Remembering Those Who Served

Memorial day came and went and with the Indy 500 in full swing, naturally my mind turned to Indiana. I awoke Monday morning feeling a little sad because in Italy it was just another day. A wave of homesickness washed over me as I thought of friends and family gathering for cookouts. Back home in America everyone was enjoying a long weekend together and celebrating the official kick-off of summer.

Then I thought about what Memorial Day is really about; a day set aside to remember our fallen soldiers. Fox news aired images of people grieving at the graves of American soldiers and suddenly I didn't feel so sorry for myself.

Spending time with your friends and family is fine, as is enjoying a nice BBQ. But let's not forget what the day is really about. It is about the men and woman who died while serving our great nation.

Taps

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.

Fading light, dims the sight,
And a star gems the sky, gleaming bright.
From afar, drawing nigh, falls the night.

Thanks and praise, for our days,
'Neath the sun, 'neath the stars, neath the sky;
As we go, this we know, God is nigh.

Sun has set, shadows come,
Time has fled, Scouts must go to their beds
Always true to the promise that they made.

While the light fades from sight,
And the stars gleaming rays softly send,
To thy hands we our souls, Lord, commend.

American War Cemetary

Florence, Italy

The Indiana Girl

It was a bright sunny day when the Italian and I jumped into the car and began our four hour drive south to the charming, medieval city of Viterbo. The sun was beating down relentlessly through my window turning my pale winter skin pink and it wasn't long before our air-conditionerless car began to feel far too warm.

After we drove for an hour, the gentle rolling hills gave way to large mountains covered with dense forests. I peered out of my window still unable to believe, after two years, that I live in such a beautiful country.

I spotted an exit sign for the town of Bagno di Romagna "I have always wanted to visit Bagno di Romanga, " I said to the Italian. The words no sooner left my lips when another sign demanded that we exit the highway, it was closed for work. Our detour took us through the little village, nestled on the valley floor. We were short on time and so we couldn't stop, but I enjoyed my drive-by tour. The town was full of rustic stone homes and I made a mental note to be sure to come back for a visit. After passing through Bagno di Romagna, our detour took us into the wilderness on a small two lane road that clung to the side of the mountains. The views of the moutians above our heads and the valleys below our feet were breathtaking.

"Wow, why can't we can live somewhere like this?" I half complained to the boy from Romagna. No sooner did those words leave my lips when my stomach decided to answerer back. The combination of the curvy road and warm sunshine had triggered my motion sickness.

"Slower, slower," I begged as the car snaked around the bends in the road. I put my window all the way, hoping the fresh air would ease the queasiness. I took in deep breaths and prayed that I wouldn't be forced to "revisit" the piadina that I had eaten for lunch. The car hit another curve and my stomach flipped once and then twice.

I put my head as far out of the window as was physically possible. Suddenly I felt more like a family pet than I did a human. If I could just hang on until we made it back to the straight-and-narrow highway, I knew I would be okay. But the mountainous detour seemed to have no end.

A few moments earlier I had been admiring the mountains and feeling a little jealous of the people who were living in the quaint hilltop villages. Now all I could think of were the wonderful flat lands near Ravenna. If I could make it home without vomiting, I promised to kiss the flat ground that I live on...

Barq's Has Bite, But Not Beer

My friend Enrico has a beer can collection in his garage. One entire wall is lined with empty beer cans from around the world. The last time I was at his house, I stood in the garage perusing the countless cans when I my eyes fell upon the American beer collection. There nestled amongst the Coors, Buds and Miller Genuine Drafts was a familiar friend of mine. A shiny silver can with the name "Barq's" stamped across the front.


Many Italians HATE any type of cola. They can not understand how we Americans devour the sweet drink as if it were water. After moving to Italy I cut back on my soda sipping, not because my Italian friends frowned upon it, but because pop here is usually more expensive than a glass of wine (3 euros for one non-refillable drink, which is $4.06 by the way). I knew as soon as I saw the can of root beer in Enrico's collection that it was probably a mistake.

"Did you know that this isn't beer?" I asked while pointing to the Barq's.

Of course Enrico was confused, the can had beer written right on the front of it.

"It is ROOT beer, not beer" I tired to explain. Enrico still looked confused. Now how do you explain (in Italian) what root beer is to someone who has never had it? I did the best I could.

"It is like coke, but much sweeter," I went on to explain. The word "coke" was enough to do the trick. Enrico immediately removed the Barqs from his beer collection, unable to understand how ANYTHING could be sweeter than a Coke.

The horrors of finding a cola in the beer collection

My only regrets were that the can was empty and there wasn't any vanilla ice cream!


**The cans in Enrico's collection are all empty. In order to pack the cans in suitcases they are emptied out. I am guessing the Barqs can had been brought to Enrico by a friend who thought Barq's was beer. Enrico has never tasted the stuff and I am guessing, never will.**

The Newest Member of Our Family

Meet Jack "Meranda" Sparrow. He is the little bird that Opus caught and proudly brought into our home. I forgot to mention in my previous post why it was so traumatic that Opus caught a bird. You see, Opus and Roscoe are eleven year old house cats. While living in Indianapolis, the boys aways stayed inside. Now that we live in Italy, they have the opportunity to sun bathe on our second story terrace. Poor Jack Sparrow must have been learning to fly the day he met Opus. I am guessing he had the misfortune of fluttering onto our terrace from his nest that was built on our roof.

You can imagine how proud Opus must have been to have caught his first "gift". And what did I do? I screamed.... a lot. After the initial excitement of the morning, I noticed that both cats were missing. Not used to hearing me scream, the cats had sought refuge behind the couch. I apologized for my reaction and Roscoe promptly returned to his throne (one of the living room chairs). Opus was still upset about my reaction and opted to remain in hiding behind the couch. When I went to check on him later he was gone. I found him sleeping in the bottom of my closet. Had it been Roscoe, I wouldn't have thought a thing of it. It is quite normal for Ros to sleep the afternoons away in a dark closet. But Opus NEVER naps in there. I knew he was hiding in shame.

I spoke to him in a soft, high-pitched voice to assure him that I was not angry. As soon I began to stroke his fur he responded by purring. I pulled him out of the closet and spent some time cuddling him. After we made up, Opus spent the rest of the day glued to my hip. He was happy that all was well in our home once again.


As for Jack, my neighbor advised me to feed him some bread soaked in water but that didn't go so well. The type of bread we had seemed to turn into paste when mixed with water. I tried to feed Jack, but he wasn't used to being fed by a human. As soon I tried to drop the bread into his open beak he would immediately chomp down. The food would end up on the tip of beak rather than in the back of his throat. At one point, he had bread stuck on the end of his beak and I had to use tweezers to pry it off. Then I got smart and decided to try fruit. Jack loved the tiny slices of peaches. The Italian held the little fella while I dropped the fruit into his little beak. At least we didn't have to worry about Jack starving to death.

We kept an eye on the baby bird through the night. By morning he seemed more alert and much more active. After a breakfast of peaches and few photos, the Italian and I decided it was time to release him into the wild. I had always heard that a Mommy bird would refuse to care for her young if it had been touched by a human. From the information I found in the Internet, this is just a myth. We thought the best thing to do would be to sit Jack down on top of our roof and hope for him to hop back to his nest in the gutter.

The Italian climbed up a rickety old ladder and crawled through the small hole in our ceiling. Once in the attic, he hacked through dust and spiderwebs and made his way to a small window in the roof. I thought he would just open the window and let Jack go. To my horror, the Italian opened the window and pulled himself up onto the roof and out of my sight. I held breath while picturing my husband stepping on a loose terracotta tile and falling to his death. It would be all my fault and I would never forgive myself.

Before I had a chance to finish the gruesome scenario, the Italian returned and climbed through the window back into the safety of our attic. He told me that, once on the roof, he opened the box. Jack looked at him for a few moments before spreading his wings and flying away! He landed at the top of a tall tree in our front yard, safe and sound, far from grasp of troublesome neighborhood cats.

I can not tell you how happy I am to have finally had a good outcome to a rescued animal story. Once in high school I found an abandoned baby chipmunk laying in our yard. I took him in and tried to care for him as best I could. He was so small that his little eyes hadn't even opened yet. I had to feed him every couple of hours and I did so religiously. I had been sleeping downstairs with the chipmunk because we had a dog at the time who couldn't climb stairs. I thought it was safer to sleep downstairs far away from our curious dog.

During the second night, my hands were getting tired from prying the lid off of Simon's cage. Knowing that the dog couldn't get the chipmunk, I left the lid off. The cage was five times higher than the tiny chipmunk. Imagine my surprise when I awoke at 6am to feed Simon and found an empty cage! I panicked and began looking around the family room for my little friend. In my searching frenzy, I grabbed the blanket I had been sleeping under and picked it up off of the floor. That is when I found Simon. There, right where I had been sleeping, was the lifeless body of my baby chipmunk. He was flat as a pancake with a small trickle of dried blood on the side of his tiny, chipmunk mouth.

Of course everyone in my family (and friends) laugh at this story now but it was really traumatic (for me) at the time (please stop laughing now). I still haven't been able to figure out what happened. I am sure that when I left Simon at 4am he was snuggling down in his cage, but there is now way that little guy could have climbed out of that cage. The best theory I can come up with is that I must have fallen asleep while feeding him.

My other "rescue" story happened one night when I was in the car with my Mom and Emily. We were in the countryside driving to my parent's house after a late night dash to the store. While driving, something hit my windshield. It sounded like a baseball or something like that. Country girls, Mom and Emily, advised me to keep driving since there wasn't any damage to the windshield. But city girl Cyndi immediately turned around to see what she hit.

It wasn't long before my headlights caught something siting at the side of the road. It was a baby owl who was so young that his little feathers looked more like a coat of fluffy fur. Of course I stopped. He was sitting upright, breathing and didn't appear to have any external injuries. So what did I do? What any adult would do. I called my Dad crying and begged to come meet us with a box. And at midnight, that Saint-of-a-man did just that.

While we waited, a car stopped to see if we needed any help. We explained our dilemma and can you believe the good Samaritan had the name of a woman, living in the area, who owned a Birds of Prey Rescue Shelter! "Call her," he said " she can help". So after we got home with our baby owl, in the box that my father so lovingly delivered, I called the poor woman (in the middle of the night). She told me to put it a cage with some water and to leave it alone. Apparently baby owls imprint on humans easily and once imprinted it is impossible to release them into the wild.

It just so happened that my parents had an old dog cage. So we placed Hootie into the cage with some water and left him alone in the dark garage. I checked on him, from a distance, every couple of hours during the night. The woman from the bird rescue told me to call her at 8am, if Hootie was still alive, and she would come over to get him.

At seven thirty the next morning I rushed into the garage with hopes of sending the baby owl onto his new home. There was Hootie, face down and spread eagle (er, spread owl) on the bottom of the cage. Hey, at least I didn't squish this one. My only guess is that he had suffered from internal injuries.


So you can see why it was extra wonderful when our little Jack Sparrow spread his wings and took flight. Though he was Opus's first victim, he was my first wild life rescue success!

Buona Festa della Mamma

"What the daughter does, the mother did." ~Jewish Proverb

My Mom and I are like two peas in a pod. When we get together, you never know what kind of trouble we might get into. Back when I lived in the States, she and I would take off for mini-all-girl-adventures. It is something I dearly miss now that I am living 5,000 miles away.

Our travels never took us far from home, but that didn't matter. Whether we were pounding the streets of Chicago or hanging out with the boys in Indy, Mom and I were always having fun.

The good old days.

Growing up, many of friends were jealous of the fact that I had a fun mother. She always played with us, even when we didn't feel like playing. If had a nickle for every time she begged me to come play in the pool with her, I would be a rich woman. "If you come out and swim with me," she would say, "I won't make you clean your room today" (and believe me, that room needed cleaning). That was an offer I couldn't refuse and Mom knew it.

My Mom has never lost her child like spirit and that is one thing I love about her. I can picture us one day, as little old ladies (me 70 and her much older) still acting like a couple of kids.

To give you some insight on my Mom's fun spirit, here are some of my favorite memories of our travels....

After spending a day of seeing the sights in Cincinnati, we decided to head down to the hotel pool for an evening of relaxation. Mom had packed a two piece swimsuit as a joke just to see what I would do. Not one for being tactful, when I saw her IN the swimsuit I said "You are so NOT wearing that!". Hey, if I can't be honest with Mom, who can I be honest with? Of course she had a normal suit to put on and we still laugh about the joke all these years later.

That same trip Mom also packed a few wine coolers as a suprise. We sat on the balconly that cold autumn night, sipping our wine coolers in our winter coats while admiring twinkling city skyline as moon watched from above.

We took a trip to Chicago and stayed at the Sheraton near Lake Michigan. As we peered out our window, we noticed a large boat approaching the shore. An hour later we noticed the ship was still there and began to wondering why it was just sitting there. It wasn't until later in the day did we realize our ship was a light house!

While in Venice during carnival, we sat down in San Marco's Square for a hot chocolate. Because it was carnival time, the outdoor cafe was price gouging tourists even worse than normal. Our two hot chocolates and small bottle of water cost us almost 30 euros. Not one to take things too seriously, we turned our mistake into a fun game. We sat and watched the surprise looks on the faces of the other cafe guests as they received their outrageous bill.

How much was that hot chocolate?

Also while in Venice, Mom insisted that we buy carnival masks and wear them. And so we did, ALL NIGHT LONG. The following day we left the masks at the hotel, but when Mom spotted street artists painting the faces of tourists we couldn't pass it up. I sprang for the face painting and we spent the rest of day with a splash of color on our faces.

Once we found out (the hard way) that it isn't a good idea to go to the zoo towards the end of the season. EVERY restaurant and snack bar was closed except one. There we were forced to spend 10 bucks for the two worst hot dogs ever. Not wanting to die from starvation, we choked them down. Later we lovingly name the snack bar "The Dung Hole Cafe" and still laugh when we think of that horrid place.

On the train home from Turin. We had way too much fun.

These memories barely scratch the surface of the fun we have together. Now that I live in Italy, some times I feel robbed that we can't run away for a few days of fun together. Then I think about the time we do get to spend together. After moving to Italy, my Mom came to spend an entire month with me. I have also gone home three times, for an entire month each visit. Something that would have never happened if we were just a few hours away.

Pretending to be witches in Chicago.

I love you so much Mom. Your fun loving spirit and quick whit make you a joy to be around. You are kind, thoughtful, caring, and a true friend. Thank you for always being there for me and for loving me no matter what!

I look forward to seeing you again soon and to our next adventure!
Happy Mother's Day!

Mom, maid of honor and best friend

Obnoxious Cat Syndrome

Obnoxious Cat Syndrome is a phenomena that effects cats of all breeds and ages. Signs that your cat might be suffering from O.C.S. include but are not limited to:

- Meowing at odd hours during the night for no apparent reason.

- Licking plastic bags, usually during human sleeping hours.

- Unrolling toilet paper.

- Play fights with sibling cats, which include lots of hissing and bitch-slapping.

- Laying on top of the kitchen table while knowing full well that it is strictly forbidden.

- Jumping onto a human's lap while digging claws into the human's leg for better traction.

- Running fits that involve flying across the bed at super-human (er, super-cat) speed, usually while humans are in it.



Yesterday our peaceful little home was rocked with hysteria. I should have known it was going to be an O.C.S. day when I returned home from the store and found the torn up carcass of a cat-treat bag laying in the hall way. I have only myself to blame as I must have left the bag out where the naughty boys could reach it. The boys HATE Italian cat treats and so I have the Whisker Lickin's treats smuggled into the country, thanks to my Mom and Jane Doe. We went through our last supply rather quickly when I had to use the treats to bribe the boys into taking their medicine back when they were sick. With only one bag left, I began doling out the treats, little by little, as if they were chips of gold.


I don't know how but in my absence, the cat buglers stole the remaining treats and devoured every single one along with half of the sack. I came home to find the torn-to-bits bag laying on the floor between two smug, full-bellied cats: each wearing an expression that clearly said "Who me? I didn't eat nuttin!".

I thought that was the end of O.C.S. day, but I was severely mistaken. Just after 4pm my sweet, loving cat, Opus, came running towards me with something in his mouth. I panicked immediately and did what any normal wimp would do, I screamed.

There in the jaws of good natured Opus was a baby bird screaming for it's life while his wings flapped furiously. Upon hearing my scream a stunned Opus darted under our bed with the poor bird still trapped in his jaws. A few more screams later and Opus ran out from under the bed minus the bird.

I closed the bedroom door to keep the bird in and the cats out. Then I started "Birdy Search and Rescue" fully expecting to find the mangled corpse somewhere in the very room where I sleep.

After searching a while I, at last, found the darn little thing cowering in the corner behind our bookcase. He didn't appear to be hurt, but he was surly scared. The search was over and so began the rescue.

Apparently the baby bird was learning learning to fly when he was grabbed by the jaws-of-ALMOST-death. Have you ever tried to catch a semi-flying bird? Well it wasn't fun, but it sure was a good work out. More than one sweaty hour later, I finally caught the little guy and closed him safely inside of a small cardboard box.

I was home alone at the time and didn't know what to do. I was afraid of letting him go due to the over population of outdoor cats in the neighborhood. Since the bird couldn't quiet fly yet, I was sure a more experienced hunter would nab him and eat him. I went to my neighbor for advise. He told me to keep the bird in a box over night and feed him some bread soaked in water. He thought the bird looked old enough to be on his own, but said he needed a little time to recover from the trauma of the afternoon.

So I took the fella inside, safely placed the box in the bathroom and shut the door. And that is how I came to be the Mommy of my cat's first ever victim.

Your Help Is Needed

My friend at Mel's Diner has asked her American readers to please send an email to their US Representatives asking him to cosponsor the Lupus REACH Amendments of 2997, H.R. 1192, which will increase the efforts to understand and treat lupus. Click here to read more about it on Mel's blog.

In the United States, it is estimated that between 270,000 and 1.5 million people have lupus, making it more common than cystic fibrosis or cerebral palsy. More than 5 million people world wide suffer from this disease.

Please fill out the form, it will just take a few moments of your time. You don't even have to write an email. Simply click here and sign the pre made form. It will then be forwarded onto your State Representative, you don't even have to look up his email address. It is THAT easy.

At the time of Mel's posting, there were only 40 cosponsors and 394 more are needed. So please fill out the form and forward it along to friends and family members. If we all chip in, we can make a difference.

**If you have a blog, I ask you to post about this as well. It is important to spread the word to as many readers as possible. Thank you.**

Dear Ravenna,

You are a beautiful city and we enjoy living so close to you. Whether we are in town for business or pleasure, a walk through your charming center is always enjoyed. I love your Byzantine churches adorned with mosaics, your swanky Via Cavour with its interesting shops, and your leaning towers (even if they never achieved fame like the one in Pisa). I am happy to live so close to such an interesting city.

That being said, I am sending you this letter of complaint. Recently the Italian and I jumped in our car, drove to Ravenna and paid to park so we could visit for the day. When we arrived we noticed that there were free bikes for tourists. Since we had a lot of ground to cover, we hopped into the tourist office to pick up our free bikes. There were told that we were NOT tourists. You see, we live in the Province of Ravenna and so we were not considered to be tourists. Never mind the fact that we live far enough away that we have to take the car and pay for parking each time we visit. Fine, we live in the Province. We are NOT tourists, we get it. So off we went on foot.

Then we arrived at the Museum of Art to check out the latest exhibition. We noticed a sign stating that residents of Ravenna receive a 2 euro discount (per ticket). We nicely told the lady that we are residents, since that was what we had JUST BEEN TOLD by the woman in the tourist office. "I'm sorry" the ticket lady says, "You are residents of the Province of Ravenna. The discounts are only for residents of the city of Ravenna". What? Now that residents get a discount we are suddenly tourists?

So Ravenna, it would be really nice of you to make up your mind and decided if we are tourists or residents because you can't just pick which one we are depending on how it benefits you!

Sincerely,
Cynthia Rae
Resident of the Province of Ravenna but not the city

Napoleon Dynamite

This morning I realized it was Cinco de Mayo and suddenly my mind turned to the wonderful Mexican food that I have been craving for quiet some time. Thoughts of fajitas, burritos and margaritas were dancing in my head when the Italian interrupted my day dream. "Today is the anniversary of Napoleon's death," he said mater-of-fact. It was a strange thing to remember and (of course) I couldn't let the day pass without mentioning this on my blog.

So what does that short, hand-stuck-in-his-shirt, French general have to do with Italy? It may surprise you, but a lot.

For starters the Emperor of France was born Italian. Did ya know that? Napoleone di Buonaparte came into the world, on the island of Corsica, just one year after the Republic of Genova had given the island to France. His ancestors were of semi-Tuscan nobility with both parents being full blooded Italians. Later in life, Napoleon changed his name a bit so it would sound more French like.

So this little Italian guy set off to rule the world and did a good job doing so. In just over a decade the French army, under the leadership of Napoleon, had fought and beat just about every freaking country in Europe (including his native land of Italy). While kicking behinds all across Europe, Napoleon picked up a few titles along the way including Mediator of the Swiss Confederation, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Premier Consul of the French Republic, Emperor of France, and (ironically) the King of Italy.

Napoleon rode a good wave, but all good things must come to an end. You can't step on everyones toes and not expect them step back. Between 1812-13 a coalition formed in an effort to snuff out the French army that had been recently picking on Russia. The Russian army was joined by Prussia, the United Kingdom, Spain,Portugal, Sweden and Austria. Germany (as always) picked to be on the side of the naughties and joined Napoleon's team.

Game on.

During the battle of the Nations at Leipzig, things started to look bleak for team Napoleon. Half way through the fight, some of the German states even switched sides and helped to defeat the French Army. Napoleon and his 100,000 soldiers high-tailed it back to France with a half a million Allied soldiers chasing them "wee, wee, wee" all the way home. On March 31, 1814 Paris became occupied by the Allied troops.

Game over.

As punishment for his naughty deeds, the Allies smacked Napoleon's hands (or at least the one that wasn't shoved inside of his shirt) and sent him into exile on the island of Elba. Where is Elba you ask? Why it is a small little island just off of the coast of Tuscany. So the Italian boy goes back home, sort of.

He lived there for nine months before escaping and heading back to France to claim his throne. There he appeared before his army and declared "Soldiers of the Fifth, you recognize me. If any man would shoot his emperor, he may do so now". After a short and awkward silence, the men cheered "Vive L'Empereur,". So off to Paris Napoleon went with 340,000 men, where he briefly reclaimed his throne before losing it again (he ruled for just 100 days). He tried to escape to the United States, but was caught before he got too far. Napoleon had his hands smacked again and was sent off to live on yet another island (this time Saint Helena). There he lived for six years until he died on the 5Th of May in 1821 at the tender age of 51.

His last words?

"Tête d'Armée!"
(Head of the Army)
You gotta love the little fella!

I'd like to thank the Academy....

My friend Judith, over at Think On It, has given me a Thinking Blogger Award. She says that my posts on La Storia dell'Italia; secondo me (the history of Italy, according to me) are posts that make her think (the title of the history posts was Judith's idea, by the way). Oddly enough, back in the day of middle and high school I didn't find history interesting at all. It wasn't until I grew older that I really became interested in the subject, particularly ancient history and the history of World War Two. Since moving to Italy, this interest has grown by leaps and bounds. In Italy it seems that every city, every town and even every empty field has a story to tell.

So thank you Judith for you kind award. I am glad that you enjoy reading my history posts as much I as I enjoy writing them.


And now to pass along the Thinking Blogger Award


Texas Espresso - Stacey is preparing for her big move to "The Boot". Reading her blog makes me reflect on that time in my life when I was ending a chapter and starting a wonderful new one.

Buzzurro- Jane has lived in Italy and now resides in the States with her Italian husband. Reading her blog always makes me think about what is better about living in the States and what is better about living in Italy.



Stepping Stones - Kim has given me insight on what life is like in Albania. I always enjoy reading about her daily discoveries. She also travels a lot: through her blog I have been able to "travel" to places I might not otherwise have seen.


Allora, Aspetta- Jackie's photos are always eloquent and interesting. She should put them all into a book.


Mel's Diner - Mel always has something interesting to say, weather it is about life in Greece or daily news topics.

So there are your awards girls! Enjoy and pass them along to others who leave you thinking.