxKQlirEtNTnv5-Rev-S9z9JFks-obew3gKF-pBMO_N38JSPD7VwHsHlMjIH2uZxGQrS-ZcbRD74DwaIunUuwYHguDgx3fns6r8YeixKD-DXRZ4kCOOQiQNQA/s640/CIMG5360.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As I said before my new camera's batteries died at the beginning of the procession so I have posted here the photos from last year. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-91623402614655226492010-04-03T08:47:00.000-07:002010-04-03T08:47:35.696-07:00Things I'm enjoying this weekendThe annual trip to Bagnoregio after dinner to watch the Good Friday procession and then to Civita to welcome Jesus home with a huge bonfire.<br />
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The beautiful sunny weather (especially since it is supposed to rain for Easter Sunday)<br />
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A lovely afternoon on the farm with my hubby and baby!<br />
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dying eggs with Sofia for the Easter Bunny to come pick up.<br />
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My sweet angel<br />
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A tasty cup of caffe latte with "orzata" as a substitute for almond syrup<br />
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No work for 5 days straight!<br />
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Going to the "kiosko" after dinner for an ice cream<br />
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The opportunity to spend more time with my hubby<br />
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writing on my blog<br />
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Taking pictures with my new camera<br />
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Spring flowers on my table and on my balconies!<br />
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Yummy homemade minestrone and fresh mozzarella<br />
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Strawberries for dessert<br />
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Clean clothes hanging on the line in the sunHeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-34762832503729494512010-04-03T08:41:00.000-07:002010-04-03T08:41:05.957-07:00As we left the bakery today after getting yet another free cookie from the owner Sofia says "mommy, they really do make tasty cookies at the bakery, don't they!"<div><br />
</div><div>Sometimes it cracks me up how she speaks like an adult at times in such a matter of fact way.</div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-42468084439706093412010-04-02T10:26:00.000-07:002010-04-05T13:17:30.675-07:00Easter preparations<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvU9l7RNdRkQuk1UdKmsc_4I0AiGBkYa6376m4PJIXiWuuxYhPjtGmsxq189U_TqHY7tFRnxmU7w7xvdU8qBLmKunHQlj8q4DVUJgOnvbGkrkUGP9HP-OUY9SYJd_pxTpGv5ofgplWJ2Q/s1600/IMG_0220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvU9l7RNdRkQuk1UdKmsc_4I0AiGBkYa6376m4PJIXiWuuxYhPjtGmsxq189U_TqHY7tFRnxmU7w7xvdU8qBLmKunHQlj8q4DVUJgOnvbGkrkUGP9HP-OUY9SYJd_pxTpGv5ofgplWJ2Q/s320/IMG_0220.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This afternoon my daughter had to do two things, one to prepare for the beginning of Easter as per Italian tradition and the other for an American one. Of all of the holidays that I have spent in Italy, Easter is much better here than back at home, but I still love keeping my American traditions alive nonetheless. The first thing my little one had to do today was have a good long nap, so that she would be rested for this evenings event, which is the Easter procession for Good Friday, the crucifition of Christ. The other was to decorate Easter eggs so the Easter Bunny could stop by and pick them up to hide for her on Easter morning at nonna's house. Two completely different aspects of Easter, but both part of how we celebrate.</div><br />
Here is some documentation of our decorating! Pictures from this evenings event will follow shortly.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTixWHZ2FpAn-w-ByYrxl2H_DVr_FSs0PwMFsr7LjqoXaZeNi8FafNDuYld0dZS68Mn3T0pUPNVsy7-5-6wP41OGRkjSB7ON08pPdg_sxgeMbrk9_Or-Koi8RiJggAIHc5bnWBSZ-aP1Y/s1600/IMG_0223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTixWHZ2FpAn-w-ByYrxl2H_DVr_FSs0PwMFsr7LjqoXaZeNi8FafNDuYld0dZS68Mn3T0pUPNVsy7-5-6wP41OGRkjSB7ON08pPdg_sxgeMbrk9_Or-Koi8RiJggAIHc5bnWBSZ-aP1Y/s400/IMG_0223.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGUNK_NBXWOAmwge9RQw4FO1gR8qjSxTy6AagflQefvawl4-24m91fgXoa9yhzuY3utnGKj9RBAtI3xPqJao8KCQbSiYLZ1xHYx7Ap8HVGE0pedGwnAmzqH3NAEMEK9MSu3FgnehX0N8/s1600/IMG_0236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdGUNK_NBXWOAmwge9RQw4FO1gR8qjSxTy6AagflQefvawl4-24m91fgXoa9yhzuY3utnGKj9RBAtI3xPqJao8KCQbSiYLZ1xHYx7Ap8HVGE0pedGwnAmzqH3NAEMEK9MSu3FgnehX0N8/s400/IMG_0236.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3-fWh7CM4howl4mFjq92vdPSO7-duP-zp_jz1zoH8-NSnIjghGU4ehtFsbvKJMd6mCoapZPQKrxvQkER3Z2L5cFkWS46gFddR5OYYI0BkvX6Oh8-tlgGzZQgj7AlheLqRDlPL9pHUUc/s1600/IMG_0237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3-fWh7CM4howl4mFjq92vdPSO7-duP-zp_jz1zoH8-NSnIjghGU4ehtFsbvKJMd6mCoapZPQKrxvQkER3Z2L5cFkWS46gFddR5OYYI0BkvX6Oh8-tlgGzZQgj7AlheLqRDlPL9pHUUc/s400/IMG_0237.JPG" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBniYfjF8MPrpVspHmpkBTfZFUVA2oHIJYtm2HAJGiXysO45bv3ETunvidvHga1zH_kWlswTLT-rHciDH6bcUt725W_VPuUEVZNsIRdl5Y5T213kzRIXJym3z7ijYpa1A_hzf8LZxiaY/s1600/IMG_0239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBniYfjF8MPrpVspHmpkBTfZFUVA2oHIJYtm2HAJGiXysO45bv3ETunvidvHga1zH_kWlswTLT-rHciDH6bcUt725W_VPuUEVZNsIRdl5Y5T213kzRIXJym3z7ijYpa1A_hzf8LZxiaY/s400/IMG_0239.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3g0X5nVm_0j7mpamsJSpsLF3B20bgNYCMWB3UUWagTlRxvD_u8d7_B0o2REsgpzqCnqfcTlaJVgnTN3VNQJdLT15cJEEkvoFLrElm_eQuQZHSMVYAB5nTnbqoYM5O5DT9_LgrbH1o80/s1600/IMG_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3g0X5nVm_0j7mpamsJSpsLF3B20bgNYCMWB3UUWagTlRxvD_u8d7_B0o2REsgpzqCnqfcTlaJVgnTN3VNQJdLT15cJEEkvoFLrElm_eQuQZHSMVYAB5nTnbqoYM5O5DT9_LgrbH1o80/s640/IMG_0257.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-68914280709956550322010-04-01T15:17:00.000-07:002010-04-01T15:17:19.500-07:00Teaching your kids your languageThis is something that usually comes naturally to every parent. Living in a foreign country can sometimes make it difficult. It was clear to me that because I was living in Italy and married to an Italian that our daughter would obviously speak Italian. So while I was pregnant with her I resolved that I would only speak English to her no matter what. That is all fine and good, but my in-laws were a bit concerned. "How will she learn Italian? How will we know what you are saying to her? My answer... "That is all up to you". The other question was... "Won't she be confused?" My response was "Why would she be confused if I only ever spoke to her in English?" <span id="goog_383581395"></span><a href="http://www.multitonguekids.blogspot.com/#st=e%3DAOG8GaAuJyaqwoKBIVqwc76d%252FZgmIXa7O%252FHsLHYzsOpNO5c3HRH%252FE0nLoPRMCMsUn4kRDaF2Pj8V5FRJmj2ADn7n%252FWA8OnhFRwJQn6EOcjSRcBMphDP8KlSxj3EP5D9lBJ%252FDGxmtDtfX59VKV65l5KtGyUT3hEajQ82JDPluUTxrV58oiE8o7gd0Ov7ORY%252BSmFnVfCGFwNB1sZ1RHI4Cm1PnzvKLTi%252FGFYd3Pb4tRH0RhB8a3OuX66jkCz0p6LdowOqhMM1z38pd%26c%3Dpeoplesense&rpctoken=936671665&">A blog</a> <span id="goog_383581396"></span>that I follow explains the delecacy of this very well. But I figured having a clear definition of who spoke what would make it easier for our daughter to understand.<br />
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The funny thing that I noticed was that her first words and sentences were in English even though we lived in Italy and though she didn't have the speach delay that most bilingual children she didn't start speaking much Italian until later. I suppose it is because I only work part time and my husband works overtime, so she was exposed to English much more than Italian. Even my friends spoke to her in English. So I sometimes wonder what her first language is, in my opinion at the moment it is English since she speaks it much better than she does Italian, but she is getting better in Italian every day being in preschool. <br />
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Being an English teacher I am keen to have her take the Cambridge English exams which according to the guidelines she could take as a L2 candidate. According to their criteria she is not mother tongue since she lives in a non English speaking country, with one non English speaking parent and attends a non English speaking school. I would beg to differ with them but if they don't classify her as mother tongue then I will take advantage of their exams and preparation (lord knows the English preparation in Italian schools is crap!)<br />
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Sometimes I wonder which language she will speak to her kids, or where she will prefer to study and work. I suppose I am lucky that English is the international language, so she will always have some use for it, but as she grows I wonder if she will continue to speak better English than Italian or if they will switch. <br />
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Finally to answer the questions posed in the blog post mentioned earlier, my daughter seems to dream in English (as she is a sleep talker), and plays in both languages (talking to her baby dolls and imaginary friends). It should be interesting to see how she does this summer upon return from America...will she forget her Italian once again or will she retain it better this year? I'll let you know come September!HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-83230345080371177912010-04-01T14:23:00.000-07:002010-04-01T14:23:13.377-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-Agi1De7BRt2FGcU1J-dpcNEgWRv5xuknG5K-bLe5dmxP_0OXshIXceEt6tfZxSAAYsSXJBGHdEthbWArGzEhym73a1T7AxjBC00FjT3XfDchd8RG38M62za6_4JXLPnaykA9PW92sY/s1600/IMG_0093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-Agi1De7BRt2FGcU1J-dpcNEgWRv5xuknG5K-bLe5dmxP_0OXshIXceEt6tfZxSAAYsSXJBGHdEthbWArGzEhym73a1T7AxjBC00FjT3XfDchd8RG38M62za6_4JXLPnaykA9PW92sY/s400/IMG_0093.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>My daughter just had her birthday party last weekend. Like every year I threw a traditional American birthday party for my little angel. Some of you may ask "what is an "American" birthday party?" The answer to the question is simple. I had a theme for the party, this year it was a princess party. I organized games, made party favors and made the cake and decorated it along with the entire place myself. There were happy birthday banners, balloons, streamers and centerpieces. I sent out American birthday invitations (thank you dollar tree!) to 17 of my daughter's classmates and dressed my daughter up in her pink and white party dress. <br />
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So why is this a big deal? Well after having thrown 4 birthday parties for my daughter in Italy I have started to notice some differences... (as usual, I am constantly comparing my old life to my new one). The first difference is that only one of the moms called to RSVP (other than my two good friends of course). This makes planning the party a bit difficult especially for the food! I was frantic about how much food to order and prepare! Last year I had ordered tonnes of food and only six kids showed up. This year I was lucky and there was plenty of food and plenty of kids showed up.<br />
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Another difference is that in America kids are usually dropped off for the party at a certain time and then picked back up at a specific time, but as I found this year, not only do the kids that are invited come but so do their moms, dads and siblings! We actually had a family of 5 show up! This definitely makes food planning difficult. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDtpmUOI8D_WIZ8EY89ssqNn1s4Wtn5ry9CxxoPqGX-_u5hgYoCSAhD8w9LMyTAbXhtq41Y9-MEr5SVKJ00eYm5HNkgKM0t-2fB-RHS9NLnsnVd1SrOk5xBEtDUnxqCdmpA1BjOR_tl2w/s1600/IMG_0102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDtpmUOI8D_WIZ8EY89ssqNn1s4Wtn5ry9CxxoPqGX-_u5hgYoCSAhD8w9LMyTAbXhtq41Y9-MEr5SVKJ00eYm5HNkgKM0t-2fB-RHS9NLnsnVd1SrOk5xBEtDUnxqCdmpA1BjOR_tl2w/s400/IMG_0102.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
Now I always consider my daughter to be Italian American since she is half and half, but in reality she is more 75% Italian since this is her home for about that much of the year and only 25% American. In fact the next difference is that there aren't usually games organized at birthday parties, so even though I tried to get some games going (pin the crown on the princess and musical chairs) the kids were much happier to just run around like crazy outside and climb all over the play house than to play my silly games. They just didn't see the point! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoDUVskunAt69Lk-JVc3PmnNqgyfF5YiKKPJinRUmJOFzlvOzzj3Sph7Qc20Vhu8DDrn2NGHvk9ymbRlq00BMnuRx1Y-4DLXbYnFknlpIE-g7leG4i9G7vi4gIByoporL63pViTAYf4k/s1600/IMG_0101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoDUVskunAt69Lk-JVc3PmnNqgyfF5YiKKPJinRUmJOFzlvOzzj3Sph7Qc20Vhu8DDrn2NGHvk9ymbRlq00BMnuRx1Y-4DLXbYnFknlpIE-g7leG4i9G7vi4gIByoporL63pViTAYf4k/s400/IMG_0101.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">One thing that I always do is present time. In Italy kids usually open their gifts as their guests arrive. This is totally different for me and I have never like it. I love having all of the kids sit around and watch present opening. It also gives me the ability to get organized and be able to take video and pictures of my little one opening her presents take note of who gave her what so I can send out thank you cards (yet another thing that isn't done here!)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Two things I did organize that the kids did enjoy (and the mothers noted as being "very American") were the crafts table and the party favors. The crafts table idea was given to me by my Dutch friend who usually has a coloring table at her daughters party. I had gone to the Dollar Tree in America during one of my visits and got lots of foam visors and bags with the sticky foam shapes. It was cheap and the kids loved it! Same thing with the party favors, I stocked up at the same store with Princess note pads, rings pens and crowns (all 4 for a dollar) and then put in some Kinder chocolates that I had bought here. </div><br />
At the end of the party one of the Italian moms made a comment to another after having received the party favor bag "ah ma questa e' una cosa che fanno <em>loro</em>" (this is something that <em>they</em> do). Now being foreign the locals sort of clump you into two groups: American (or any English speaking country) and Western European or "Extracommunitari". Apparently they think that our group (American, Kiwi, Dutch and French) all do the same things and that we are more or less the same! Now I have been to their birthday parties and I am the only one that has ever done party favors, so really it is "una cosa <em>mia</em>" (it's <em>MY</em> thing), and my Dutch friend even said "why do they always say that it is <em>our</em> thing, I am Dutch, you are American, we aren't the same!". I sometimes feel like I am ALWAYS comparing America to Italy, but I suppose it is because it is always being made apparent to me by the locals in everything that I do. And you know what? I am proud that I am different, but sometimes it makes making Italy feel like home a bit more difficult.HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-59639208964583078932010-04-01T13:39:00.000-07:002010-04-01T13:39:11.712-07:00Waiting to travel and filling in the gapsAs I was talking to my Dutch friend the other day, the subject of going home for another visit came up. Of course it was because I had just bought my tickets for my annual summer trip home. I usually only get to go home once a year, and occasionally also for Christmas, but my Dutch friend is able to visit her family much more often since her home is much closer. She usually goes home four or five times a year for a week or so and her family is able to come visit often as well. <br />
We were talking about how I only had a couple more months before I would be leaving and that she only had to wait until May to see her family since they would be coming for her daughter's birthday. But we wondered how our dear Kiwi friend managed to go for so long without seeing her family. Now I have a long way to fly to get home, but she has nearly double the distance, plus double the kiddie passengers, so she doesn't go home as often as we do. <br />
My Dutch friend said that she feels like we go on with our daily lives always looking for that next trip or chance to see our families without enjoying our lives here. I suppose that it is a bit that way, but on the other hand who doesn't go through their daily lives waiting for a holiday or a chance to get away on vacation. The main difference is that we see our vacations as going home to visit our families, which is a vacation just with a different label. <br />
I have always said that going home is like taking a breath of fresh air and that it keeps me sane, which is true. I miss being totally comfortable with who I am, which is something I have a harder time doing in Italy since I am usually labeled as a foreigner. But the longer I live here in Italy, the more I realize that I really do love living here. However, I will always have a strong tie to America and will always feel American and need to go back to my roots to replenish the American half of me. I don't feel 100% American anymore but I will never feel that I am 100% Italian so I have to keep both parts of me happy and going home to visit family is an important way to do that. It is a large part of who I am. Over the years I have started to become a bit Italianized but I don't think that I will change completely nor do I want to. I love my homes, both of them, and I need to have the ability to live in both, so I try to enjoy both of them to the fullest.HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-11659256448093753282010-03-18T12:42:00.000-07:002010-03-18T12:42:09.664-07:00The three year old bilingual slips "Mommy who's <i>fisking?</i><br />
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Is not the first question my daughter has asked me that I haven't understood right away. The mixing of two languages at home sometimes shows up in daily converstaion (in fact she isn't the only one that does it, I find myself doing the same every so often)<br />
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Today's mix up was as usual the conjugation of an Italian verb according to English grammar in the middle of a sentence in English. Usually this isn't a problem for me since I understand where she is coming from. However this time she said it in the middle of a whine and paired with my ear infection it took me a few minutes to figure out what on earth my child was saying until I decided to ask her "how does babbo say it?"<br />
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<i> </i>(whistle in Italian is fischiare)<br />
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</div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-88628698363296753112010-03-14T07:25:00.000-07:002010-03-14T07:25:19.394-07:00Ahhh how times have changedYesterday evening I went out to dinner with a couple of my dear ex-pat friends to celebrate two of our birthdays. Of course we are all four from different places originally (USA, NZ, France and Holland) and we always chat in English. Yes, we all speak Italian very well, but being as it is natural for me and my Kiwi friend to speak English the other two automatically join in.<br />
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During dinner I noticed a man sitting at a nearby table who kept turning around to look at us and was continually mentioning to his friends that we weren't Italian. Of course we are all used to hearing things like this so I didn't mention it to my friends, but as he continued to do it for the entire evening I decided to point it out to them. <br />
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We had been talking about how long we had been with each of our husbands and it turned out that three of us have known our hubbies for ten and a half years (since 1999) and the fourth has acutally been in Italy since then but met her companion only three years ago. Having all arrived at some point during that particular year we have some similar memories. <br />
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My French friend asked if we thought that Italy had changed at all in the past ten years. Of course pointing out this gentleman that kept turning around brought up the topic of being noticed in Italy. We all agreed that ten years ago walking down the street we would get the typical "cat calls" that Italy was famous for. Nowadays you don't hear them like you did before. It isn't only because we are older (although still all good looking if I do say so myself) but partly because the younger generation (those who were only school children when we arrived) no longer do this type of thing. You see the boys all grouped together walking around town and groups of girls doing the same and occasionally they get up the courage to approach each other, but you just don't hear a lot (if any) verbal harassing as you would have ten years ago.<br />
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I think the creation of the European Union and its recent expansion have also had a large hand in many of the changes we have noticed. Ten years ago Italy seemed quite individual though part of the European community. There was still the Italian Lira and laws were still mainly their own. We all commented on how much prices and costs of living have gone up since the introduction of the Euro in 2002, they have seemingly doubled (perceived price increases in Holland and France seem to be smaller) and laws introduced by the EU are also very apparent in everyday life. <br />
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When we all arrived here helmets weren't required on motorcycles or scooters and therefore NOBODY wore them, seat belts were never worn and those who had cell phones, used them freely while driving. While Italians are still very aggressive drivers I must say that the helmet law is the most followed law (at least in this part of Italy). Seat belts are not always worn, and children can still be seen standing up in the back seat of the car while their parents are racing down the road at high speeds, not to mention that blue tooths are still not very popular in Italy, however it isn't the same as it used to be. <br />
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The thing that seemed odd to me when I first arrived here was the lack of environmental awareness. The most apparent was the complete lack of recycling anywhere in Italy. On my way to Italy I had visited France, Switzerland and Germany and found it possible to recycle even walking down the street or in the train station. But in Italy no such thing existed! This to me was really shocking since I had been recycling most of my life. Curbside recycling started in Seattle in 1986 and Italy still had no apparent interest in it thirteen years later. In fact we got our first public recycling bins in our small town around 2004, nearly twenty years after it had become common in Seattle. <br />
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Immigration is more apparent now too. With the opening up of the borders to the twenty seven member countries (plus the proximity to Northern Africa and illegal immigration) Italy is seeing an increase in immigration. Traditionally Italians were the ones to move away to America, Australia or other European countries, but now you can go to Rome, and as my friend mentioned, walk down the streets and be hard pressed to hear a conversation in Italian. The crucifix has even been removed from all public offices, buildings and schools! This, in the country which not only boasts the capital of the Catholic world but also a population of nearly 80% being Catholic. Although Italy wasn't a unified country until around 150 years ago it still has a strong sense of what it is to be Italian, and they are now dealing with the "threat" of no longer having a "true" Italy. The country is struggling with how to deal with the new influx of other cultures and has created laws that encourage integration in the schools with a cap of 30% of foreign kids in a class as one example of how to keep Italy Italian. Coming from America, the melting pot of the world, immigration is common place, and therefore not a new thing, though it is often in the news there too. For Italy, however seems to be a fairly new concept, and a bit of a "scary" one for them.<br />
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Change will always happen and it is a way to improve and evolve, however sometimes it is difficult to let things go, and maybe somethings shouldn't change, but these are just some of our observations of how change has occurred in Italy in our eyes over the last ten years.HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-38314315910992663802010-03-05T04:09:00.000-08:002010-03-05T04:09:00.316-08:00Producing your own food<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvjHwY6rQQXsweHEJqWY-ZuoylycyEe9BtJ_-Qmu4uTv0nJeaBFq10uvG0rQwYkfpDAOFP2j9xPDfozqXlX6KXNsObacJOmqsU0yX_3vt_jfEvrkoHmptt5ufd-lIx2BkRhP2wncBqek/s1600-h/IMG_0427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvjHwY6rQQXsweHEJqWY-ZuoylycyEe9BtJ_-Qmu4uTv0nJeaBFq10uvG0rQwYkfpDAOFP2j9xPDfozqXlX6KXNsObacJOmqsU0yX_3vt_jfEvrkoHmptt5ufd-lIx2BkRhP2wncBqek/s200/IMG_0427.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">With the bad economy affecting nearly everyone, us included, I am very grateful that we are able to produce at least a portion of our food. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Growing up my dad always had a big garden in the back yard and my mom was always in the kitchen canning the fruits and vegetables from his harvests. She also made lots of breads and other things from scratch. But eventually when I was older and my mom was working and had four kids to take care of, the garden and canning went by the wayside. </div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHPCSo8hK2GSd2osoreMqzBcAEDSHm3qmSy3hHJTa-aV27hyptplM_lsv4W5pSAq7fJrkFsoZOf9bRWOKIQREOGjpFE4HFtlmNLxuu_A5JTq3Ei3rNwpzl-e2RoPL1Yz78uL74Q2EK4s/s1600-h/IMG_0424.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHPCSo8hK2GSd2osoreMqzBcAEDSHm3qmSy3hHJTa-aV27hyptplM_lsv4W5pSAq7fJrkFsoZOf9bRWOKIQREOGjpFE4HFtlmNLxuu_A5JTq3Ei3rNwpzl-e2RoPL1Yz78uL74Q2EK4s/s200/IMG_0424.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi65uUzP_fcLw_Ym0k2fAXeU5zPa7P8HAYrFic5rEo_8k680gbioiSJ-KohsAdTZPk22IU9Sk7mJNFxgMQzQLuh8-_INpSydOvNnpzamQVBg-EwGGgutNUxeQrLS_QqFmpDsxMe2R__sv4/s1600-h/IMG_0425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi65uUzP_fcLw_Ym0k2fAXeU5zPa7P8HAYrFic5rEo_8k680gbioiSJ-KohsAdTZPk22IU9Sk7mJNFxgMQzQLuh8-_INpSydOvNnpzamQVBg-EwGGgutNUxeQrLS_QqFmpDsxMe2R__sv4/s200/IMG_0425.JPG" width="200" /></a>I never truly realised what a benefit it was to produce your own food until now. I have even heard about pea patches and local gardens coming back into fashion even in the USA. A friend of mine in the States is even investing in chickens! But I suppose having a farm puts us at an even greater advantage. Not only do we have plenty of tomatoes from the summer harvest to supply us with an unlimited amount of tomoato sauce and frozen tomatoes for the entire year, but we also have onions, potatoes, garlic, canned zucchini, eggplant, beans and green beans. And that is just from the summer garden! In the winter my father in-law grows chard and broccoli too. Living in Italy also means being able to collect porcini mushrooms in the fall and dry them for use later. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0K0MerjxedoZGX2_pzHI8xonbNKD_FMD9x05Uk8HB_2FICbTdGLuPAHrOxSLWwl9Sp642jtmxP4Coqv-c3j-320p7rgeu0qEZ9t52PFYNgT2ts1UIXIDHSUVfOSxEP2gcmnfWvAExxFI/s1600-h/IMG_0360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0K0MerjxedoZGX2_pzHI8xonbNKD_FMD9x05Uk8HB_2FICbTdGLuPAHrOxSLWwl9Sp642jtmxP4Coqv-c3j-320p7rgeu0qEZ9t52PFYNgT2ts1UIXIDHSUVfOSxEP2gcmnfWvAExxFI/s200/IMG_0360.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKc0xxjxbKaEqGt8SnEyb3UCGavssdn5EIQV5teshFuYNRPAt4d8vw9ExqRMA3a76HEstbOuVenftWrO5ARMreOsGaQymwFa4fCRtx2LLQTeoZM1lpRUhHqQ4EkJOAAMx4EKtp8DRV03Q/s1600-h/IMG_0416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKc0xxjxbKaEqGt8SnEyb3UCGavssdn5EIQV5teshFuYNRPAt4d8vw9ExqRMA3a76HEstbOuVenftWrO5ARMreOsGaQymwFa4fCRtx2LLQTeoZM1lpRUhHqQ4EkJOAAMx4EKtp8DRV03Q/s200/IMG_0416.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6p9rMnx9lx7S8oBvgIwM5oWbNR0-VLvnyspdZl9xIeWha_uhPI-9ah_nYgpaxsMDHWhkem6gKF8pyAHYUEaX67EU2H5LzgyJ-xqzRh2F2r0kLrwCIVi_KJbehf0XrER3wEUdA5iSATyE/s1600-h/IMG_0428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6p9rMnx9lx7S8oBvgIwM5oWbNR0-VLvnyspdZl9xIeWha_uhPI-9ah_nYgpaxsMDHWhkem6gKF8pyAHYUEaX67EU2H5LzgyJ-xqzRh2F2r0kLrwCIVi_KJbehf0XrER3wEUdA5iSATyE/s200/IMG_0428.JPG" width="200" /></a>We are also lucky to never have to buy our Extra Virgin Olive oil since we produce our own. In winter we butcher our pigs which gives us plenty of sausages, salamis, hams and pork chops, and we have an abundant supply of eggs, chicken and rabbit too! In the Fall we usually butcher a young cow and if needed we can have lamb too, although it isn't one of my favorites.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvjmFaL_SNCdy1OX2BCK8hiwmsrvzbt6lqVcaD0_-v7q8quTV1JZCw7pTrA4mfO4lboi61e5fXFQQ42foBUqTPXReYmrHHzKCngJa_oQWURgjHqdxUWhfveD57scN69zaqLcJYLz4-gE/s1600-h/IMG_0417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdvjmFaL_SNCdy1OX2BCK8hiwmsrvzbt6lqVcaD0_-v7q8quTV1JZCw7pTrA4mfO4lboi61e5fXFQQ42foBUqTPXReYmrHHzKCngJa_oQWURgjHqdxUWhfveD57scN69zaqLcJYLz4-gE/s200/IMG_0417.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wvRBumU2DHPWkPWOm5S8NTMg5VunrXrfQ0s7zL8HB9DpcS4t9m4Liw1wIRZirORPGiVh69ZlI2Zz8mVR8J2TKzGMALP718mr_ja1RByUR0f5iIQred38KQFjB0PWVwjpsMTXAJnam48/s1600-h/CIMG6105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wvRBumU2DHPWkPWOm5S8NTMg5VunrXrfQ0s7zL8HB9DpcS4t9m4Liw1wIRZirORPGiVh69ZlI2Zz8mVR8J2TKzGMALP718mr_ja1RByUR0f5iIQred38KQFjB0PWVwjpsMTXAJnam48/s200/CIMG6105.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It really is amazing how much money we can save, but most importantly we know where our food is coming from and how it is produced! </div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-41975046516429055742010-03-05T04:03:00.000-08:002010-03-05T04:03:35.699-08:00A day on the farm<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkAWr4PR5q3VDk0ntfPPp4gpXBEuY2bKOvYMRaPxvrRgEH9aAJUWC8ilBbNXoJ71SzEFV4xtXZlN-4rXEPgs9U_88LwcUX-i2Pp9g85sgPMy8FArWJOAuWZgbrXQw39YoJLkRk1DARDzw/s1600-h/IMG_0410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkAWr4PR5q3VDk0ntfPPp4gpXBEuY2bKOvYMRaPxvrRgEH9aAJUWC8ilBbNXoJ71SzEFV4xtXZlN-4rXEPgs9U_88LwcUX-i2Pp9g85sgPMy8FArWJOAuWZgbrXQw39YoJLkRk1DARDzw/s320/IMG_0410.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_MnC6KyGtRTYilcz9Yt9dSLW-hKsJqAQ0J1FTECCxtT8tC2nO-vI6LpPhcoqHNq3lQEALIvMKthp8f-fvI4dYaD28kKNAjMTRN663gFV1kq0b42dl5fYKLMvZc-mnoMdZgjlweHCyow8/s1600-h/IMG_0342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_MnC6KyGtRTYilcz9Yt9dSLW-hKsJqAQ0J1FTECCxtT8tC2nO-vI6LpPhcoqHNq3lQEALIvMKthp8f-fvI4dYaD28kKNAjMTRN663gFV1kq0b42dl5fYKLMvZc-mnoMdZgjlweHCyow8/s320/IMG_0342.JPG" /></a> As I have mentioned in other posts, I live in rural Italy and I am married to a farmer. He has a small sheep and cattle ranch with his brother. Though I complain about the time he has to commit to his job, there are definitely some plusses to living on a farm. (We don't actually live there but my in-laws do.) </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The other day the weather was spectacular so I decided since it was my day off I would take my daughter over to "help" her daddy on the farm. We didn't visit the sheep or cows since they are in a different place due to their need for larger fields, but we were able to visit the smaller animals and she even got to ride the horses. She was in heaven.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I think she is truly lucky to be growing up in this environment. She is at ease with the animals and has no fear of them. She knows where her food comes from and is able to see what it takes to produce it. If all kids could be so lucky!</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGwUuXnmJnQBdm-0wS9TUbo0nZhhUNyFC5Co0w-dsJpKhkTWGunPgwkUMncTlSHBknDZ080pCYIfNVoJGKP1RMNXMrExJFau7LY6ByU5uQ_KD7H-PHnvZh88EyQsuXJdff2goPPZCJJjc/s1600-h/IMG_0349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGwUuXnmJnQBdm-0wS9TUbo0nZhhUNyFC5Co0w-dsJpKhkTWGunPgwkUMncTlSHBknDZ080pCYIfNVoJGKP1RMNXMrExJFau7LY6ByU5uQ_KD7H-PHnvZh88EyQsuXJdff2goPPZCJJjc/s200/IMG_0349.JPG" width="150" /></a>Here are just a few photos from the afternoon.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH08Kcr-0He81d2LRwki0XD8xN0H-YWvXNvMOH5n48hMyESLvNOS-YW63nplwRon0JivgyItHxFNlHdWM7WejSbpIH_zgXSdVdB27f5b_4L8ElrT-SQ5I9b8oUkvTkxE4qryYd_z3En6s/s1600-h/IMG_0352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH08Kcr-0He81d2LRwki0XD8xN0H-YWvXNvMOH5n48hMyESLvNOS-YW63nplwRon0JivgyItHxFNlHdWM7WejSbpIH_zgXSdVdB27f5b_4L8ElrT-SQ5I9b8oUkvTkxE4qryYd_z3En6s/s320/IMG_0352.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5Eqi0k-SOCzlkWOUS0dqbacugzpGzsvfkV28AevU8guh0ROaQ1uNPuZfDyFD9UP9da5NkdqizAfG5GxprisIxpfuSm0EKMrYpfLWJwoIvoXoTO4GPm3ZPQem7qpKjmWkKbCuHQlcYXc/s1600-h/IMG_0368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5Eqi0k-SOCzlkWOUS0dqbacugzpGzsvfkV28AevU8guh0ROaQ1uNPuZfDyFD9UP9da5NkdqizAfG5GxprisIxpfuSm0EKMrYpfLWJwoIvoXoTO4GPm3ZPQem7qpKjmWkKbCuHQlcYXc/s320/IMG_0368.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAyMpnVTOsTqaZXeXELxAEwaXGsvX7TitdgV8O54AKK6cgjdFHkwJn8mS3W52whYsk-nUdDvkvG5lH4YbskLgPx4PdfwWyEL6fddsSkwOYiHvZBpp6iUQIj8H4KZOW4bBhl9MdxE1Uxc/s1600-h/IMG_0375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAyMpnVTOsTqaZXeXELxAEwaXGsvX7TitdgV8O54AKK6cgjdFHkwJn8mS3W52whYsk-nUdDvkvG5lH4YbskLgPx4PdfwWyEL6fddsSkwOYiHvZBpp6iUQIj8H4KZOW4bBhl9MdxE1Uxc/s320/IMG_0375.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioFUGXwxDvWXg-M3DQfBUJ052GOxMFMqA_PpHFZid5Z0b0z0KoAqW-NkWRulGvh7VHeNWFQAgfjWVrBLu4vICqKkzNsMaRC0XqIj9bUSp4h3Q_WC5raJINLO8Aix1PBcgmrZTReAyxrwY/s1600-h/IMG_0382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioFUGXwxDvWXg-M3DQfBUJ052GOxMFMqA_PpHFZid5Z0b0z0KoAqW-NkWRulGvh7VHeNWFQAgfjWVrBLu4vICqKkzNsMaRC0XqIj9bUSp4h3Q_WC5raJINLO8Aix1PBcgmrZTReAyxrwY/s320/IMG_0382.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2sabXQifybVG3I0Ppd3kFVZijF0oi-j1d8L89jdyuI5K1vB_sv_Q3ktv4GEUFlUU2S-3tC8RYdyZyMU4m1TM_lGBa_2dx7D6wZN0Zx3UOs2hl92bOWyIN9TsXWUbf2Kt23ZhJ4apBsXc/s1600-h/IMG_0380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2sabXQifybVG3I0Ppd3kFVZijF0oi-j1d8L89jdyuI5K1vB_sv_Q3ktv4GEUFlUU2S-3tC8RYdyZyMU4m1TM_lGBa_2dx7D6wZN0Zx3UOs2hl92bOWyIN9TsXWUbf2Kt23ZhJ4apBsXc/s320/IMG_0380.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfPLd9hYEyWhXEFATryLAN8qsE80jBDsA_WL4tOGaa1ztrxmm6N7mbLVfKO8gTXC5ROZ8TNFCPdt1PT5ZeSNDE7dAUyKt3M0GKPjb7phOdo4D2xvYNl60GCzrLgVMsJ08sDpNlzHI-Ek/s1600-h/IMG_0395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfPLd9hYEyWhXEFATryLAN8qsE80jBDsA_WL4tOGaa1ztrxmm6N7mbLVfKO8gTXC5ROZ8TNFCPdt1PT5ZeSNDE7dAUyKt3M0GKPjb7phOdo4D2xvYNl60GCzrLgVMsJ08sDpNlzHI-Ek/s320/IMG_0395.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2FVJA76aR0V6bXsGh_Kr5etjOEzRbpStJoFvOjoB_WIysSsDXhvn4H2GdJJRls2XTQfEeRlCjNQrth5bbTUTHZOnro6gRcTYQ580XYgikib_U4ty_DQEfgf_SAjjhpSrNiN5Y5q1uao/s1600-h/IMG_0366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2FVJA76aR0V6bXsGh_Kr5etjOEzRbpStJoFvOjoB_WIysSsDXhvn4H2GdJJRls2XTQfEeRlCjNQrth5bbTUTHZOnro6gRcTYQ580XYgikib_U4ty_DQEfgf_SAjjhpSrNiN5Y5q1uao/s320/IMG_0366.JPG" /></a></div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-64024422292628455072010-03-05T03:40:00.000-08:002010-03-05T03:40:57.580-08:00Drying the washing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQRfZL9Q4OWcqLsPpqNwvuCYUMakEYLaQl5Tu9-gzYlEfGyqNwr1zOMXsyTdG7V9u7ANIxIIeKNz1NeJ0KdHGOq0HSSu0CegCMRCAJMoh9HIBgNh9KDY-bQcGkxqfvU0QI_utQmxxOHjE/s1600-h/IMG_0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQRfZL9Q4OWcqLsPpqNwvuCYUMakEYLaQl5Tu9-gzYlEfGyqNwr1zOMXsyTdG7V9u7ANIxIIeKNz1NeJ0KdHGOq0HSSu0CegCMRCAJMoh9HIBgNh9KDY-bQcGkxqfvU0QI_utQmxxOHjE/s320/IMG_0002.JPG" /></a></div>Growing up in America I only ever saw truly one way of doing the laundry. (However our neighbors had a large drying rack in their back yard, though they rarely ever used it). You put your clothes in the enormous top load washer and then shoved it all in the dryer. Of course I grew up in the late 70s to late 90s in the USA. Now the new trend in the States is the new front load washer and dryer, but back then it was different. I suppose the only real thing that has changed in the States is <em>where</em> you load your washing, because the machines are still enormous (like most things in the USA) and people still LOVE their driers, I suppose hanging your washing out to dry is a distant memory, if it is even a memory at all.<br />
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In Italy of course the weather is much nicer than in Seattle (relatively speaking) and for this driers never really invaded the bel paese. Not having a drier means that you need to plan your washing. If you don't have much interior space to dry your washing you have to wait for a sunny day (and you wash like mad to get it all out and drying in the sun!) Otherwise you have to wait or deal with manuvering around washing racks inside.<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1mEpExPzWthoDrnDfJnDKxg6EGZOP9wRkguU5HTz8oTzHH4SHuT9vAY_tfH7lneLx76W5iuoW_8X8AIoh-sBez8C__AKgLxczWadTeTOkHUSEXXp489eE9O505vYhy6Xq71WESAAI7s/s1600-h/IMG_0006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1mEpExPzWthoDrnDfJnDKxg6EGZOP9wRkguU5HTz8oTzHH4SHuT9vAY_tfH7lneLx76W5iuoW_8X8AIoh-sBez8C__AKgLxczWadTeTOkHUSEXXp489eE9O505vYhy6Xq71WESAAI7s/s320/IMG_0006.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Now as I noted in my earlier post we are in March and that means "Marzo mattarello". You can wake up to beautiful sunny weather and get lots of washing out on the line to dry then head out to work or to simply get the shopping and by the time you get home the washing is soaking wet because a thunder storm has rolled in in the meantime! (My mother-in-law gave me some good advice, in March never leave your washing outside if you go out, "you know how it is in March!" was what she said)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Now getting the washing done usually means spending the whole morning loading the washer, why you ask. the other main difference between the USA and Italy is that the washers are smaller. I believe our washer is a 5 liter washer (a little over a gallon). I noticed just how much bigger they are in the States when I was home for the summer visiting my parents. I would have what I considered "a load of washing" and put it in my mom's cavernous Maytag front loading washer and still have room for about three more "loads"! I had to completely change my washing routine. I really only needed to do the washing once a week for me and my daughter. This was a bit difficult for me since I am used to doing multiple loads every week. My mother even made a comment saying that I was obsessed with doing the washing, but the truth is that I just have different habits due to my washing machine's capacity!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Despite the drawbacks of having a small washer and no dryer, I am happy to say that we are not wasting energy by using a dryer. I have become accustomed to my new washing routine, and I don't really mind it. Most of the time in the States I line dry my things despite the presence of a dryer just because that is what I am used to now. Although I try to resist becoming "Italianized" some things just become part of who you are, and I guess in this case I am happy that I have changed.HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-18467235281752149812010-03-05T02:22:00.000-08:002010-03-05T02:22:29.578-08:00Marzo MattarelloMy husband always knows what the weather forecast is. He has to have some idea since he is outside working and his livelihood depends on the weather. If it rains too much profits drop and if there is too much mud, work becomes more difficult. This year of course has been the wettest winter in the past 30 years in Italy. I hadn't really noticed a difference from the past 10 years that I've been here (except of course last winter when it didn't rain at all). But that is what the statistics are saying, and if you look at all of the damage that the rain has caused in the south of Italy I suppose it is actually quite obvious. <br />
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A few days ago (maybe it was March 1st or 2nd) I woke up to the sun, which is always a nice thing, it always boosts my spirits. And upon checking the outside temp, I was also quite pleased to feel that it was really warm. In fact I wore one of my spring cardigans and a t-shirt with only a light jacket and was plenty warm all day. However the next day I awoke to rain and much cooler temperatures. I guess that is what they mean here when they say 'ah e' Marzo mattarello" meaning Crazy March. And would you believe it if I said that snow is in the forecast for the weekend!? Well, it wouldn't be the first time I've seen snow in Italy in March (or even in April for that matter), but this weather truly is Crazy!HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6994992885876062386.post-56013562882311340642010-02-17T01:09:00.000-08:002010-04-05T13:19:37.870-07:00My little sweetie.Today Sofia got all dressed up for the Sunday celebration of Carnival in the small town where she goes to preschool. She decided to wear her new Belle dress for the occasion. She is suddenly interested in wearing makeup!! But mean mommy just thinks it's a bit too soon (like ten years too soon!). Carnival is a good excuse to wear it though. After doing her hair and putting on some light make up she was ready, and I had tears in my eyes! She looked so grown up. I cannot believe how fast time flies. She was just a baby yesterday and now she is off at preschool all day and becoming an independent little girl.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Hab52ogH001LXyCyd0nJeZpqwpukFvK18zKXj6npLcvYxRfBkakAkiAIDoh7WQ_eEyrWHsRtHgelp7OQYy4O5Kt_-TUQatmRUpJDPFd-ORoYf5TI2rQAdnoPpfwRm44q2JXVh2MfSrw/s1600-h/IMG_0289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Hab52ogH001LXyCyd0nJeZpqwpukFvK18zKXj6npLcvYxRfBkakAkiAIDoh7WQ_eEyrWHsRtHgelp7OQYy4O5Kt_-TUQatmRUpJDPFd-ORoYf5TI2rQAdnoPpfwRm44q2JXVh2MfSrw/s320/IMG_0289.JPG" /></a></div><br />
I was interested to take her this year since last year she only knew one other child there, her beloved friend Sara. This year however she knew many of the young children there from school. It is always interesting to watch her play with other kids since her play dates until now have always been with just a select few children and always one on one. She reminds me a lot of myself as a child. She is a bit shy and reserved and isn't usually the leader of the group. She tends to sit back and watch. Though she would like to participate she is usually very timid about the whole thing, especially if the other kids are more rambunctious than her. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqlhOpoVIPaeA7JxQT2cZrQOLdL5PrUZP_5Y2hGj8H4JMBoapRPau6mbzb5y2KyjNUI1m1P8xUOrYOEi2yfl1nju2g0k7bsF0zsJaSzWv7gQQ0in56uOiwJR9fSROU7YPpAZ_bp7nSqQ/s1600-h/IMG_0271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqlhOpoVIPaeA7JxQT2cZrQOLdL5PrUZP_5Y2hGj8H4JMBoapRPau6mbzb5y2KyjNUI1m1P8xUOrYOEi2yfl1nju2g0k7bsF0zsJaSzWv7gQQ0in56uOiwJR9fSROU7YPpAZ_bp7nSqQ/s320/IMG_0271.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip0ZEVv4XXhvOBe4p_o2r3yq1jnWNAViukTJY7j3W-G-BH22feIwl5d4ms8ADRu3BCynhzgvVW3EksEjvuDHZVeGAasdNoBZUB-ujCoUnNQXe0kyonLM0A0BQYyvHXWbGUaYJq2dkwoX4/s1600-h/IMG_0296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip0ZEVv4XXhvOBe4p_o2r3yq1jnWNAViukTJY7j3W-G-BH22feIwl5d4ms8ADRu3BCynhzgvVW3EksEjvuDHZVeGAasdNoBZUB-ujCoUnNQXe0kyonLM0A0BQYyvHXWbGUaYJq2dkwoX4/s320/IMG_0296.JPG" /></a></div>It was interesting to watch her jealously guard her confetti and quietly say no when the other kids would try to take a handful since they had used theirs up already. She doesn't like wasting in fact she was the last one with a bag of confetti in the end. (I assume that is a learned behavior since I am very much that way, never waste!)<br />
You could tell she wanted to run around with the other kids and she eventually did but it took her about 20 minutes before she finally got into it! <br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvKibtHViSv6g9U32YzFJO2Z5rHgDMn2iyVim_lDMR0p3JNawVLjv3UqJklDFNMd8mGk1DHDXlr-iCcZ0YlOIrASdoBTZBzj3TN62B5KqbRfZwGf8h46ykzsZI66KU3aXuvb3JhjJvO7c/s1600-h/IMG_0308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvKibtHViSv6g9U32YzFJO2Z5rHgDMn2iyVim_lDMR0p3JNawVLjv3UqJklDFNMd8mGk1DHDXlr-iCcZ0YlOIrASdoBTZBzj3TN62B5KqbRfZwGf8h46ykzsZI66KU3aXuvb3JhjJvO7c/s320/IMG_0308.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Later she found an older friend of hers from school Martina, with whom she was very content to walk around with hand in hand. She did this for the next hour (literally held hands with the girl for an HOUR) The party then moved into the small room behind the church where there were drinks, traditional cakes and music. Sofia was content walking around with Martina and two other older girls. They sat around in a circle on the floor and chatted. My good friend and Sara's mom said "well I guess you can't make them be friends" since Sara was still off running around with another girl and Sofia was sitting like a little lady with the older girls. But just at that moment, as if she had heard our conversation, Sofia popped up and ran over to find Sara. They then ran around, danced and had a wonderful time until it was finally time to go. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QKiP-VZRTEj_DZEdkpy-Yiz5VzRN5ZaMBga9uzDq5y8zjgvelnyuSrr8AgWCPlwolpZTaQfTawJJsLj-_PddA0CV4nC4Ibl3xVdJm1Ke_K_pxbMWVQ9IHyXS39iwk9cii2TVFS0GITM/s1600-h/IMG_0333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QKiP-VZRTEj_DZEdkpy-Yiz5VzRN5ZaMBga9uzDq5y8zjgvelnyuSrr8AgWCPlwolpZTaQfTawJJsLj-_PddA0CV4nC4Ibl3xVdJm1Ke_K_pxbMWVQ9IHyXS39iwk9cii2TVFS0GITM/s320/IMG_0333.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW8t54ZmNJWrQMI-WDlTlE4r4eJbjzfvxlTeNMVCt-ocobLjgbLS_6KQDzrYaR9f8j6oIfx3a6Bvh7zCWeenXBKZfZp-Q1DnJXZCfm5iZ1TQbdjL6Te_5Ka_gSKRA217Ds5tRs6Md4hk4/s1600-h/IMG_0334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW8t54ZmNJWrQMI-WDlTlE4r4eJbjzfvxlTeNMVCt-ocobLjgbLS_6KQDzrYaR9f8j6oIfx3a6Bvh7zCWeenXBKZfZp-Q1DnJXZCfm5iZ1TQbdjL6Te_5Ka_gSKRA217Ds5tRs6Md4hk4/s320/IMG_0334.JPG" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I am very happy that my little girl is such a sweetie, but I am also a bit worried that she will be the kid who gets left out of things because she isn't as aggressive as the others. I suppose that I turned out alright but I would never want her to have to suffer the feeling of rejection like I did because I was always just a a bit too shy.</div>HeatherVhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03670305365898082622noreply@blogger.com1