Buon Compleanno Amore Mio

As I mentioned before, January is packed full of family celebrations. Today is my personal favorite, the Italian's birthday! I feel so lucky to have met (and caught) such a wonderful man. There are still days when I can't believe that all of this is real; if I am dreaming please don't pinch me!

Barcelona, January 2208

To the man who makes me smile EVERY day,
Wishing you a birthday bursting with love and laughter. All the best to you in the year to come, because the best is what you deserve.

Buon compleanno amore mio!

There really is nothing "more than this".

A Day of Remebering

"Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it. "-George Santayana

January is definitely a month full of celebrations in our family. I almost didn't write about Holocaust Remembrance Day because I thought it might seem tacky to write about it in between my posts about birthday celebrations and wedding anniversaries. I did a bit of thinking and then decided that it would be far more tacky to let the day pass without mentioning it.

On this, the 63rd anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, I ask you to take a moment to remember the victims of the Holocaust. Say a prayer, light a candle or simply take a moment of silence.

I leave you with this, a video clip of my favorite movie "La Vita è Bella" (Life is Beautiful). This story takes place in Italy and follows the life of young Jewish family as they are swept up in the horror of the Holocaust. The movie is sweet, tender and, most importantly, shows us that even in the darkest of hours, love will shine as bright as the sun.

Its My Birthday, AGAIN!

Many people chose to let their birthday quietly pass by without mentioning them. Well not in my family! That just isn't our style. Birthdays have always been fun days in which you are given a pass to be spoiled and to do what ever it is your heart desires. My Mom loves birthdays so much that over the years she has turned her birthday into a week long celebration; the rest of us followed her lead. How many times I have heard someone in my immediate family (myself included) say "but its my birthday week!" The joke is that we are going start celebrating birthday months.

The truth of the matter is that we love birthdays and find it the perfect reason to celebrate; celebrate another year of good health, another year of friendship, another year of love, another year of life.

And so it is great enthusiasm that I announce that yes, today is my birthday (insert claps and cheers here). I am finding that as I get older, I no longer brag about my age but I still do enjoy a good celebration or two.

Me and Mom, were we ever that young?

As some of you may notice, my husband is slightly older than myself. Because of that, many of our friends (his life long friends) are also a bit older than me. The problem with having an older husband and older friends (I said older not old) is that I am under the constant illusion that I am young (since I am usually the youngest in the crowd). This year it has really sunk in that I am indeed no longer young.

All month long I have been wining "I can't believe I'm going to #* years old this year." To which my older husband unsympathetically responds "Oh, don't even go there!" Honestly, where DOES he learn such good English? Now I won't tell you how old I am this year, but lets just say if I was working on the TV show "Thirty Something" that I would be looking for a new job in six years. Sigh! Maybe I can start working on a spin off; we could call it "Oh Lawdy, Forty Something".

The Young Family

Now it time to stop complaining about my age and start celebrating. Honestly though, I just can't believe that am 29 years old!

I know my name isn't Dave, but I loved the song. Listen carefully to the words.

A big thank you goes out to my parent who made my birthday possible. And now you all know where I get my incredible good looks from!

photo by Amerimom

The Fall in Rome

I will never understand Italian politics, no matter how much I read, watch or study. I feel a bit ignorant, but knowing that many Italians don't understand Italian politics gives me comfort.

For the 1,000,000Th time, since the end of World War Two, the Italian government has fallen. Prime Minster Prodi is out, but that isn't even the worst part. It seems that King Berlusconi may just be sitting back on his throne soon.

How did this even happen? Don't even ask me.

I am off to bed with a bottle of wine.
Here's hoping that things will look better in the morning.

Happy Anniversary

You were just a couple of crazy kids in love.

Nice to see that some things never change!

Wishing you all the best on your wedding anniversary.


Buon anniversario Mom and Dad!

Buon Compleanno Grandma!

Wishing you a birthday that is filled with fun,love and laughter.

Happy Birthday Grandma!

Gaudy Gaudi

I awoke on the morning of day two with high hopes of better weather. Jumping out of bed, I threw back the curtains only to reveal another ash colored sky. Thinking that we would spend our holiday under water, I headed off to the shower to start my day. By the time the Italian and I were dressed and ready to go, I noticed something strange and unusual in the sky, peeking down through a hole in the clouds. It was the sun.

The Italian and I took the elevator down into the train station where we decided to have another breakfast at the train station bar. Thinking that the Italian language is closer to Spanish than English, I ordered breakfast in Italian.

"Una lattina di coke per favore," I said in my best Italian. "You want a coke?" the server said in heavily accented English.

The Italian sipped his scorching cafe aqua while I enjoyed my "American" breakfast. We took a look at the maps and guide books, carefully planing out how to spend our day. The Italian, interested in the famous architecture of Barcelona, wanted to make a bee line to another Gaudi wonder, La Pedrera. We finished our breakfast and then ducked down into the depths of the metro to catch our ride.


A short journey later, we emerged from the underground and found the city bathed in sunlight. It was so warm that we had to promptly remove our scarves and jackets to keep from over heating. THIS was the Spain I had hoped to find on our vacation.

We walked a few blocks, not knowing for sure if we were headed in the right direction. Just when we were about to break open our maps, we turned the corner and found La Pedrera perched majestically on the opposite street corner. The Italian began snapping photos while I examined the strange yet beautiful building.

It appeared to have no straight angles. It was as if it has survived hurricane winds that couldn't knock the building over but bent it up a bit; you couldn't even find a straight line on the windows. It was a large, concrete apartment building that stood seven stories high, decorated with stain glass windows and crowned with mosaics. Where there were balconies, large, tangled wrought iron pieces adorned the facade. It looked as though a giant cat had coughed up metal hairballs and then someone hung them on the building like tinsel on a Christmas tree. It was strange, it was ugly, it was interesting and unusual.

The year before, the Italian and I had gone to Germany for our Christmas vacation. One morning we were walking through a plaza where cars were not permitted. There where however electric tram tracks; electric trams can be very quiet and you have to remember to always keep one eye out for them. My husband, not being used to electric street cars, forgot this and stepped onto the tracks without looking. Fortunately the tram was far enough away that he had of plenty of time to get off the tracks when the engineer rang the tram bell. He joked that he almost died like the great architect, Gaudi. I had no idea what he was talking about. Flash forward one year later.

The Italian in Frantfurt, just after he almost "pulled a Gaudi".

Antoni Gaudi was a Catalan born architect. He studied architecture at the University in Barcelona and spent much of his adult life in Barcelona. He was, and still is, the pride and joy of the city. All over Barcelona you can find his work in the form of churches, private homes, apartment buildings and gardens. He was working on the Sagrada Familia when, on June 7 1926, he stepped out into the street without looking and was hit by a tram. Three days later he died in the hospital from his injuries and half of Barcelona mourned the loss. Gaudi never lived to see his beloved church built, but he is buried there in the chapel of the Sagrada Familia.

It took me a year to get the Italian's joke, but at last I understood.

I learned a lot about this interesting architect during our short time in Barcelona. Though I don't care for his style of architecture, I can appreciate it. His buildings are always interesting to look at, even if they are a bit gaudy. What impresses me the most is to think that he created his buildings over 100 years ago.


A long line of tourists stood on the sidewalk in front of the building. I took my place in line while the Italian walked around the building, snapping pictures as if he were the paparazzi. The sun beat down on me as I waited in line, listening to my IPod. It was almost too hot and it was wonderful.

A half an hour later, we made our way inside La Pedrera. As interesting as it was from the outside, it was as interesting inside. In the attic there was a museum dedicated to Gaudi and his work. Though many of the apartments in the building are now used as offices, there were several apartments open for the tourist to peruse. This is when it really hit home how old Gaudi's building was. The apartments were decorated with antiques from the late 19Th to early 20Th century; they wanted to give us an idea of what it might have looked like inside the apartments when they first opened. The building certainly did NOT match the antiques inside and for the first time, I really understood that Gaudi was ahead of his time.


The best part about the tour was being able to meander around on the roof top. Not one to leave a square foot undecorated, Gaudi had turned to the roof top into a bizarre and beautiful play land. The heads of soldiers stood as the building's chimney and every inch of the roof top was covered in broken glass mosaics. From the roof top we had 360 degree views of Barcelona and her surrounding hills. It was breathtaking.


I could have stayed there the rest of the day taking in the view, but it was late afternoon and our bellies were starting to grumble. We left La Pedrera and headed off to lunch. Where? At the Hard Rock Cafe! I know, I know, but you know what they say; you can take the girl out of America, but you can't take America out of the girl.

There we dined on greasy, cheddar cheese burgers, onion rings and bottomless glasses of ice cold coke. But the day wasn't over yet. There was something else to see and it involved an architect named Gaudi. Who else?

The Rain in Spain....

We walked up the steps of the underground metro and into the "light" of the gray day. Immediately I saw the church, looming high above our heads. I have to admit, I hadn't done my homework and really had no idea what the Sagrada Familia was all about.

It turned out that this church was the crown jewel in the career of Antoni Gaudi, a Spanish born archetect. He was a man deeply devoted to the Catholic church and the Sagrada Familia was an outward sign of that devotion. It was massive, impressive, intriguing and bizarre all rolled into one building and it accomplished what many churches were built to do; it made you feel small and weak in its presences.

I noticed right away that it was covered in scaffolding and I assumed that it was being restored. How wrong I was. As I later learned from my personal architect teacher, the Italian, construction on the church had started over 100 years ago and has been on-going ever since. Gaudi died unexpectedly during the early years of its construction and since that time teams of architects and engineers have worked together, using Gaudi's drawings and models, to complete the Sagrada Familia. After 100 years of construction, only fifty percent of the church is complete.

We decided to cross the street to take photos of church before going inside. Within minutes the first drops of rain fell from the sky, landing on my face. "It's raining," I announced with great disappointment. "No," the Italian replied as if by saying it wasn't would make it so. A moment later the soft, gentle sprinkle turned into a drizzle making it quiet clear to all caught outside that it was, in fact, raining.

With our photo session cut short, we bought our tickets and headed into the church. I was surprised to find that the inside was under construction as well. There was a small pathway that we followed with the rest of the tourist, looking much like a herd of cattle; metal fences on both sides kept any of us from wandering out onto the main floor. Scaffolding covered the church from top to bottom, with workers tools and stacks of materials littering the site. It was still impressive though; long, stick-like columns stretched up to the ceiling, branching out like tendons as they neared the top. The ceiling was covered in a collage of marble flowers that also acted as supports; what inspiration Gaudi didn't take from God he took from nature. At the back end of the church, the roof was missing completely allowing a steady drizzle of rain to enter the church; La Sagrada Familia was definitely a work in progress.

We spent several hours touring the church and immersing ourselves in the basement museum. It was an impressive piece of architecture by today's standards, but to think that construction began on it over 100 years ago was mind blowing.

At last we exited the church with the hopes that the rain had stopped and we could take some photos of the facade. We were disappointed to find that the drizzle had turned into full fledged downpour. Promising to return with the sunshine, we put up the hoods of our coats and ran out into the rain. Lucky for us a Chinese woman stood near the exit selling cheap umbrellas. We bought two, opened them up and walked into the wet streets of Barcelona.

The rain was relentless. It continued to pour down from the heavens, soaking anyone who dared to go outside. Even with our umbrella, it was impossible to stay dry. Our jeans soaked up the water from the puddles on the street, slowly making its way up our pant legs. The only time we had a break from the rain was when riding in the metro and when we stopped in a sandwich shop for lunch. Part of me wanted to head back to the warmth of our hotel, while the other part of me didn't want to waste a minute of sightseeing. The Italian and I agreed that it could rain during our entire vacation. Did we really want to spend our vacation sitting in our hotel room?

So we opened our wet umbrellas and headed back out into the miserable rain. We walked down Barcelona's most famous street, Las Ramblas, which was lined with flower shops and outdoor pet stores. What was normally a busy street was half empty as the normal people stayed indoors. When the rain came down in buckets, we sought shelter under the over hang of the shops. Just when I thought I couldn't get any more wet, I did.

As the temperature started to drop, I had an idea; we could either give up and head back to our hotel or we could spend a few hours at the Barcelona Aquarium. Not ready to admit defeat, the Italian chose the aquarium and I seconded the notion. The only problem was that the aquarium was down by the harbor and there were no metros to take us there. It would be a ten minute walk in the rain; we were up for the challenge.

As we got closer to the sea, the wind picked up tremendously. Rain came at us from every side; it didn't seem to matter where we held our umbrellas, we still got wet. I was wet, tired and starting to get rather cold, but we pressed on. At one point, we stood waiting to cross four lanes of traffic. The people passing by us in their cars failed to notice (or care) about the ponds of rain water that had collected near the edge of the road. "Better move back," I warned my husband. We stood as far from the road as possible, but a group of tourists who weren't paying attention walked right passed us and waited for the light to change at the edge of the road. As if on cue, a stream of traffic came by splashing the pedestrians with a typhoon of rainwater.

At last we arrived at the aquarium and for the first time all day, found ourselves in a dry environment. Who would have thought of the aquarium as a dry environment? We spent several hours walking through the building and watching tank after tank of sea life. It was calming, quiet, peaceful and, the best part, there wasn't any rain.


Several hours later, we emerged from the aquarium to find that the rain had stopped at last. We walked back up Las Ramblas, ducking into a quaint restaurant for a bite to eat. We each chose to try Spain's famous paella; I had chicken while the Italian had seafood and chicken. After a nice dinner, we dove back into the metro and rode it back to our hotel.

It felt good to put on warm, dry pj's and slip into bed. Not a bad first day, even with the rain.

Elephants on Parade

I was deep into a dreamless sleep when the sound of stomping feet startled me awake. I couldn't tell if the sound was coming from the floor above our room or from the hallway outside of our door. It didn't matter where the noise was coming from, the effect was the same; a loud irritating, stomping sound was preventing me from getting a good night sleep. The sound came and went, with me lightly dozing in between episodes. Just what was going on in this hotel in the middle of the night? It sounded as if a herd of elephants were having a series of three-legged races up and down the corridor.


The fourth time the elephants woke me up I glanced at my watch. It was three in the morning and I had had enough! I reached for the phone to call the front desk when the noise miraculously stopped. I didn't hear from the elephant for the rest of the night.

I had been asleep for what appeared to be short time when the deep, base sound of a man's voice pulled me from my dreams. The gentlemen in the room next door were talking so loud that it seemed as if they were sitting right in the middle of our room. "Italians," my husband muttered half asleep, " I don't believe it." I grabbed my watch again, thinking that it must be about time to get up, only to find out that it was just after five in the morning. Stuffing earplugs into my ears, I cursed the elephants and our noisy Italian neighbors.

Several hours later, the Italian and I rolled out of bed to start our first day in Barcelona. The hotel, perched on top of the Barcelona train station, boasted on its website about panoramic views of the city and the surrounding mountains. With our room on the 6Th floor, we hoped that the view would be a good one. The Italian pulled back the curtain to reveal the city scape and mountain views that the website had promised. It only lacked one thing, the sun. An ash colored sky hung over the city, threatening rain at any moment. Though I managed to pack everything, including the kitchen sink, there was one thing that I forgot to stick in our bags; an umbrella.

After showering, dressing and switching to a quieter room, the Italian and I went down into the train station in search of breakfast. The first restaurant we came across was none other than Mc Donald's. Greasy sausage and egg McMuffins called out to me from behind the counter, but I couldn't really ask the McDonald's-hating-Italian to eat there on his first day of vacation, could I? Of course not! And so our search for breakfast continued.

At last we found a little bar near the entrance to the train station. We made our way to the counter where the girl working behind it greeted us with "Hola". "Hola," we both responded in unison. Pressing my luck, I asked for a cappuccino. "No," I was told, "Only cafe latte." We ordered two cafe lattes and two cream filled brioches sprinkled with toasted almonds. The Napolitanos, as they were called, were wonderful; the cafe latte was terrible. Resorting back to my American habits, I sipped a coke for breakfast while my husband seemed content with his cafe "aqua".

We studied the map of the metro and talked about where we wanted to go first. We made our choice, finished our breakfast and headed down into the depths of the underground, with our metro passes clutched in our hot little hands. The first stop?

La Sagrada Familia, the Church of the Sacred Family.

The Red Eye

As we began our descent into the city, I watched outside the tiny, airplane window as the smoky clouds gave way to a pool of darkness punctuated by thousands of gold, twinkling lights. Soon our airplane bounced lightly on to the runway before skidding to a stop. The cabin erupted in applause at our safe arrival and my husband, not understanding this tradition of "his people", rolled his eyes at the silliness of it all. A short time later we exited the airplane and made our way down the metal steps and onto solid ground. A slight breeze greeted us and though it wasn't warm, it was surly warmer than the cold wind we had left behind in Italy.

Stepping onto the tarmac I noticed that it appeared somewhat wet, as if a gentle rain might have swept through the area just hours before our arrival. With any luck, I thought to myself, this will be the only rain we encounter on our vacation. If only we were so lucky.

As soon as we collected our luggage, we found our way to the bus ticket window and purchased two round trip tickets bound for Barcelona. That is the problem with finding a good deal on discounted airfare, you usually find yourself flying at odd hours and the plane never quiet delivers you to your promised destination, it just gets you in the neighborhood.

With our tickets purchased, we went in search of the bus to Barcelona; finding it was as easy as stepping outside of the airport. Parked smack-dab in front the Girona Airport was the Barcelona bus waiting to whisk us away.

We loaded our bags into the side compartment, flashed our tickets at the driver, found two seats together in the back of the bus and, at just a few minutes before midnight, settled down for the one hour drive into the city. We had made a similar journey the year before when the same discount airline took us to Frankfurt (or took us near Frankfurt). I had enjoyed the fifty minute bus ride through the German country side and into the city. With it being an afternoon flight I was able to enjoy the views outside the window while taking in my first scenes of Germany.

I had hoped to do the same on this trip, but Spain was hidden under the cover of night. I peered intensely into the darkness, but I couldn't see much of anyting past the side of the highway. Large dark objects, set against a darker sky, flashed past my window but I couldn't really tell what I was looking at; the moonless, midnight sky swallowed up the scenery of the Spanish countryside. I peered harder into the darkness but saw nothing more than black objects on top of the black night. I would have to wait until morning to get my first good look at Spain.

It was well after one in the morning when we finally reached our hotel. I barely had the strength to open my suitcase, throw on my pj's and pour myself into bed. I went to sleep exhausted but excited. In just a few hours, the sun would wake and stretch its golden fingers out across the city of Barcelona. I couldn't wait to see what Spain would look like in the light of day.

Back Home

The Italian and I returned home from our vacation late on Sunday night, which happened to be the day of the Epiphany and also the third anniversary of our first wedding (yes, we had more than one wedding). I would have written sooner, but I came down with a bad case of the Spanish flu; that should give you another hint as to where we spent our holiday. Of course it isn't really the Spanish flu, but since I got sick in Spain I thought it sounded more exotic to say that then just "I have the flu".

We had a wonderful time and as soon as I can stand to be out of bed longer than fifteen minutes, I will get to posting all about our adventure. Until then, back to bed I go.....

Off for a Vacation!

Happy New Year to you all! Is it really 2008 already?

One of my new year's resolutions is to blog more often. Of course, like a true procrastinator, I have to wait until after the 6th as the Italian and I are leaving on a vacation in just a few hours. The next five days will be spent wandering around the streets of a fabulous city. I won't say where we were are going; I want to see you if you smart readers can figure it out. Here is your clue....

So, do you know where we might be going to tonight?

Have a great week and I will be back to blogging after the 6th!