Olive Knitting

At last...

2012-02-20T17:12:00.001+01:00

So I had to mail someletters today. I figured while I was going to the post office I might aswell pay some of the random bills that had been collecting in my drawer. I try to pay all by bills on time but then there are these random bills thatcome from the italian national collection agency. They have long,legalese letters attached to them that I'm sure explain to me what they arefor, should I be able to understand them, that is. I usually just goahead and pay them without knowing what they are. The way I figure it is,in a bureaucracy like italy, there have got to be a few fees and tariffsthat I regularly miss, so I pay the bills assuming that these are them. If they aren't, well, then I'm just doing my bit to help the italian governmentout of its little financial bind.

So I arrive at the PostOffice. Piss. The grouchiest, most unfriendly, unhelpful publicemployee ever is sitting at the only open register servicing the 10 person deepwaiting line. Whilst doing my obligatory 30 minute wait to get to thefront, I organize all my bills so I'm ready when Mr. Congeniality calls myturn. I'm actually just kidding myself because for sure I will have done or dosomething wrong that will make Smiles here pissed off at me and start yellingat me. Happens every time.

Sure enough.

I gave Giggles the bills to be paid and he started processing them. While he was doing thatI got out my debit card with which I planned on paying.
"You're paying withbancomat?!"
"Yeah. It's alot of money, I'm not carrying that kind of cash."
"humph humph humph. You gotta tell me that FIRST, beFORE I start processing..." blah blah blahhe went on. I used to get all flustered and upset when he would yell atme. Now I just stand there and wait for him to finish and then redoeverything from the beginning to make up for my fuck up.

This time he wanted me toparticipate.
"weoirn dlf cioweins coiwenf oweirfn s or should I cancel the transactions?"
"I'm sorry. Ididn't really understand. could you repeat the question please?" Weof course always speak entirely in italian with each other. I suspect myforeign-ness and lack of command of his language are at least part if not theentire source of his attitude toward me.
"woien doaioddverfniad kandoadh or should I cancel the transactions?"
"um, well, since Ididn't understand option number one, I'll go with the second one."
"OR YOU GO TO TAKE THEMONEY FROM THE MACHINE FOR TO PAY ME or I cancel the transaction." He saidcompletely in english.
I smiled and grabbed mypurse.
"I wait" he said.

For some strange and I'msure really secure reason I have a limit on the amount of money I can charge tomy debit card in one day. I knew this to be true for cash withdrawalsfrom my international cards but had no idea that my italian bank applies thesame rule to regular payments within the borders of their own country. Kind of interesting that it took me 8years to find that out but anyway, that's the way it is. So 3 debit cardsand one credit card later I was able to get enough money from the machine topay my bills. Back to the post office and my waiting pal.

Chuckles let me skip to thefront of the line where I produced a wad of crisp banknotes. While hewas counting them I said, in english, "you speak english verywell." And then...it happened. Just like that. Dude stopped counting, lookedup at me and said, "not really" with a huge smile on his face. A freakin smile.

We concluded our businessand as I was leaving he said, "Good morning." and smiled again.

Friends, 8 years I'vewaited for that guy to crack. And probably 8 years that he's waitedfor me to leave italy. Or maybe he was just trying to find the courage topractice his english and sure enough my idiocy finally gave him the chance. What a good morning.

2012-02-16T15:49:00.001+01:00

The drought is over.

Wait, let me try that again...

THE DROUGHT IS OVER!!!!!!

Yeah, it's true. With amazing determination and persistence, ingenuity and perspiration, David got the water flowing again. About an hour ago.

Did I tell you guys that I would write every day until the water started flowing again? Yeah, well, I lied. It wasn't an intentional lie. What I should have promised was that I would write every day till the water came back on unless I was a)run over by a bus, b)enthralled with a new knitting project, or c)lost in a fever induced hallucinogenic state for three days. I'd really like to tell you that it was disclaimer B that kept me away but it was actually disclaimer C which took me down such that I was wishing disclaimer A were actually true.

So, just in case any of you lose water like we did...you know, where first the city water pipes freeze, then they burst, then the tubes from the spring freeze, then they burst, then you rig your big reserve container to your house and still the water doesn't flow, here's what you do:

Start a bon fire on your patio. Yep, does it every time!

If you'll excuse me now, I'm going to go splash around in my bathroom

2012-02-12T19:42:00.000+01:00

See. I told ya.

That's an icicle coming out of our garden hose connection. Good thing we don't need to water the garden.

Here, look at it again.

An unexpected side effect from this time without water is my new found fondness for rubber gloves. I'm wearing a pair now as I type. They are awesome. Doing dishes with ice cold water, followed by the rinse cycle of boiling water from the stove top has resulted in my having hands that no well educated, 42 year old woman from a well established family in the west should have. If that sounds snobby that's because it is. When I chose this life that I'm living I've rolled easily with the jobs I've had to do like repairing poop tubes with duct tape, carrying water so I can wash, and chopping wood so I can stay warm. But I never imagined that it would involve having hands that are so dry and chapped that they snag my knitting. (I've long ago given up my fondness for manicures. Now they are just a waste of money...maybe they always have been, but I digress). My friend Christine recently gifted me a box of rubber gloves that have now become all the fashion rage in Maberga. I started wearing them just to do the dishes, but now I keep them on all the time. They feel really nice. Much nicer than my actual hands. When I told David of my attraction to this new accessory he just said, "and that's when we knew." When I'm an old woman I shall wear rubber gloves....all the time.

PS. I've just read this post to david as a check before I hit "publish". His only comment... "do you chop wood?" No, dear. I don't chop wood. You know I don't chop wood. Poetic licence exists in blogging too.

2012-02-11T20:45:00.000+01:00

Yeah, yeah...I'm still here.

As many of you have asked me in emails, yes, we are experiencing a terrible cold spell. And I don't mean the usual Riviera cold spell of "poor me, it's 45 degrees here. I actually had to put a jacket on today" Nope. Proper cold. Wisconsin cold. Snow cold. Go outside without every bit of skin covered and it freezes cold. And, yep, you guessed it, frozen water tubes cold.

So this time my answer to "Lynn, where have you been since you haven't been blogging?!" is, I've been carrying water into my house. My house which hasn't had running water since, well, the last time that I blogged.

But, as my dad aptly pointed out to me when I first explained my situation to him two weeks ago, "ummmm, but Lynn, you DID choose to live there." I guess that's fair, since I am quick to point out to my parents when they report that they haven't seen the sun for months on end, "there are other places to live, you know." Touche.

So, as you loyal Olive Knitting readers know, our water tubes that hang from the trees tend to freeze with cold weather. They do every year. Logically I know this. I even understand the science behind it. And yet, every time it happens, I'm stupified. And am left without running water.

Stupified I am, but bummed out I am not (for the most part). A girl can get a LOT of shit done when she doesn't have to, for example, do laundry, or wash the floors, or cook extensive meals that involve lots of pots and pans and dishes that will need to be washed (we're plastic plating it now), or....bathe. Just think about the time you spend every day with water related tasks. Friends, just imagine what else can get done!

So, with all my extra time (that isn't taken by carrying water and talking with neighbors about fixing city water tubes that have broken and unblocking spring water streams that aren't running) I have:
-- made a patchwork duvet cover
--finished 20 or so knitting projects that just needed final sewing in of ends
--turned my studio upside down to clean and reorganize
--knit several pair of wrist/hand warmers
--sewn curtains for the bedroom
--And, I knit several new washcloths because hope springs eternal in Maberga for the day when the water will run again and I can wash my face.

I'm also a bit superstitious about things. I believe that there is a direct correlation between the amount I'm blogging and my lack of water. So I will be blogging every day until I have running water in the house again. That is, assuming I can lift my stupidly weak spaghetti arms, which are carrying water, to the keyboard to type. In this vein, please forgive the lack of photos in this post about all the cool new things I've made. I'm currently having difficulty lifting the camera to make photos.

my friend Martha gives me an Organizing Tip

2012-02-01T21:48:00.000+01:00

So, I got this email from my friend Martha today. She's always emailing me such helpful and clever ideas for keeping my home beautiful and running at the height of efficiency. And don't even get me started on the recipes and crafty projects she sends me! The woman is such a genius and model for me, I really try not to let her down.

Today I got this :

Martha Stewart - Organizing Tip of the Day

Well, Martha, check THIS OUT!

If that mold is any indicator, ain't gonna be no dead plants in my house!

And given that room, with its ample humidity, shoots the mercury up to about 35 degrees Fahrenheit it is IDEAL for freshly cut flowers.

Just in case any one's been wondering where I've been, eating fish is the answer.

David and I have decided that we want to add more fish to our diet. You know, living on the Mediterranean and all, it seems like a logical thing to do. So I did what any person wanting to learn something new would do. NO, not wikipedia....my knitting group. If you don't belong to a knitting group or know anyone in one, then I'd like to enlighten you -- a group of knitters has the answer to everything. Everything. Yes, the combined knowledge of a circle of knitters in infinite. That's just a fact. Anyway, back to the fish... when David said that he wanted to learn to cook fish (for the record, I only said that I want to eat more fish), I called the girls with Das Needles (one of whom is celebrating her 49th birthday in the photo below!).

And sure enough we had back-to-back Sunday fish cooking lessons with Christine and Valerio and then Mette and Teddy.

So long (for now) and thanks for all the fish...

PS. I have a video of Valerio talking about preparing sea bass and if someone can tell me how to upload a video to a blog that doesn't take 17 hours to do, I'll happily have that available for you all. I will of course ask the knitting girls for help with this also, but we won't meet again until the earliest Friday, so...

Be very careful what you put out there because...

2012-01-21T15:00:00.000+01:00

shit always comes back to find you.

So, last week I went to see the daughter of some friends of mine who I'm helping with english. As I was walking to my car with my friend and his little daughter my friend said, "oh! I forgot to show you the gifts that the Befana brought our daughter! They are two little dolls that have tags on them saying 'fatto a mano da Lynn'. Do you knit dolls?"

Well, the answer is "of course I knit dolls." And of course they are mine because, well,1) not too many people around here KNIT dolls. And 2) there CERTAINLY aren't too many people around here who knit dolls who are named Lynn. So, as this is running through my head, I was remembering those dolls that I made so long ago and, well, I was wondering if I wanted to take responsibility for them. You see, even though 8 years ago when I made the dolls I had already been knitting for almost a decade, I'm an immensely better knitter now than I was then. I also have much higher standards for myself about what is an acceptable finished product. So I say,

"What do they look like?".

My friend said, "one has dreadlocks and one is an old lady. But, well, they MUST be yours! I mean, how many people KNIT dolls and how many of those knitters are called Lynn?!"

"Yeah, I suppose. They must be mine." I mumble.

I went back today to meet with my friend's young daughter, and there they were, sitting on the table in their living room just waiting for me like little Frankensteins, two of my little dollies.

"um, yep. those are mine."

Be very careful what you put out into the world because shit always comes back to find you.

For the record, I do actually think they are beautiful because I'm their mom but if I knew then what I know now, I'd never have let them out of my studio. By the way, the one on the right is called Sally, named after my grandmother because they have the same hair. I'm not sure about the one on the left. If I had to guess based on her hair and her clothes, her name just might be Lynn.

ambition and pride

2012-01-18T13:28:00.001+01:00

Some people knit things like this:

I've been knitting this:

And this:

I guess I'm just slightly less ambitious than others.

For what it's worth, I did write the pattern for this one myself.

I'm so proud.

things that go beep in the night

2012-01-13T08:24:00.000+01:00

I really need to unplug, to wean myself from the computer and all thing that beep and squeak when attached to a wall.

Last night David and I had just settled into bed when we heard a strange noise.

"What's that?", he whispered.

We listened some more. The noise came again. And again. The unfamiliar, disyllabic sound came at regular intervals of 20 second or so.

Despite living in the middle of nowhere on the top of a mountain surrounded by beautiful nature and wildlife, I asked " is that animal or electrical". Can it be true that the only sounds that register with me now come from some thing's battery dying?

David didn't embarrass me with an answer...or he was wondering the same thing.

Then the call, as I had come to understand it was, started getting fainter as its source began retreating from on our house.

"Animal." I announced. Being as intimate as I am with my electronic ~~toys~~ tools, I was aware that none of them had, in the immediate past, grown little digital legs that would have been carrying them away from ear-shot.

"What do you think that WAS? I have never heard an animal sound like that?" I chattered on to a mostly sleeping David.

And here's the clincher..."how can we google a sound?"

I think today I'll step away from my laptop (she says as she's blogging with her first cup of coffee of the day), take a long walk, and look for tracks.

Tracks should be easier to google.

First project of 2012 ... DONE

2012-01-08T16:04:00.001+01:00

What's that you say? You have a baby shower to go to this afternoon and totally forgot to get a gift?

Or did you say that it's your grandma's birthday and you forgot THAT? (shame on you)

Or did you say that you have a movie marathon planned for this evening and accidentally put all your blankets in the wash at the same time thus leaving you with nothing to cuddle under on the couch?

Have no fear. Friends, meet the lap duvet...

I whipped up that little pup in like 3 hours yesterday. Seriously.

Here's what you do.

1. cut two pieces of fabric and some batting all the same size

2. sew them all together

3. sew little dots of quilting.

That's it.

If you don't find my instructions to be quite as, um, say, detailed as you would like, go here. Actually you should just go here anyway because this blog/website/shop is just too great to not know about.

Other little bits of advice should you find yourself in any of the above situations:

baby shower-- if you really feel obliged to attend, as opposed to just mailing the gift, you don't have to play the games. Just tell everyone you are allergic, it's a condition that induces immediate nausea and projectile vomiting. It's a real condition, I know because I have it.

grandma's birthday-- don't forget the card. grandmas keep those. it's important.

movie marathon-- forget about whatever you've downloaded for the evening and start tonight with season one of Downton Abbey. Just do it. And make lots of popcorn because you'll watch the whole season in one night.

New Year's Eve Maberga style

2011-12-31T19:22:00.000+01:00

So, three days ago I was taken ill. So ill that I haven't been vertical for more that the 20 seconds it takes for me to walk from any horizontal post in my house to my bathroom. Yes, I think I'm dying...but then, A) I tend to be a big wimp when I'm sick, B) I also tend to exaggerate, and C) well, I hate to break it you all, but we are all dying, eventually.

Yeah, ok. So I've been taking some medication as well.

Anyway, since I don't have the brain power or the tremendous wit to form my own New Year's Eve post tonight, I would like to direct you all to an awesome blogger who I've recently discovered. I find that her New Year Post says all that I really need. GO HERE. Thank you, Emma. And I hope that you knitters in the reading pool will check out her patterns. Cool stuff.

Happy 2012 to everyone.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-27T17:25:00.001+01:00

from Maberga

Is that or is that not the most Charlie Brownish Christmas tree ever? Yes, thank you, it is. That's really the look we were going for.

If you find it as completely lovely as I do, and would like to replicate the effect in your own home next year, here's what you gotta do...

1. Liberally, and I mean LIBERALLY, trim your olive trees. Strew all the just cut branches around your property for inspection. Pick the biggest and the best one (duh.).

2. Put the branch in a basket in your bedroom. You don't need to put it in water. As the branch dries out, all the leaves start dropping thus enhancing the overall feel.

3. Hang a couple old and dried out chili peppers from the garden and the 4 christmas cards you received on the branches of your branch.

4. If you feel exceptionally creative, you can make a few ornaments like this Star of David that I made (6 pointed stars are easier than 5, plus it really confuses people why you'd put a jewish star on a christian icon)

It's that simple.

2011-12-20T18:17:00.000+01:00

So, David and I fell asleep on the couch last night listening to a Radiolab show. If you don't know Radiolab, check it out and enjoy! Anyway, I was saying that we fell asleep on the couch. I woke up at about 3am, wide awake with jetlag...or maybe because I've been doing nothing but sleeping ala a narcoleptic since I've returned home. I got up to get a glass of water and stepped on this...

That's a tooth, by the way. A really big tooth.

When David woke up I asked him if he had any idea where this came from....hoping to god that he didn't say "my mouth".

"Oh yeah, yesterday Q found a skull while we were playing lemon."

I don't know what's stranger - that, in the middle of the night, I stepped on a big cuspid from an unidentifiable animal or that I know what playing lemon means.

Actually, the strangest thing is that having a dead animal's skull appear in our garden and having our dogs play dentist on it didn't make headline conversation news for my husband.

2011-12-19T07:43:00.000+01:00

No, no, no. Don't be ridiculous. I've haven't died from a tick bite. Although that little bugger's head is still in my leg. Should I worry about that?

I hadn't been writing because I was hanging out with family. That's a pretty good excuse, I think.

But now I'm back ...

Home sweet home

2011-11-28T16:46:00.001+01:00

So I've been in the States for about a week now. Yesterday evening was the first down time since arriving what with Thanksgiving and all the family and what not. (If you're wondering why that sentence sounded funny, it's because I'm trying to take on the vernacular of the locals...you know, to try to blend in). Sunday evening down time means relaxing with a little football, some leftovers, and some knitting...basically lying around the house in comfy clothes recovering from the long weekend. I grab some leggings out of my suitcase, borrow a big sweatshirt from mom and get busy on a new poncho.

A couple hours later, I feel an itch just below my left knee. I drop my drawers to have a look. Hmm...looks like I cut myself shaving. I don't remember cutting myself...I don't remember shaving my legs. It's nice having the extra warmth that leg hair provides, what with it being late November and winter and the Midwest and what not. Anyway, I have a closer look and damn if I don't recognize what that little itchy spot on my knee is. Yep, a tick. A tick was trying to suck blood from my knee. Unsuccessfully, I might add, what with it being my knee and what not.

I guess you can get the girl out of Maberga but you can't get the ticks out of her leggings.

2011-11-20T10:52:00.001+01:00

So, on Friday we celebrated the end of another year of knitting together. Wait, I don't think I phrased that quite right. I don't mean that we were celebrating because we were ending but rather we were celebrating another year together, that is now ending...whatever, you know what I meant.

Have you ever noticed that when the topic of knitting comes up randomly at dinner parties, as it always does...or maybe that's just dinner parties I go to...anyway, have you ever noticed that everyone's connection to knitting comes in the form of a grandma? Like this, "knitting? Oh yeah, I remember my grandma clicking away in front of the fire." That's the men's response. The women's response is almost always this, "knitting. Yeah, my grandma tried to teach me when I was a kid. I hated it." Upon hearing this latter response, of course, I pick up my glass of wine and move to another end of the table.

As it happens in our little knitting group, every member has done her part to keep the world population in check. Yep, three grown women, not a child among us. This of course means that it will be very difficult for us to be someone's knitting grandma ~~forcing our wooly obsession on~~ sharing our artisanal skills with the offspring of offspring. So we just pick people up off the street and teach them to knit. Christine found this one....

She's called Jane. No really, that's her name.

Christine and I let Mette have the new meat...

so that we could concentrate on turning the second heel on Christine's dad's socks. Wait, I said that wrong...it's not the second heel, it's the first heel on the second sock...you know what I meant.

I gave Mette a couple little friends that she had asked me to make.

They are gifts for babies "born in November" Mette said, 3 months ago when she asked me to make them. Yeah, the kids came out way before I cast off the tails on these guys.

Mette made us an awesome lunch

and served it in her beautiful dining room

Thanks for another year of knitterly friendship, Ladies.

Letter of the Law or Spirit?

2011-11-14T23:43:00.001+01:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know that getting myself to 100 posts this year by putting up a new You Tube video everyday doesn't really meet the spirit of my challenge BUT, I got this one from Mette today that had me on the floor laughing.

I want to be that girl.

Thank you to everyone who ~~wished me well~~ congratulated me on my fruit sauces. They were a big hit at the italian Thanksgiving.

And many many thanks to the hosts for a day to be thankful for.

Saturday night in Maberga - part 3...the last one for tonight, I sincerely hope

2011-11-12T23:29:00.001+01:00

NOTE: If you haven't read "Saturday night in Maberga" parts 1 and 2, you won't have a clue what's going on here in part 3.

Is it just me or does this look absolutely disgusting?

It's supposed to be cranberry sauce. Here, look more closely...

Gross. But it's finished. And ya' know what? At six minutes to midnight, that's really all that's important. I'm not all that concerned right now that it looks like a colony of worms infested a bowl of kidney beans.

Let's move onto our third and final recipe for my Thanksgiving, Other Stuff : Brandied Cranberries.

Here's what I have to do

yeah, whatever. See this...

that's some dried cranberries, some sugar, some brandy, some clementine juice and a little water. I'm simmering it until, well, until I want to stop simmering it. I'm sure they will be delicious.

Well, then. Thanks for hanging out with me on this lively Saturday night on the mountain. You guys feel free to stay up as late as you want but I'm hitting the hay. I've got to get up early tomorrow to make an apple pie.

This year, I am thankful for my friends Christine and Valerio who are hosting our Thanksgiving dinner and doing EVERYTHING involved in serving a huge turkey dinner, except for a couple sauces and a pie.

Saturday night in Maberga, Part 2

2011-11-12T21:11:00.001+01:00

NOTE: If you haven't read "Saturday night in Maberga, Part 1" you might miss some of the plot happening here in Part 2. Head on over to Part 1 here.

So, while my "other stuff #1: cherry sauce" is simmering, let me ask you guys a question....

Are these not the coolest looking measuring spoons you ever seen?

Yes, they are. When I left home after graduating from college, at that eager, hopeful and ignorant age of 21, I loaded my car to head west...you know, to find my fortune and all that (that plan didn't really work so then I came east....but I digress). My mom had packed me a box of kitchen stuff, that she thought I would need to stock my first kitchen...some new utensils, some extras from her own kitchen (my dad did the same with garage tools but that's a whole different blog post). These measuring spoons fall in the latter category of mom's extras. I wonder how old these spoons are? They've been with me now for 20 years. Mom, if you're reading this, do you know when you got those spoons? And how did you ever part with them given their incredible beauty and ultimate coolness?

Oh shit. Mistake one..."simmer 5 minutes", it's now been about 10 as I was wallowing in my teaspoon memories. Hold on, let me go check on things...

Um, actually it's been 12 minutes and that sauce is supposed to "slightly thicken". Hmmm. Mine, not so much.

Other stuff #1: cherry sauce - FINISHED ...some questions remain: It tastes ok, but a little sweet, should I add some of my burnt pepper oil you know, just for a little kick? What the f#%@ are we going to do tomorrow at a dinner with 9 people and approximately 6 teaspoons of cherry sauce?

Oh yeah....good song just came on! Here, join in with me....

Ok friends, time to move on to Thanksgiving Other Stuff #2: Cranberry Sauce.

So, um, I don't actually have any cranberries but I do have these

Very much appreciating the internet tonight, I've actually found a recipe for my not actually cranberry cranberries.

It looks like this

I need these ingredients

Whoa, those dried cranberries weren't very dry...more like oiled cranberries. Check this out!

Look at my hand!

Gross.

So, well, while my cranberries are plumping up shall we start the next and last Thanksgiving Other stuff: Brandied Cranberries?

yeah, just hold your horses.

PS. it's now 11.20 pm and I've done one and a half sauces. Is it just me or is this taking a really long time?

Saturday night in Maberga, part 1

2011-11-12T19:52:00.001+01:00

It's a hoppin' Saturday night in Maberga and you all are invited to join me for the evening.

I'm alone and cooking. Should be hours of fun and hilarity. Did I mention that I have The Essential Journey album in the background? Yep. Saturday in Maberga.

I've had a secret goal of hitting 100 posts for the year. It's November 12 and I have 72. It's not looking good unless I get my ass in gear. So tonight, I will be posting periodically, separate posts for the various stages of my cooking.

Tomorrow is the surrogate Thanksgiving in these parts. I'm off to friend Christine and Valerio's for some turkey and stuffin'. I said that I'd bring my usual apple pie and "some other stuff". I'm working on the "other stuff" tonight.

So, head to the kitchen,

grab your apron,

and put on some Journey,

'cause here we go...

Oh yeah, I'm also having a beer.

Feel free to get your own beverage of choice.

Thanksgiving Other Stuff from the kitchen of Lynn

Other stuff # 1: Cherry sauce.

Here's the recipe I found.

So, I'm off to the stove now. Obviously I only have to numbers 1 and 3 above. Christine is making the turkey part.

I can't really screw this up, can I? yeah, well, stay tuned.

If you guys out there want to add extra fun by starting some betting pools, the following are possible wagers:

--it's 8.44 now. What time will I finish this little cooking/blogging extravaganza?
--I'm going to attempt 3 "other things" recipes. How many "other things" will I be bringing to Christine's thanksgiving tomorrow?
--I'm on my second beer. How many will it take to get me through this evening? Wait, no, don't do that one. It could be embarrassing.

Talk to ya soon....

2011-11-11T20:44:00.001+01:00

As always happens when I go too long without posting, I've got emails from some of the OliveKnitting regulars. You know, gentle nudges to post.

It's surely been such a long time since I've posted that the nudges this time have taken the form of fun videos. Obviously intented to perk me up and inspire me.

I'm happy to share these two videos...which both have perked me RIGHT up. Obviously not enough yet to write an original blog...but I'm getting there!

Enjoy!

2011-10-30T15:19:00.000+01:00

So, the cinghiale got my orto. Actually it happened several days ago but I couldn't write...I've been in mourning.

BEFORE AFTER

Fuckers. Actually, it was just one fucker. A baby fucker.

Excuse my language. I'm still going through the mourning process. I've reached the anger stage.

Upon noticing the damage, which is not hard to miss even for a novice gardener like me, I called Augusto.
"Ciao, Augusto. Bad news."
"Lina, cosa c'e'?!"
"Cinghiale. They took everything."
"I'll be right there."
We walked the whole area looking for how they got in. Finally we saw this.

We surmised that it was one little guy who squeezed his chubby little wild boar butt in under my fence. And proceeded to feast on my fave...and peas....and onions. He was very thorough, gotta give him that.

He did leave me the broccoli, proving that children of all nationalities and species don't like broccoli.

For dinner tonight I will eat broccoli. Only broccoli. Given the time and effort I've put into the orto and the money I've paid Augusto to prepare and plant this garden, I'm pretty sure that this will be the most expensive meal I've ever eaten.

what's in a verb?

2011-10-26T12:25:00.000+02:00

Quite a lot, so it seems.

Take these two phrases, for example:

Save for a rainy day

Plan for a rainy day

I always kind of thought they meant the same thing but ohhhh noooooo. Save Plan -- two different actions completely. Let me show you...

Saving for a rainy day

That's my stash for a rainy day. I'm a saver.

PLANNING for a rainy day

That's my neighbor's stash for a rainy day. He's a planner.

As you can guess, when it actually rains, you'll wish you had planned not just saved. Saving without planning leaves you with a bunch of wet wood that means shit when you want to start a fire.

I am happy to report that my husband is the planner to my saver. He stashed some wood inside for me...planning for the first rainy day.

2011-10-23T18:43:00.000+02:00

So it's a beautiful autumn Sunday in Maberga. The sky is brilliant blue, the olives on the trees are plump and black, and the sun is providing the perfect warmth to balance the chill in the morning air. The dogs and I are having our morning walk.The morning walk rule is that everyone gets their needs met. This means I go up to the terraces to watch my fava beans grow, Q does a circuit of leaps and runs to explore, and Ruffino stands three terraces below me, waiting for me to do something exciting.

After about 15 minutes this morning, having been distracted by the beauty of the day, I notice that the dogs are no where in sight. I call them. Q immediately comes bounding back to me from God knows where, completely wet. It seems she felt she needed a bath this morning. I'm not exactly sure where she found a body of water but... whatever, individual needs and all that. More calling because Ruff's still not around. Hmm. Q and I go searching, walking through the tall grass (of someone else's terrace, not mine of course because mine are now all clean!!!) and I hear some chewing.

There's Ruffino, basking in the golden morning sun...with a big freaking bloody bone in his mouth. Lying just beyond him is the severed head of a baby goat.

I'm not so sorry to tell you that I did not make a photo of it. If you can't form your own mental picture, be thankful...or think of the horse head scene from the Godfather, but with a smaller head and no silk sheets.

Ya know, a gorgeous fall day can just as easily be enjoyed from inside the confines of one's own fenced in garden.

Happy Sunday.

2011-10-17T11:30:00.000+02:00

So, maybe you've noticed that I've been a little spotty in the blog posting. Yeah, well. I've been busy. It's looked something like this

Remember my Maaema Scarf from the creative Denise at Lost City Knits? Yeah, well, I still haven't finished it. I got about 3 feet into it and then something distracted me. Kind of like this...

And then....the other day a very special package arrived in the mail. A wonderful, amazing gift just for me! I know it's just for me because it was my birthday gift to myself.

Check this out!

Yep, that's some really awesome sock yarn all the way from Oklahoma. Let's just admire it again...

I ordered it from Lost City Knits. So when it arrived I remembered my poor Maaema scarf and, with the willpower of steel that we all know I possess, I'm determined to finish the scarf before I let myself ~~fondle~~ knit with my new treats.

Look at what the colors are called...

If you are a knitter or know a knitter who you would like to make really really happy, check out Denise's yarn. Her colors are amazing.

2011-10-12T22:12:00.000+02:00

So, Ambra called me on Sunday and said, "can I come over and play?"

"Heck yeah. Let's make some aprons and sip pina coladas."

Sew, that's what we did.

I'd really like to write more now but I have my viola lesson tomorrow morning and I need to practice a bit. Just in case any of you are wondering how these voila lessons are going, well, it looks a lot like this...

2011-10-08T21:20:00.000+02:00

Hi all. Some technical difficulties in Maberga. So it seems that my two years have expired, meaning I needed to buy a new computer. I'm not sure why my computers only last two years but they do. My guess is that they breathe too much dog hair. Yeah, I'm blaming the dogs. The dogs ate my homework.

I have so much to write now that I don't know where to begin. So instead of boring with "catch up" stuff that I would just write in some list form that would be so totally uninteresting that I'd be embarrassed to hit 'publish', I'll just focus on the one thing.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

A few years ago, when I used to do regular birthday posts, I shared a haiku that I had written for my dad's birthday. At that time I promised more info about my dad to come each year with new haikus. Well, I stopped writing haikus. I don't know why. They are seriously fun to write...'specially when you only do one of the three required verses.

I'm back...

Happy Birthday, Dad. Here's your 2011 haiku.

Anthony, my dad.
In the winter of his life.
Or so he thinks...so.

Happy Birthday, Dad. You're still my first pick for teams for football in the backyard.

Of course, I must also say that grandma, at almost 101, is my second pick.

2011-09-27T18:36:00.000+02:00

Dear Cousin Bumpy,

I'm so glad to hear that you and your swell guy, Doug, liked Maberga so much that you are already planning your next visit.

And don't you worry, I'll be sure to get this guy out of the tub well before you get here.

I know how squeamish you are about little bugs. Really, though, look how little he is.

Well, we don't even have to continue this conversation. I just went into the bathroom to help my little friend make his way outside and, darned if he didn't find his own way out. Or, well, he found his way somewhere because he's not in the tub any more. See?! You really don't have to worry, they are small but they are fast --they can get right out of your way without you even knowing it.

Oh, and next time you come, don't bother packing your slippers. I'll get you and Doug each a pair. They'll be waiting for you guys in the bathroom, right next to the tub.

xoxox, your loving cousin,

Lynn

A Monday morning quiz....

2011-09-26T19:45:00.000+02:00

Here are the questions. Good luck.

1. Is this not the coolest looking garden fork ever?

2. Should my house have a hole like this?

3. Can I let the dog sleep in the bed tonight when his feet look like this?

4. Can I please stop knitting with this yarn now?

5. If it's 90 degrees in late September, can I wear white linen if I live in a country that celebrates Labor Day in May?

6. Why does the faucet in my kitchen continue to drip after repeated visits from the plumber?

7. Should Mette give ME this beautiful scarf she made?

8. If I don't have another viola lesson for two weeks, do I have to practice tonight?

Answers:

1. Oh my God, yes.

2. Ummm, no. Really, no.

3. Absolutely not, but you probably will anyway.

4. Yes. Please.

5. Stupid American etiquette doesn't apply outside of the 50-nifty, go ahead.

6. Who the fuck knows.

7. Oh my God, yes.

8. duh.

Breakfast in Maberga

2011-09-22T12:10:00.000+02:00

Today I had letame for breakfast. Letame means manure. Yep, I had manure for breakfast today. I'm not complaining.

I was lying in bed, pondering what I was going to do with my morning...make some jewelry? update the website? write a blog? clean out the cupboard where I suspect a mouse has found a home? Then I heard the familiar sound of Augusto's car-truck-thing chugging its way up the mountain. Decided. I'll be working on the land this morning.

I leapt out of bed, got dressed (sort of... my outfit was a lot like my pj's but a bit more covered), made some coffee and got a beer out of the fridge. Up to the terraces I went.

Augusto was already unloading his homegrown letame on my new extended orto.

"First, breakfast" I said, handing Augusto his beer while I sipped my coffee.

Over breakfast we discussed our plans for the land. Yeah, ok. I listened, he talked. Augusto has obviously thought all this through for me. Grazie a Dio.

"I'll put down this manure so when it starts raining all the good stuff will soak into the land. Then I'll rototill again and then we'll plant the fava beans."

It's nice of him to say "we" but we both know the truth about that.

In another couple of weeks I will, again, be in bed and hear the familiar sound of his car-thingy coming. I'll hop out of bed, cover my pj's, grab a cup of coffee and a beer, and go up to the land where I'll "help" him plant my fava beans.

2011-09-18T14:30:00.000+02:00

So last Friday I headed to the top of the world, as is my custom on my birthday.

This year, I had some company.

While we were up there on the mountain, my phone rang. It was my friend Isolde calling to wish me happy birthday.

"Where are you now?" Isolde asked me.

I looked around. I had this view...

I had this guy pooring me some prosecco...

And the doggies with me, happy as...

dogs in shit...

A brand new knitting project in my lap...

"Where am I? Well, Isolde, I'm pretty sure that I'm in heaven."

Many many thanks to all of you who send me birthday wishes.

and the celebrations begin...

2011-09-15T21:11:00.000+02:00

Yep. Olive from Maberga (umm, yeah, that's me) turns....a year older tomorrow. Unlike my usual totally alone celebrations, this year all my pals are around.

Das Needles met today and, well, darn, if Christine and Mette hadn't planned for a party.

We had horns, balloons, a new friend, old friends (of course, I mean "current" or "existing" friends, I'm not refering to their ages), awesome mushrooms and baked cheese, awesome brownies, and totally awesome presents. (am I over using the word "awesome"?) It's really a shame that one's birthday only happens once a year.

Here's what it looked like...

A really lovely day. Days like this tell me that in these first 42 years, with all the mistakes I've made, I must have done something right.

Hannah, Christine and Mette, I can't say thanks enough.

are there differences?

2011-09-14T20:27:00.000+02:00

Frequently people ask me how living in Europe is different than America.

Let me share a couple videos with you as an illustration...

You may remember this one that I posted a while ago after OliveKnitting reader Mike sent it to me...

And today I found this one...

That about sums up the differences.

2011-09-13T17:43:00.000+02:00

So, back in July Lois (from the comments) had a giveaway on her blog. Darn if I didn't WIN!!!!!!

Three weeks and a lot of dollars later (I'm so sorry about that, Lois), my beautiful crocheted bootie arrived.

If you checked out Lois' giveaway (link above) you'll have seen all the goodies, but here's what they look like in Italy.

And just because she's ever so nice, Lois sent me this lovely Lady in Blue.

Isn't that nice. Check out that dress!

You can bet that little princess will be getting some handmade jewelry to match.

If you'd like any of treats like this for yourself, do visit Lois' Etsy shop.

Thank you so much, Lois. What a totally sweet treat ('specially those cupcakes!).

awesome family and friends

2011-09-12T18:36:00.000+02:00

Look who came to Maberga!!!!

That's my awesome cousin Beth and her awesome fella Doug.

Don't you guys think they look at home on the balcony of that house in upper Maberga? Yeah, me too. I think they should buy it and become our neighbors.

Awesome friends Augusto and Lina were engaged the whole time that Beth and Doug were here so when we couldn't find a time to have a dinner together they brought us up a gift of goat meat to cook. Good thing Doug knew what to do with it or that beast would be in the freezer.

Delicious!!!!

Thanks, Bup and Doug for the visit. I do hope you come back soon. Just let me know what your offer is on that house up in Maberga and I'll let the owners know. Or if you just need me to reserve the Maberga chapel and our Frate for next June....

spicy oil

2011-09-05T19:12:00.000+02:00

At the lunch with pal Lina the other day, when she taught me to can pasta sauce, she also taught me how to make spicy oil.

Here's what you do:

1. pick a bunch of your peperoncini (chili peppers).

2. Let them sit on your counter for a couple days. I don't know why. But really, she told me to do that. It wasn't just me being lazy.

3. Cut them up and put them in a pan with olive oil, 2 sprigs of garlic and some salt.

4. Saute them "until the garlic changes color".

5. Get confused about when the garlic changes color and burn the shit out of the peppers.

6. Put the peppers and oil in the blender and, well, blend.

7. Dump them in the little jar and add a bit more olive oil to fill the jar.

8. Send a text message to Lina to ask if they are ruined by being burnt.

9. Ignore Lina's suggestion to throw the whole jar away.

It's so easy. Just like Lina told me it would be.

A girl's best friend...

2011-09-04T18:30:00.000+02:00

Duct Tape

Yep, the poop tube broke again. In three places.

The "poop tube" is, of course the tube that takes water and everything else flushing down the toilet out. It runs down the side of our land (the tube) and goes, well, some where.

And ya want to hear the strangest part of the story? Just under the where the leaks were...a huge tomato plant was growing. A big healthy tomato bush that is way more robust than anything in my orto and was NOT planted there by me.

Come to your own conclusions. I have.

it's never too late for a thank you note

2011-09-02T21:08:00.000+02:00

There were a couple of thank yous that I forgot to include in the last post about David's party.

1. This short video was given to us by our friend, whom you don't see in the video because he is, well, behind the camera.

Thanks, Carmello. That 200euro you are charging me for that clip is worth every penny.

2. HUGE thank you to Ambra who...OK OK OK!!! I admit it, she did all the cooking...and the balloons...and the candles. Not to mention she danced a hell of a tarantella, which meant that I didn't have to embarrass myself trying to do it this time. This is Ambra

And here's the tarantella, in case you are not familiar with the dance.

It's harder than it looks, trust me.

3. And finally a big thank you to Camilla

for David's beautiful birthday card and our current fridge art.

I think she captured David and my hair perfectly.

another year older

2011-08-29T09:40:00.000+02:00

So, I survived another birthday party.

I've mentioned before that, because of my awesome parents' child rearing, I have an "I can do anything" sort of view of life. Yeah, my parents instilled in me the attitude that if I really want to do something, of course I can do it. Whilst this belief has led to many super cool experiences like, for example moving to the top of a mountain in Italy with no job, no money and no clue, it is also to blame for many stellar decisions like taking up the viola at age 41.

I've come to realize that while it is true that if I want to do something I certainly can, it's also true that somethings just come a hell of a lot more easily than others. For example, picking up some needles and yarn and turning them into a sweater...EASY. Taking some glass beads and silver wire and turning them into a pair of earrings...no problem.

Taking 35 italians, some food, wine and music and turning it into a party...well, that doesn't come so naturally for me. In fact, it makes me look like this

Despite my stress, the evening was a lovely celebration with very lovely friends.

Happy Birthday, Love...

2011-08-27T01:50:00.000+02:00

So, David had a birthday on Thursday. We celebrated tonight, with about 30 of our closest friends. Photos to follow.

Really. I promise.

Gentle

2011-08-21T20:47:00.000+02:00

So, I spend a lot of time thinking about language acquisition. One might say it's a part of my daily life, a big part. Take the other day, for example.

I was giving Ruffino, our 90 lb lamb of a Golden Retriever, a little snack... a nice, juicy piece of meat. We have a little routine for when treats are doled out given that Ruff is a bit of a snatcher. Um, that was really a euphemistic way of saying that feeding Ruff from your hand puts all your fingers at risk, as well as most of your forearm. This is what we do: I say 'sit', Ruff sits. I hold up the tasty treat and say 'gentle, gentle, gentle' and then Ruff "snatches" the morsel of goodness from my hand while a leap backwards, hoping my arm is coming with me.

As we were running through this routine the other day it occurred to me that the only time I say the word "gentle" to Ruffino is just before I give him some cheese, a piece of salami, a bone, something from my plate (I know, I know, bad dog owner). For Ruffino "gentle" doesn't mean "proceed calmly", it means "f%^&ng delicious!".

This kind of makes me wonder how many words and phrases I know in Italian really mean what I think they mean.

On a completely unrelated note, today I harvested a ton of our tomatoes. Augusto's wife, Lina taught me how to can sauce for the winter that doesn't involve large vats of boiling water and all that hassle, so I did.

ok ok. I need to be honest with you...the "ton" of tomatoes I harvested from the orto produced one jar and a half of pasta sauce. Given that the half jar was only, well, half full it didn't seal properly so we'll have to eat that some time in the next couple of days. This, of course leaves us with one jar of sauce for the winter stash. I'm going to save it for a special occation. I'm sure it will be absolutely GENTLE!

2011-08-13T16:02:00.000+02:00

So, one of the first things that our gardener helper did to organize our land was to move this lovely piece onto the land.

Lovely, no? Um. No.

Augusto told me that I need to have a cupboard up on the land to hold "all my tools". He said that I don't want to be carrying everything back and forth from our shed, which is by the house, up to the land every time I need to do work. Actually what he meant was that HE doesn't want to have to carry HIS tools back and forth. Since Augusto has started "helping" me tend to the land, the only tool that I've used have been my garden gloves for weeding.

Since I didn't take action, he did.

It was actually kind of a weird thing. David was home and, as he does when he's here, he took the first run of the day with the dogs up on the land. When I woke that morning I said to David, "whoa. I just had the weirdest dream. I dreamt that Augusto had moved a bunch of old school furniture up here and lined them up against the side of our house to hold tools." David stared at me. "What?" I said. He said, "have you been up to the terraces yet today?"

Sure enough, while I was sleeping in, Augusto had moved an old school locker up to the orto. Weird.

David is home again. This morning we were up on the land having a look around. He noticed some cucumbers that were getting a little big for the vine and went to pick them.

"You want a knife to cut them off?" I asked.

"You got one?"

(I don't know why we've started speaking in truncated sentences...I blame the whole second language acquisition thing).

"Sure! Right here in the locker."

David paused for a minute..."I think it's amazing that you have a locker mate called Augusto."

You think I can find some nice Teen Beat photos to hang in there, like of Andy Gibb, maybe?

Friday Bits and Bobs

2011-08-12T18:58:00.000+02:00

Garden.

Oops I might have left this one on the vine a little too long.

Look at that thing. It weighs like 3 stone.

Viola.

The Maestra told me that I need one of these

It will help me sing, she says. Fuck the singing. That thing is hours of entertainment. It's a heck of a lot easier to play than the viola and sounds a lot better than my voice. Plus it gives me an awesome drum back up while I play it. AND, if I don't feel like playing, I just hit one button and it plays La Cucaracha all by itself so I can do other things ... like these guys

Have a good weekend.

The Water War is over....

2011-08-08T18:10:00.000+02:00

And the good guys won!!!!

Check this out

Look at all that beautiful water! So much water comes out now so fast that it takes me about a minute and a half to water the whole orto.

Not only do I have massive amounts of water coming to the terrace with the orto, but now I have water on EVERY terrace. Look

Incredible. Unbelievable, actually. I love my new water system. If I weren't so tall I'd start showering under those shiny new spigots. (Yes, at 5'3" I'm considered "tall" in this country...I love Italy).

So, what's the secret for winning a war...recruit a local professional soldier who speaks the language of the land.

About a week ago Augusto's frustration at people stealing water from me was about at its limit. I went up to water early one morning and I over heard this conversation between Augusto and a neighbor:

N: "She can't take that water!!!!"

A: "This water is overflowing the vasca and is being lost. There's plenty for you and for her. AND it's her land, so, yes, she can take it!"

N: "If she puts in tubes to take this water, I'll cut them!"

A: "NON HAI CAPITO UN CAZZO!!!!" (that means "you haven't understood anything!" but in not such a polite way) "She's going to use it for her orto. Have you SEEN her orto?"

N: "ah. Yes, there's probably enough for both of us. Ho capito."

Now, I have water. Water in the orto, water on the terraces, water in the house. War over...and it only took 8 years.

2011-08-01T18:02:00.000+02:00

So it's October, 1985, Elkhorn, Wisconsin a.k.a. EGG NIGHT. If you are not familiar with the Egg Night concept it's, well, just like it sounds...everyone between the ages of 14 and 18 run around town with every egg purchasable in the county and throw them at each other. If it weren't such a completely ridiculous, wasteful, and destructive town tradition I might like to take credit on behalf of Elkhorn teenagers from the 80's for the invention of the more (slightly) evolved Paint Ball game craze.

Back to 1985, so my pals and I are decked out in dark, loose clothes with tons of pockets, we have eggs stashed any where an egg could fit. The majority of my stash was in my shirt, which proved to be a great disguise as well...no one recognized the slight girl with the perky bob hair cut and the massive chest. My more busty friends had to settle for their sleeves. So, I'm hiding in a bush with one of these friends and we hear a car off in the distance. We look at each other and quickly decide that we are more defensive than offensive egg night participants "RUN!". Off we go across an open field, running as fast as we could from this car that we are sure was coming right for us. Of course we knew that this couldn't be possible since we were in a totally open field, which would have made it rather obvious if a car was barreling down after us, which it wasn't. BUT STILL...the eggs were coming down on us. Left and right they were just shooting right past us! We ran faster and faster and faster and the eggs kept coming faster and faster and faster, not one of them actually hitting us. Run run run, egg egg egg. Then, they just stopped. We ran another couple hundred yards until we were sure no more eggs were coming our way. We collapsed in the grass completely exhausted, with our hearts pounding at the near escape.

"Jenn, I don't really like this game. Let's just leave our eggs here and go home. How many eggs do you have left?"

Jenny checks her sleeves, "Ummm, Lynn, I have no eggs left."

"What do mean? You had like 3 dozen in your sleeves!"

"Um, yeah. I DID before we started running."

We walked back home feeling more than slightly embarrassed that we, two prominent members of the math team, didn't come to the rational conclusion that Jenn was shooting her own eggs at us out of her sleeves.

So today I'm hanging in a tree picking apples. Having not had the foresight to bring a bucket, I was stashing apples in my clothes any where an apple could fit. I don't really need to finish this story, do I? Ok. Apples started shooting past me every time I picked another one. I jumped out of the tree (which isn't technically my tree, so technically those apples probably aren't technically mine) and I hid. "Shit. Someone just busted me picking these technically not my apples." Heart pounding, I remembered egg night. Sheepishly, I walked back home.

Today's orto haul...

Yesterday's orto haul...

Yesterday's knitting haul...

the "surprise sweater"...which is David's birthday present, completed one month EARLY!...and is no longer a surprise.

A lovely lime and turquoise cardy for me.

PS. If any of you are thinking that I'm a really bad neighbor by stealing someone else's apples, don't worry. Augusto assured me that since the tree is on a common path, the apples belong to everyone. I just maybe took more than my share.

2011-07-24T13:33:00.000+02:00

One of the basic ideas have about how to live life is that each year I should do it better than the last. The "it" is just, well, everything. Next year I hope, am working toward, and therefore expect that I will make more beautiful jewelry than I do this year, I will be a kinder and more thoughtful person, my garden more colorful, my orto more fruitful, my house more comfortable, and I will be a better wife, step mom, daughter, sister, in law, friend, teacher, knitter, and viola player (I'm a little dubious about the last one, but I'll save that for another blog).

Along these lines, when winter did its annual job on our kitchen wall, I asked myself "how I can do it better this year?".

Yuck. Let's see if that looks better in sepia...

Yeah, um, no. It doesn't.

Since what I did last year was shit, it really wasn't that hard to improve on. Seems that it takes more than a little paint to keep the humidity out of an underground stone wall. This year's attempt at the kitchen wall included some help and some kind of space-age super anti-humidity plaster.

And some sunflowers.

Ps. Does anyone have cucumber recipes for me. This is one day's harvest

I'm getting anywhere from 3-6 everyday. That's a lot of cucumber salad for a single girl. And I can't give them away because EVERYONE has too many cucumbers. Maybe growing cucs is one thing that I don't need to improve on next year.

The Italian Way, most of the time...

2011-07-14T21:21:00.000+02:00

So, I've been really trying to take full advantage of the amazing food that this country has to offer. In this effort, I'm trying to buy my meat at the butcher's, my bread from the panetteria, pastries from the pasticciera, and cheese from the calabrian's who come up each week in a little van to sell their goods by the side of the road.

But every now and again I need to visit the discount grocery store for the staples, you know, like milk and rice and, um,

The American Way.

2011-07-10T15:40:00.000+02:00

Time for a little catch up to the emails I've got from you guys.

Wayne of TFC comments fame has sent more than one email asking about this summer's house projects. Well, Wayne, they look a lot like last year's projects. What a bummer of a life lesson to learn that a house needs maintenance. All the stuff that I did last year just needs to be done again this year. Big drag. I hate maintenance. Shouldn't you just have to do things once and then they are done? Like, you know, knitting a sweater. You knit it, and it's done. This attitude, of course explains why the floors in my house are always dirty, "shit. didn't I just wash these?!" Same goes for cleaning the toilet, washing clothes, and well, if I'm honest, bathing. No. Apparently not everything in life is like knitting.

So this summer, my kitchen walls will be scraped of mould and repainted. The pantry walls will be ...scraped of mould and repainted. The shed will be cleaned out and reorganized. The studio will be...cleaned out and reorganized. The garden and the orto will be, well, maintained. If anything new comes my way on the house front, you guys will be the first to know about it. But, Wayne, don't get your hopes up. Maintenance is a bitch -- a big, time consuming, bitch.

Mike from Boulder, my Fiat friend, has been asking for photos of the newest member of our family. Yep, we are a proper American couple living in Italy...one driver and two cars. Welcome to Maberga, my new little Panda.

You should feel at home here as you will see many of your sisters coming and going up and down the mountain every day. Our Panda was built in 1991, that's not so old. I mean, come on, that was the year I graduated from college. That wasn't so long ago, was it? Um, yeah, it was. 20 years ago. She's old enough to have a choke. If anyone has some info to share with me about how a choke works, bring it on because I'm clueless. My poor little Panda bear is shouting at me when I leave that choke open too long, dying on me when I shut it off too soon, and jumps and spurts and squeaks when I go back and forth with the choke knob.

And lastly I'd like to tell you that my Venice beads have arrived(no one has asked about this, but then, well, I'd asked you not to). They are here, and more beautiful than I had imagined when I designed them...for the most part.

Excuse me now, I have to take a bath.

time passes...more

2011-07-04T23:09:00.000+02:00

Friends, I have some bad news.

As some of you faithful OliveKnitting readers will note, June has passed without a "Maberga San Antonio Festa" post. I'm sad to say, I think there won't be any more of them.

The Festa revolved around a mass that was conducted at the church of Maberga, for whom San Antonio is the patron saint. The mass has always been conducted by this great frate.

He hasn't been a healthy frate for a while. Each year it was increasingly more difficult to get him up to the church of Maberga. I noticed this, particularly last year, when there were a couple guys behind him pushing him up the steep cobble stoned path to the church whilst a couple other guys grabbed his waist cords and were pulling him. It's been this difficult for our frate to come each year and still he persevered. This year, he just couldn't do it.

As an American, I asked the locals, "there must be another frate in this catholic county?!" Bad question. I was looked at with disdain and a little pity. "No, Lina. He is our frate." Say what you want about Italians, but they are loyal.

Life moves forward, we all get older. Many thanks to the past organizers of this annual festa and, of course, to our frate for his participation. Salute.

Brown Thumb

2011-07-03T22:18:00.000+02:00

So, now that I have Augusto taking care of my veggies, I can concentrate on other things. Yesterday I planted a chair in the garden.

My hope is that it will become a big chair tree with Bauhaus chair fruit hanging from it in a year's time. We seriously need patio furniture...really more than we need a zucchini. Yeah, ok, this is not likely given that the chair I planted was just an old hand-me-down chair that had finally surrendered to old age and the elements.

And well, there's also that thing that chairs don't usually seed themselves.

But, well, hope springs eternal in Maberga.

Viola lesson # 2

2011-06-24T19:40:00.000+02:00

Feeling perhaps cooler than I have ever felt in my life, I strutted through the town of San Remo with my viola casually strewn over my shoulder, my folder of my sheet music in hand, to the apartment of my Maestra.

Excuse me for a minute but doesn't everything in that sentence I just wrote exude COOL? I have a voila, if I'm carrying it around, I must use it. I have a MAESTRA, and I go to see her in San Remo ITALY. I have SHEET MUSIC, for god's sake, which must mean I know how to read it! Freakin cool. So anyway...

She buzzed me in and sent the elevator down for me. I confidently entered, road to the top floor, and remembered, with a certain smugness that the elevator door pushes open from the right, not the left (I had made a stellar first impression at my last lesson by getting stuck in the elevator, repeatedly pushing on the left side of the door until La Maestra came and got me out).

M: Ciao Lynn!

L: Buon Giorno, Maestra.

M: Hai studiato? (did you study?)

L: Certo! Tanto! (of course! a lot!)

My homework was just two part, 1. solfeggio (learning to count the different notes in time) and 2. basic exercises on the instrument getting me comfortable with using the bow properly (basically, pulling the bow from top to bottom, or dal punto al tallone as we say here, on one string over and over and over again).

We sat down and she set in front of me some sheet music that she had hand written for me.

M: please count this out using the proper note names, in time.

L: um, well...

M: what's wrong?

L: I actually spent a lot of time trying to learn the note names this week. Remember I told you that in America the notes have letter names, not do re mi, etc.

M: Ah...ok, forget the counting in time, just sing the names of these notes for me.

L: sing the names?

M: yeah, sing the note names.

L: um yeah, that's going to be a little difficult. I started memorizing the names but I'm not 100% yet.

M: oh, fine, just start.

L: La, Re, Do, Mi, Mi, Fa....um,

M: sol. And why aren't you singing?

L: That's the other thing. I can't sing.

Little interruption in the story here. In beautiful, easy english we have the word "can" which means "able to" "permitted to" "allowed to" "capable of", etc. In italian they have different words for all these things. I haven't really mastered the difference yet in my conversational usage of the language. As it turns out, what I actually told the Maestra was, "I'm not permitted to sing".

M: What do you mean you aren't permitted to sing?

ok, 20 minutes pass while we try to figure out the miscommunication and the fact that I'm not tone deaf but, well, that I just can't sing (in the "not capable" sense).

M: Ok. Learn this counting, with the names of the notes, so you can sing it to me next time. Let's get our instruments. Show me the work you did with the bow.

Feeling ready to redeem myself by showing her how great I had become at using the bow through the inane, um, I mean really useful, exercises she had given me, that I mastered, by the way in 2 10 minutes practise sessions, I start playing.

M: Um, excuse me, Lynn. I'm sorry, maybe I misunderstood. Did you say that you DID practice this?

So it goes. My homework this week looks a lot like that of last week, but from a much more humble perspective.

Jell-o. The universal snack.

2011-06-23T21:22:00.000+02:00

So, today I was hanging out with the son of a friend of mine. We were making some play-dough together with flour, salt, water, oil, and cream of tartar.

L: Do you want to make it COLORFUL?!

S: SI! OUI! YES!

My friend is french. Her partner is Italian. Their son speaks french, italian, and, well, with me, some english.

I run to the larder. I should be embarrassed to admit, but I'm not, that David and I have a considerable collection of jell-o - in every flavor. I grab lime and raspberry.

We rip open the little bags of powdered magic. I start dumping the lime in my lump of dough. My little friend rips open the raspberry, looks in, looks at me, then instinctively licks his index finger and makes the plunge. Needless to say, my young pal took a break from kneading the flour concoction in front of him to go to that heavenly place that only raw jell-o directly from packet to mouth can take you.

Immediately I was transported to 1977 when jello packets were the preferred after school snack of my sister and me. If I had a tv, I would have instinctively searched the channels to find a rerun of Emergency or Gillian's Island.

The moral of the story...a)American culture is so easily exported, or, my preferred, b) the allure of jell-o is freakin' universal. I don't doubt that if I had a little Aborigine boy from the Outback in my kitchen today, he would have done the EXACT same thing.

Ok, full disclosure, when the kid's parents came to pick him up I didn't disclose the exact product that he had eaten, even though they noticed and commented on his neon red lips. I don't really feel badly about that. I do, however feel a little bad that the little dude was finger dip-sticking in sugar-free jell-o and I didn't tell him that there's an even better version out there in the big world.

Vive le Jell-O!!!

sorry

2011-06-19T18:42:00.000+02:00

I can't post today. I'm in the bath...all day.

Water's back on.

Life in Maberga

2011-06-18T15:09:00.000+02:00

Someone decided that it would be fun or funny to dismantle the water tubes from the aqueduct to Maberga. That's just freakin' hilarious, no? No. No, it's not.

Casa Cornwell has been without running water since Wednesday. WEDNESDAY. A little reminder, today is SATURDAY. I smell really good.

Wednesday evening, after "working" for 3 hours in the orto with Augusto I came back to the house looking very much forward to a hot bath. Opening the tap, I noticed my aqueduct pressure was not present. There was a small trickle coming out. "Hmmmm?"

Knowing that Augusto left my orto to go up to the neighbor to have a beer, I called him.

L: "Augusto?"

A: "Si"

L: "I don't have water in my house. Is someone doing work? Did they shut it off?"

A: "No."

L: "Hmmmm?"

Augusto came by. He checked all the same things I had already checked at my house. Everything here is fine.

8.30 next morning I get a call.

A: "Ciao, Lina."

L" "Hi, Augusto. What's happening?"

A: "Someone has fu#&^d us"

As it turns out, the tubes that connect the city water with the Maberga tubes have been cut. WHO WOULD DO THAT?!

Just a little aside here....would any of you readers EVER think of someone cutting off your water supply, just for fun? EVER?

Well, it's happened here in Maberga.

By disconnecting a tube, the big containers that fill, through which our water passes, were completely emptied. We aren't talking a vasca ala my swimming pool, we are talking big big big vascas. Two of them. Empty. Which means that not only do we not have water but that we now will be paying for the water lost from the vascas, as well as all the water that was continuing to pump through a non-connected tube when we didn't know it was disconnected, plus the water to refill the vascas.

The vascas are now full and we still don't have water flowing into our houses. This is some serious sabotage. I hope this trickster had a really good laugh.

Did I mention that these tube are on the top of the mountain? The TOP. One has to be determined or highly motivated to do something like this.

So now it's Saturday afternoon and I still don't have water. I've been washing, myself and everything else, by the garden hose, which is attached to the swimming pool vasca. This, of course, is the one that is systematically emptied...and that the dogs swim in.

I have a dinner party to go to tonight. I'm thinking about calling to see if I can arrive early and have a shower before dinner.

Life in Maberga.

DO, a deer..

2011-06-18T14:48:00.000+02:00

For Christmas David and my parents gave me this

How awesome is that?!

It's a viola, in case you didn't know.

For a very long time I've been wanting to take up the viola. As a child, I played in the famous Denison Jr High Orchestra. And ever since then, I've felt a hole in the existence of my life that the viola once filled.

No, actually not. A couple years ago, after noticing that my knitting and jewelry making had put me in production mode, I decided that I wanted something just for fun. Something creative to do that had no product. I remembered my viola playing and got fixated.

Since Christmas I'd been looking for a viola teacher. I tried the local music schools. "Viola? No." was always the response. Then I remember a friend who I had helped with some english several years ago. This friend plays the cello in the San Remo orchestra. This friend called another friend from the orchestra (San Remo, not Denison Jr High). And last week, I had my first lesson.

Here's what I've learned so far...

1. in Italy the notes don't have letter names, they are called DO RE MI, etc. Well, not "etc", like we all learned from Maria on the top of the mountain. In Italy TI is not a drink with jam and bread because it is SI which would make it something we do with our eyes when they are open. And SO is not a needle pulling thread because it is SOL, which I guess would make it a patch of hair growing on the chin.

2. Holding a stiff wooden object between your chin and collar bone for any period of time is really really not comfortable.

3. Learning to play the viola after 40 is way harder than learning a language after 40. Well, actually, I don't know that to be true. I learned Italian before I was 40 and all I've learned through my german studies so far is "Was wollen Sie trinken?" Whilst that is an incredibly useful phrase and I find myself saying it a lot, I would not really count it as having learned a language after 40.

So, for now, I will be adding "playing the viola" to that list of things that I did better when I was 10 than I do today. Here are the other things on that list, in case you were wondering:
--the splits
--saying the alphabet while belching
--talking back to authority figures

Next lesson on Friday. I can't wait.

Friday Catch Up

2011-06-17T14:07:00.000+02:00

Whoa, I've left so many loose ends dangling on this blog that if it were knitting it would be a 1970's poncho.

1. Water. You may remember that someone stole my vasca water. I guessed that it would take two weeks to refill. Remember? Well, I was wrong, and I was right. It actually only took 4 days to refill. Cool! But then, 3 days later, same person emptied the it again. Darn.

2. Orto. Double darn about the empty vasca given that my orto now looks like this.

Yep -- zucchini, basil, cucumbers, eggplants, chili peppers, leeks, onions, beans, lettuce and chard! Obviously, I'm going to have to get a little more vocal with the neighbor who is hogging the water.

Is anyone wondering how I went from an orto like this...

to this?

Yeah, that's because a week ago I went up to the orto to do a little cleaning and to build my tomato trellace when I promptly had a total melt down. I just sat down in the dirt paralyzed and tramatized at the amount of land that I own and have totally been neglecting. After I watered the tomatoes with my tears, I pulled myself together, "Lynn, you are a strong, capable, young woman who has done many things more difficult in life than managing a little bit of land. AND, that land isn't going to clean itself so, stop crying, grab your tools and get to work!" And that's exactly what I did.

"Hello, Augusto?"

Yep, I did what all strong, capable (and intelligent) woman do...I hired someone who actually knows what they are doing.

Venice 2011

2011-06-10T09:53:00.000+02:00

"Hey, David! Look over there!"

Just kidding, that's not a photo of us standing in the middle of the water. Even with my wooden platform Steve Maddens I can't walk on water...yet.

Venice... it's still awesome. Even in the rain. Which it did for 38 of the 44 hours we were there.

That's ok, it doesn't rain in the bead shops.

Remember Alessandro?

He makes most of the beads that I use in my jewelry.

This year I got to design my own beads. It was an almost paralyzing experience.

I know, it should have been fun beyond recognition but I, well, I started to panic. Some of you may know from personal experience, or heard me talk about my lack of decisiveness. Only my mom can go shoe shopping with me because she has the patience of a saint/life time teacher (same thing) and, well, she's my mom. And then there is junk food shopping when I'm in the States. It really does me in. I stand there in the soda and the snack food aisles knowing that I have only so many days to fill my body with fizzy drink varieties and fried corn and potato products. I can't have them all in all their wonderful combinations, so I have to decide. Root beer and cheese popcorn? Vanilla soda and sea salt potato chips (don't knock it 'til you've tried it)? Cream soda and sour cream and onion pretzels? Or do I stick with the classics, cherry 7-up and nacho Doritos? Whoa, I'm losing my breath just thinking about it. EXACTLY how it was with Alessandro.

"What color?" (there are about 1 million)
"Crystal or opaque?"
"And what color for the accents?" (same 1 million)
"Crystal or opaque?"
"What shape?" (any you can think of...about 100 million)
"What size?" (well, infinite possibilities here)
"Acid washed or polished?"

Totally paralyzed by choices. Finally, David gently said to me, "honey, decide. Alessandro needs to go to lunch."

I guess it was the thought of holding an Italian back from a meal, but I did make some decisions. We'll see how I did when my beads arrive in a couple weeks. If you never hear me mention these beads again, just imagine that I'm eating some plain chips drinking a diet coke, drowning the sorrows of my poor decisions.

We stayed, as usual on the island of Murano. Here are a couple views from the balcony of our room.

We also caught up with the artisan Giovanni, who I get a lot of stuff from.

He did a demo for us to do a photo shoot. Here's the process, if you've never seen it...

Yeah, ok. I left a few photos out of the process. Anyway, you get the idea.

Then we found a new (to us) group who makes these amazing pendants

Whoa.

We also ate and drank a little

Not such a bad way to spend 44 hours out of the rain.

2011-06-04T20:16:00.000+02:00

Hi Friends,

My dad has recently asked for some photos of my garden. He wants to see if the grape vines will reach 100% this year. Since I haven't posted in a while, I figured I'd share these photos also with you guys. As always, wagers are welcome for whether we will reach 100% coverage on our pergola with the grape vines this year. As those of you who have been following....David predicted 5 years ago that we would get 100% coverage that year, well...

Here's June of 2011:

Be careful when you are making your bets. June foliage is about as foliage-ish as it gets. So, a little clue to you, if we aren't there in June, we won't get there by August. Look closely at the photos before you place your bet.

So, Dad, here are the photos. As I did for mom, letting her know about her mother's day non-gift before mother's day just in case I forgot....which, as it happens, I did forget, here is your father's day gift. Photos of my garden. Wow. This must be so disappointing. So good that you guys made two kids.

On a completely unrelated note, I'm going to Venice. Some friends, really really good friends, are coming to stay with my dogs so I can go shop for beautiful glass beads and see my husband for our anniversary. Which means, of course that this weekend I'm cleaning my house to a level that I never know when I'm staying here myself. Photos to come...of Venice, of course, not of my house being clean.

2011-05-27T11:51:00.000+02:00

Remember the swimming pool?

So, yesterday morning I went up to the orto to water my happy little tomatoes and let the dogs have a swim. It's a really nice way to start the day.

Yesterday evening, the dogs told me that swimming is also a really nice way to end the day, so up we went...

Yep, in one day that sucker was emptied.

So I guess that means that summer has officially begun in Maberga -- summer 2011, also known as Water War 2011. Let the fun begin!

By the way, we can tell that it is the peak of summer when there is no water coming from the spring to replace the water everyone is hoarding. Since we're not at that point yet, I'm not freaking out. Look, the vasca is refilling already

Yeah, right. Any one want to place a wager on how long it will take that trickle to refill the swimming pool?

I'm going to say two weeks...assuming that no one empties it again. And I can tell you that Mr. No One will NOT empty it because I'll be watching. (Yes, I know who did it.)

nice weekend

2011-05-24T19:01:00.001+02:00

What a great weekend! My tomatoes and peppers have come home and are growing their roots.

Yeah, those are my peppers in little pots in the garden. I didn't have it in me to expand the orto after the tomatoes took up the whole space.

Plus, when Augusto gave those pepper to me he made a particular point of letting me know that they are special peppers...CALABRIAN peppers. You can't find them around here...unless you have connections, obviously. Unlike the tomatoes he gave me, which he dug out of the ground in huge clumps, telling me to just throw away the extras, the peppers came from little pots. I protested, saying, "you didn't grow those! You bought those from some special source of Calabrian specialties!" To which, he simply said, "mind your own business and take the peppers." David could really learn a lot about shutting me up if he spent more time with Augusto. So anyway, I put the peppers in the garden so I could keep a closer eye on them, because, you know, they are special.

You may be wondering why my little pepper lovelies are in pots and old wine boxes instead of directly in the ground. Well, that's because of my little furry lovelies who like to give attention to anything I give attention to.

The same lovelies who had a heck of a time swimming in the Maberga pool all weekend.

I'm really so glad that the Maberga Swimming Pool is no longer the source of water for my bath and my kitchen sink any more. It's really sweet having those images in my mind of the dogs frolicking in the fresh spring water, but not so much when I'm soaking in that same water, or washing my veggies for dinner with it.

It was such a nice weekend that when I woke up yesterday morning I thought, "uhg, Monday."

Then I remembered that my job looks like this

And my office like this

Speaking of jewelry (nice segue, no?), a while ago I set up a discount code for OliveKnitting readers in my Etsy shop...you know, in case any of you are looking for some Italian bling. Then I forgot to tell you guys about it, which, well, kind of defeats the purpose. Anyway,I'm telling you now -- if any of you should happen to see something you like in my shop, you know, like it enough to buy it, be sure to enter the discount code "OLIVEREADER" and you'll get 20% off. If you are new to the Etsy shopping experience, don't be afraid, it's not difficult. Just drop me a line if you have any questions about it.

Have a good week.

Rapture

2011-05-22T21:47:00.001+02:00

Are any of you still here? I am. I guess god thought I was of more use staying home than going home.

If I'm honest, I've had a long time fear of the rapture. When I was a kid, the pastor of my church got the inspired idea one Sunday to show a movie about the Rapture. From what I can tell from my limited research, it wasn't "Left Behind" but the premise was the same. I don't know exactly how old I was when I saw this but I distinctly remember a few scenes, all involving people going missing and those left behind looking for them - lost and scared. A particularly powerful one was of a child wandering the streets alone after her parent, or sibling, or nanny, or grandparent (I don't remember which) was taken as they were enjoying a Sunday stroll but she wasn't. Wow. Nothing like that to scare a kid into cleaning their room and not taking the lord's name in vain (The two commandments - child's interpretation). As an adult thinking about it, I kind wonder what kind of kid she was.

In defense of my parents (I feel the need to do this because if I were you I'd say "what were you're parents' thinking?!"), that I also remember a heated discussion on the way home from church that day in which my parents were, trying not to further traumatize my sister and me, clearly expressing disgust at what had just happened at the church. Our church. The place we went, as I was taught by my parents through their example (and a lot of verbal convincing), for the spiritual community and to practice love, caring, forgiveness and giving.

Yeah, ok. I didn't, in my adult and rational mind, think anything would happen yesterday. I have my own idea now of spirituality. Organized religion is not part of it, although, I must say, I find a lot of comfort in their rituals -- I happily join my mom at her church when I'm in the States and go to baptisms and masses here in Italy whenever I'm invited. And still, I found myself thinking about it.

As it turns out, if the Reverend Camping was right, the only worthy candidates for heaven were Augusto's strawberries.

Yesterday I passed by pal Augusto's to pick up some tomatoes and pepper plants for my orto. "Lina! Don't buy them! I throw away plants each year!". So I went by and he harvested some seedlings for me from a corner of his land. It is the "temporary" corner of his orto. You know, where stuff gets planted when it will get replanted or maybe just be there for a short time. There were also some strawberries in this little patch. Plants that were already full of fruit.

This morning Augusto stopped in front of my house while I was watering my new peppers. He called me over to the truck. "Lina, remember my strawberries? They were right next to the baby tomatoes and peppers I dug up for you? They're gone."

There was such a look of sadness on his face. At first I didn't understand. I mean, there were like 3 strawberry plants, each with like 6 fruit on them.

"What do you mean they are gone? An animal took them?"

"Yeah, Lina, an animal with two legs." And he wasn't talking about a chicken.

I still didn't totally understand. Why was he so distraught about 18 strawberries gone? I mean, come on, this guy produces food in quantity that could keep several third world countries alive.

"I had promised them to Camilla." Camilla is his granddaughter - the complete and totally love of his life. Ah, that's why he was so destroyed.

But I still didn't understand why someone would go to such trouble to get 18 strawberries. It doesn't make sense. These plants were not by the side of the road or anything. You had to know they were there and pass a Rottweiler to get them. Who would do that? I mean, it's a big risk and a lot of work for 2 strawberry shortcakes (individual size potions).

The only explanation... The strawberry rapture.

If a grandfather who is so distraught by renigging on a promise to his 4 year old granddaughter about some ripe fruit wasn't taken to heaven...well, the rest of us can just go on with our daily sinful lives for now.

2011-05-19T01:45:00.000+02:00

Check these out!

Friend Christine and I are working together on this project...yeah yeah, ok, she's done all the work so far. Those adorable, minuscule drawings are hers.

The other day we got together to make those little beauties into jewelry charms with some sterling silver frames and resin.

Tomorrow we are going to make them into wearable art. Stay tuned.

Table Forests

2011-05-17T00:13:00.000+02:00

So when I was at my new friends' house in Monaco last week, I noticed an artful flower installation they had set up in their formal dining room. One couldn't help but notice it when entering the room. The gorgeous dining table was a veritable forest of individual orchid plants in white porcelain vases randomly covering the surface of the table. It made you want to be one inch tall so you could wander around in this white magical blooming woods.

I decided we needed a magic table-top forest in Maberga. I went to my florist (the terraces on the mountain) to see what was on offer. Today there was an abundance of sweet peas

Presenting the Maberga Dining Room Table Magic Forest

I'm sorry I don't have a photo of my friends' orchid forest...I thought about bringing the camera so I could share the experience with you all, but well, then I thought twice about it. Anyway, if I had made a photo of my friends' orchid forest you'd notice some differences. Namely:
1. their table is round, mine is rectangular
2. theirs seats 16, mine, 4
3. they had potted orchids, I picked, or rather plucked sweet peas
4. they had a collection of white porcelain vases, I'm using a lovely collection of former aperitif drink bottles

The resemblance between their table and mine?

When I walk into my kitchen now, I want to be one inch tall so I can wander in the Maberga Magic Table Forest.

Since I'm not one inch tall but I can knit...and hold a camera that would be way too heavy if I were one inch tall, I used my sweet pea forest to do a photo shoot of my newest knitting.

This is the Maaema Scarf

from my talented and creative blogger friend, Denise, at Lost City Knits. I'm knitting with cashmere in a raspberry wine color (does that color exist? I just made that up). The very user-friendly and totally satisfying pattern can be found here.

Thank you friends in Monaco for the table forest inspiration and many many thanks to Denise for the scarf pattern.

2011-05-14T20:43:00.000+02:00

Here's a little something I'd like to share with all you kniters to knit for the favorite Dude in your life. You can bet that David will be donning one next winter whilst we sip white russians.

have fun

I might even crochet him a rug too, you know, just to tie the room together.

2011-05-10T10:20:00.002+02:00

A little advice...

If you are ever invited to lunch at a friends' home in the luxurious heart of Monaco, wear sensible shoes. If not, toss a few band-aides in your purse. You don't want to have to buy them there.

Presenting the world's most expensive plasters:

6 euro for those babies. That's about 9 dollars with the current exchange rate.

Another bit of advice, if you didn't follow the first bit and need to buy them, choose the transparent ones instead of the regular brown ones. This way, if you happen to notice that your dress has a tear in it, you can stick one of those puppies on the inside of the rip, and voila' -- dress mended.

So, David and I were invited to the home of some clients of his, who happen to live in the luxurious heart of Monaco. Lovely people, lovely lunch. After lunch our gracious host accompanied us to the garage where we had parked our car. We took the elevator down to the parking level. When the doors opened we were in the residents' parking area. Walking pasts Bentleys, Jaguars, and Ferraris in rainbow colors, we exited to the guest parking. Standing there with our host, he looked out into the cars assembled. "Is that you there?", he politely asked. We all had a little giggle, and David said, "yeah, that's our Fiat 500 there between the silver Mercedes and the black Ferrari. How did you guess?"

2011-05-03T20:29:00.000+02:00

Any of you ever cut and stacked wood?

Yeah? So then you guys know how hard it is.

No? You guys, it's really hard. First, you have to fell a tree (or get a really nice guy like Augusto to do it for you). Then you have to cut the tree into bite-sized pieces with a rather scary piece of loud machinery that requires protective eye and head gear (unless you want to cut a 6 inch slash in your head...that's another story). Then these pieces, depending on their girth need to be chopped into halves or quarters with a tool that isn't loud but requires a better than minimum level of skill and muscle. Now when you have a nice pile of hard earned potential heat source, you want to stack it so it doesn't rot away on the ground - that and so that your neighbors will think you are organized, prepared and just very cool in general. For you non-wood gatherers, I have to tell you that the stacking part is the most difficult. Ok, maybe not, but that's the part that I do so, for me, it's the most difficult.

Now that you all are sufficiently knowledgeable about the art of wood collection...CHECK THIS OUT!

Wanna see it again?

Yeah, ok. That's my boot in the photo but I'm just posing by the neighbor's pile. I have wood envy. Actually, I have wood stacking envy. Now that the weather is warm, I've quickly forgotten the heat value of a nice pile of wood. Right now, I'd just like to have a beautiful pile like that sitting out front of my house - you know, for the cool factor, not the heat factor.

After rereading what I just wrote there, I'm thinking that I'm probably not a real country girl.

No. You can't see a photo of my stacking ability.

To be fair (to myself) and because this is supposed to be a knitting blog I'd like to say that cool-wood-stacking-neighbor-pal probably can't do this***...

I wonder if he'd have wool envy?

***I can't show more of that knitted garment because it's the surprise piece that I'm working on ... so don't tell anyone.

mother

2011-04-28T20:04:00.000+02:00

Dear Mom,

I'm writing to let you know now that I'm already thinking about Mother's Day. Yes, it's true, I have been a bit, um, shall we say, negligent in the past in celebrating my one-and-only favorite mom (Laurie, if you are reading this, I don't care what you say...she IS my mom, as well as yours - so you say). I just want you to know that I'm planning ahead this year.

I'm also telling you this now, in case, you know, on the outside chance that on the actual Hallmark ordained day I happen forget to tell you I think you're wonderful and deserving of some kind of special gift you'll know that my intentions were good.

In addition, I promise NOT to make you a set of these.

your loving daughter,

Lynn

Cavolo!

2011-04-26T20:51:00.000+02:00

How 'bout some Tuesday randomness? Ok.

1. Thanks to everyone who's been worried about my Ruffino who ate a half bag of fertilizer (NO ONE!). He seems to be fine.

2. CAVOLO! That means cabbage. It's also the polite way of saying the swear word "cazzo" in Italian, which means dick. Cavolo is used much like "frick" is used in english for its harsher counterpart "f#ck". For this blog post I mean cavolo in the literal sense, since I planted some...cabbage, that would be.

I also planted some lettuce and zucchini. It's a start.

3. Nothing can put a girl off her dinner like glancing across the kitchen while eating to find this creeping up the wall above the stove.

What the cavolo is that?!

4. I have a new answer to that question Italians continue to ask me: WHY did you move from AMERICA to live in MABERGA? Are you nuts?! (I guess that's two questions). In reverse order, my new answer is this: Yes, probably. And because here I can wake up on a random Tuesday in April and while my dogs are running free on the mountain side I can sit in the middle of the road drawing the sun shining through the petals of a poppy."

Happy cavolo Tuesday.

2011-04-24T09:27:00.000+02:00

Happy Easter.

Here's a little present for you which, of course, has nothing whatsoever to do with Easter except that I found it because I'm sitting here on Easter Sunday morning alone with the whole day to fritter away so I started it by catching up on my blog reading where I found this brilliant video on The Panopticon. Why, you ask, do I have the whole of Easter day with nothing better to do than surf the net? Well, don't feel bad for me. I had two lovely lunch offers, which I declined because I thought I had to work. Which as it turns out I won't be doing either because Ruffino ate half a bag of garden fertilizer during the night so I am now on 24 hour dog vomit watch.

Enjoy.

they said I can stay...again

2011-04-22T21:09:00.000+02:00

So, last week I received a text message (two, actually because it was really long) requesting my presence at the Office of Immigration on the 21st of April.

Ya know when you are on the highway, cruising along, some good music playing, the window rolled down a bit to let in a nice highway breeze, you might even have some beef jerky open sitting on the seat next to you and a 20 oz coke in the holder? Ya, you know the feeling? And then suddenly you see those folk who are Serving and Protecting with their blue and red lights in your rear view mirror? Ya know that feeling?

Yeah, that's what it's like to get a text message from the Office of Immigration if you don't live in the country in which you were born.

Well, there's a slight difference in my analogy here given the specifics of this situation...those being that I actually filled out about 20 pages of information telling the authorities where I am, what I'm doing...and asked them to contact me.

Getting a text from the immigration office, when you've ASKED for one gives you the pit in your stomach that you feel when you are driving the speed limit and pass a cop. Even though you are doing nothing wrong, you still feel the pangs of guilt and the adrenaline flood of impending doom.

I think our friend Pavlov should have done his research on drivers and aliens (that would be "immigrants" for you non-Americans...yeah, I know it's funny that we Americans call people from other countries "aliens" as well as beings from other planets). I think Pavlov could have done more with rapid heart beat than drooling.

So, back to the story...I'm invited to join the mass of humanity at the Office of Immigration. I accept.

But, given that I've been to this party before, I know that an "appointment" for 9am means that you stand in line with all the others who are there, by invitation or just because they need some help -- your appointment time means nothing.

So I show up at 9.10, park illegally at the train station across the street from the government complex that houses immigration. I debate whether to put my flashers on. This of course being the way to tell people (cops) that you KNOW you are illegally parked and "it'll just be a minute!". Remembering that I'm going to the sea of humanity at the immigration office, I decide against the flashers - I was worried that I'd be there so long that I'd kill my battery. Can you kill your car battery by leaving the flashers on too long? I've always wondered that...more so, I must admit, since I've moved to Italy and learned the art of creative parking.

Anyway, I enter the waiting room and take notice of everyone in the room to find my place in the "line"..... which doesn't exist. You have to imagine who is in front of you. Of course I eliminate all the people I see in the waiting room who look italian. The waiting room is shared with those who are waiting for new passports (meaning Italian Passports) as well as people who want to file a "denuncia" against someone. (I can't really explain a "denuncia" because it doesn't exist in the States...I don't think. It's like when someone has done you wrong and it's pissed you off enough that you want to tell the police about it).

While I'm waiting I read the posters on the walls (I know I know. I should have brought some knitting). On one wall, "don't be a victim any more. Report spousal abuse" and "with 1 euro a day, you can save the life of a child". On the other wall, right next to the list that contains names of the people whose permits of stay are ready, is this one -- "Return and Start Again - do you want to go back home? We can organize your documents, pay for your passage and financially help you begin your life again in your own country." Hmm, that's good to know.

So I wait about 45 minutes until I catch the eye of "my friend" behind the counter. Ok, really, she's not my friend but we've made a connection. We have a lot in common, actually...she works in the immigration office and I need a permit of stay, she has a nephew living in New Jersey and I'm from Wisconsin, she lives in Taggia and I live in a random wild spot on the top of a mountain that has been, for bureaucratic purposes, attached to the town of Taggia. We're practically twins. She saw me in the waiting room and mouthed to me, "what do you need?" I said, "RITIRARLO!!!!" That mean "I'm here to PICK IT UP!!!!"

She mouthed, "come in!" with a big smile and did that Italian hand motion that mean come here (it's like the whole hand version English speakers use for "come here", except it's upside down, with the palm toward the ground - until I figured out what this was, I waved good bye to a lot of people who were telling me to "come here").

So, I went in, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the waiting room because I was so clearly budging in front of everyone in the non-existent line. And I GOT IT! Just like that. Honestly, it was slightly anti-climactic since I'd been waiting for that moment for over a year. I think my friend behind the counter was possibly more excited than I was. She had been following my progress toward this day, feeling my frustration with me. She'd even made a couple calls on my behalf. This was a victory for her as much as it was for me.

I put my index finger in her machine for a scan. Then she handed me my card. We shared a smile and a bit of a laugh...ok, I danced, she didn't but I know she wanted to. And then she said, "It's for 5 years! I'll see you again then. Of course it will only be 4 years from now because it took 1 year from the time of you request...but...you know...."

To celebrate I went to a cafe' for breakfast like the real local I am, "prendo un latte machiato (a latte) e un brioch con crema (a cream filled croissant)". As I went to pay, the waiter let me budge in front of another customer, "tourists first" he explained to the man. Oh well.

first grill of the season

2011-04-17T18:09:00.000+02:00

The setting wasn't so bad with the fire pit there among the grape vines,

the beautifully set table next to the shepherd's stone house (the woman in that photo is our hostess...not a shepherd)

and not such a bad mountain/sea view.

Some days are just better than others...

2011-04-15T19:52:00.000+02:00

Like today, for example.

It started this morning with sun on the mountain and a walk with the dogs.

Then I got to have an art play date with my friend Christine...in which we decided chatting (even a little about art) and drinking coffee was more important. (I'm sorry to say that I didn't make any photos of Christine's beautiful house with the sweetest garden, a whole zoo of animals and a 270 degree sea view. Going to Christine's is a treat on many fronts.)

Then this evening I heard that David will be coming home tonight.

And, the cherry on the top of my day...

I discovered that Italy now sells light beer. Ok, so it's Tuborg Light, but this means that Bud light can't be far behind. We Americans always follow the lead of the Danes.

Is that a hoe in your bathtub or are you just happy to see me?

2011-04-14T19:40:00.000+02:00

Yeah, it's a hoe in my bathtub.

Let me explain.

So, this morning I'm out working on the orto.

See, Folks! I do listen to your comments. As I was saying, Earle-in-Denver shamed me into getting my hoe to the orto to get working, um I mean, I woke up today thinking, "Geez, today is the perfect day to start turning some earth in the garden!". Yeah, ok the real reason was that I was home bound 'cause the car was in the shop so I figured, what the hell.

So I'm turning soil with my hoe (let me tell you guys, it was a heck of a lot easier just watching Augusto rototill it last year). Anyway, I begin to notice that as I heave the hoe above my head to try to get all the gravitational help I can, by the time the tool hits the ground the hoe part has swung around the pole handle making the head land with an ineffectual thud on the ground. This makes for some slow going with the hoeing, I have to say. I keep at it for about 10 more blows to the ground that do jack-nothing.

Neighbor Eugenio's truck is in his parking spot. Following the scent of his Marlboro Reds with my hoe in tow, I go looking for some help.

"Ciao, Eugenio. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure"

"Whenever I use my hoe, the head ...

"turns?"

"yeah."

Long blank stare. Ok, it was probably more like 5 seconds but it felt like a couple minutes.

"You need to soak it."

He takes it from me and pounds it on the ground a few times to try to lodge the head in place on the handle (which, for the record I HAD BEEN doing...albeit I was pounding it the wrong way around and therefore loosening it...)

"yeah. You have to soak it."

You can't really tell the expression in my neighbor's voice since you are reading this but it was basically -- duh. soak it. like, who doesn't know to soak their hoe? duh.

I thanked him and walked away mumbling something about there being a lot to learn.

Another thing I learned today...when you live in the country, a bucket is a really useful thing to own.

I have a ways to go, but it's a start. And from now on with my swollen handle, hoeing will be so much more pleasurable.

hang in with me...

2011-04-13T20:43:00.000+02:00

So, in the past 5 years I've found a lot of excuses for my lapses in regular blogging. I have a new one.

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts.

Any of you guys read it? I'm reading it in paperback and it's been waiting for me on our shelves for a couple years already, so I can safely say it's not a new release. If you haven't read it you should. (a little advice...try to get it on your Kindle or ipad...the f#&^$^er is a tome and I've nearly knocked my self unconscious several nights as I've fallen asleep while reading). It's a very compelling story but it's not late night reading sessions that are keeping me away from blogging...it's embarrassment.

It's the story of a guy's life in India after he escapes prison in Australia. Without giving too much of the story away, let me just say that this dude faced some stuff that, when I sit down to write here, just makes me feel like the biggest wimpy wuss who ever lived and was shameless enough to write about it.

Yeah, ok, so he invented a lot of his story but still...

Other things keeping me from posting:

1. The orto. I'm just kidding. I haven't done sh*#t on that yet this year.

2. The on-going repairs to my car. I wish I were kidding about this one, but I'm not. My beloved Fiat 500 has been experiencing a series of minor ailments which have caused 2 -3 trips per week to the mechanic over the past several weeks. The latest one... I drove home from a party the other night realizing that my headlights didn't work... again. You may wonder how my car troubles affect my ability to blog...they just do. Trust me on this, ok?

3. All the knitting I'm doing! I finished the "ironic poncho" and love it (although, still feeling that my irony is usually lost on most Italians, I don't wear the poncho outside of Maberga). Photos to come. And then I've started a new project which is a secret so I just can't tell you about it.

4. Sitting around staring at all the projects that I did last year that need to be REDONE this year. I hate maintenance. Although, once I get past the paralysis caused by my realization of what needs to get done, I will have a lot of blog fodder.

Is it just me?

2011-04-02T15:49:00.000+02:00

So I was at this party last night, chatting with a friend. I asked her how work was going. She has two jobs. By day she is the cook in the lunchroom at the local elementary school, and in the evenings and weekends she is one of the chefs at an outstanding restaurant.

As a former teacher, and student, I don't have such great memories of school lunchrooms. I asked my friend what it was like for her, working in the lunchroom. She said she LOVES it. She said that she way prefers that work to her job in the restaurant.

I said, "yeah, I suppose you don't get complaints from students like you would in the restaurant."

She then launched into the following story:

"Well, some times I do. Take the other day for example. One of the kids came up to me and asked if he could have a little more salt for his spinach. I told him, NO! I decide how much salt goes on the spinach, and it's just right. But then, a second kid came up to me, again asking for some salt for the spinach. Suddenly I had some doubts, I mean, if TWO kids ask for more salt for their spinach. So I asked one of the teachers. I said to her, 'how do you find the spinach today? Is it a little bland?' And she said, 'well, maybe just a little.' So I knew then that I hadn't put enough salt on the spinach! I had to immediately go around and put extra salt on 45 kids' spinach."

Last night, while listening to my friend tell her animated story we both had a chuckle about her mistake with the salt. But then this morning, when I woke up and remembered her story, I realized how very far from my grasp of normal this was. I mean, upon reflection, well, there are a few pieces of the story that just don't fit into my puzzle of how the world works. For example:

--the lunchroom cook is also the chef at one of the finer restaurants in the area.
--they serve spinach to elementary kids...and they EAT it.
--an 8 year old kid knows when spinach needs more salt.
--a second 8 year old kid knows when spinach needs more salt.
--two 8 year old kids care enough about eating their spinach to ASK for more salt.
--the lunch lady cares enough about the food she serves to individually salt 45 plates.

Does any of this strike you guys as odd?

And, where are you from?

2011-03-31T19:25:00.001+02:00

So, I have some friends who have a business in the area renting and selling houses. When they are on holiday I help them out. Today I took a client around to see some houses that she might want to buy. The introduction went like this...

I'm sitting in a little bar in Badalucco (pop. 1200) and she walks in. I can tell from her shoes that she's not Italian. We look at each other and both timidly say "Hi?" in English. Introduction made.

She orders a coffee and sits down by me. I say, "hello, welcome. I'm Lynn."

"Hello. I'm Tanya. So you are American. Where are you from in the States."

Damn if my lovely accent doesn't give me away every time!

Pause in the story here for a moment...

This question of "where are you from in the States?" comes up time and time again. Through the years I've had different answers. Where am I from is a darn good question. I feel that I'm from Wisconsin even though I haven't lived there for over 20 years. Actually, more specifically, I'm from a small town in Wisconsin called Elkhorn (pop. 6000). I used to say all of that, which would inevitably induce a blank stare from the questioner, so I would then launch into the explanation of Elkhorn's location in relation to Chicago...and then, depending on who I'm speaking with, the relation of Chicago to the coasts. I quickly found that this was too much information and that people didn't really care about this because they really wanted to hear "California" or "New York" or maybe "Miami" -- something they could recognize...some place where they have a cousin living. Having learned this, I began ditching the preamble about my hometown and went straight for "I'm from Chicago." But then, well, this is actually a lie. Apart from a 3 month period when I was 20, I've never actually lived in Chicago and I'm certainly not FROM Chicago (as anyone would know immediately if they've ever met me AND a real Chicagoan). So then I decided to change my answer to "Denver". If I'm talking to a skier or anyone who has a tv (thank you "Dynasty"), they are satisfied at the recognition and I'm not exactly lying since I lived there for 12 years. Back to the story...

So, Tanya says, "where in the States are you from?"

"Denver. Denver, Colorado."

Blank stare. Then her response....

"Oh. I lived in Wisconsin for a while. Kenosha, Wisconsin."

So it goes.

seasonal equations

2011-03-26T12:19:00.000+01:00

spring = sun

sun = reclining in the sun

reclining in the sun = patio lounger

patio lounger =

this

+

this

+

this

this

=

painful memories of asking jeeves for help in fixing my water heater switch

Oh wait, I digress...

this

=

no insturctions for what to do with this

creative thinking = put it here

this

=

Spring

Spring bling

2011-03-20T17:40:00.000+01:00

I needed some color. Doesn't everyone after the gray months of winter? Here in Liguria we don't really have gray winters since the sky is usually still blue and the mountains stay green...but blue and green still make for a limited palette.

So yesterday the garden got its first shot of color for the season ....

and today, I started this which I found here

It's a great pattern - I started this morning and am almost done already (not that speed equates to great, but, well, for me it usually does). I'm sorry to misrepresent the simple beauty of this cape/poncho by my use of variegated rainbow colored acrylic yarn ala the 1970s. It was a moment of weakness in JoAnn's when I was in the States. I was feeling ironic. This poncho is the 3rd thing I've tried to knit with this mega rainbow ball (did I mention that it's like 1000g in one skein?). I ripped out the first two because they were horrid. Funny, isn't it...in an ironic, yet colorful kind of way?

the news from Lake Maberga...

2011-03-15T11:25:00.000+01:00

"Please come in, Signor Cornwell. The dentist will see you now."

David relaxes in the dentist's chair, as one can only do in the chair of a dentist, while the assistant shouts out to the doctor what needs to be done "cavity in 14, 23, 27" (or whatever the numbers are for identifying teeth). After 45 minutes of drilling and topping off cavities David goes to the secretary to settle the bill. He notices that the file sitting on the counter, the file the office had been working from, is mine.

"Ummm, just for the record, that file is my wife's. I'm DAVID Cornwell, not Lynn."

Small, nervous laughter, "good thing you and your wife have cavities in the same teeth."

So it goes.

And just for our record here, the dentist was french, not italian.

let the training begin....

2011-03-09T19:38:00.000+01:00

Last night we were invited to a dinner for "festa della donna" (women's day) at Carmello and Anna's house. Carmello is a funeral director. Anna's recently had surgery on both her feet...and was STILL an excellent hostess. Carmello's son-in-law is a guard at the local prison. His name is Ciccio (which means "chubby one" and is pronounced "chicho") and he did all the cooking.

There were about 12 of us there. It was a lovely evening.

Ciccio is Calabrese and really wants to take David and me down to Calabria next time he goes - to show us the real Italy. He described a typical day there like this:

8.30am - primo colazione (first breakfast) with fresh goat cheese and bread...and wine.

10am - colazione (second breakfast) in the town square with pork sandwiches...and wine (no glasses, everyone just brings their own bottle).

1.30pm - apperativo with salami, bread ...and wine.

At 2pm lunch starts and goes until about 7pm.

Dinner starts at 10pm and usually lasts until 2am.

I'd like to interject here, for those readers who are not hip to the nuances of the regions and politics of Italy. Southern Italians are known for being lazy and a drain on the state. Well, excuse me but it's no wonder those paesano's down south don't work -- there's no TIME.

David and I figure that if we go on this holiday we'd have to do it as a relay team - he could take the first half of he day, we'd pass the baton over lunch and then I'd finish the day.

Ciccio thinks we should rent a 9 person van and get a group to go. Friends, I have to tell you now that I'm on board that caravan! Of course, I'd need to start now with some training...I'll start having wine at breakfast (twice), lunch and dinner, in addition to those extra meals I'll have to add to my normal eating routine.

It's basically the Italian Ironman and I'm ready to take the challenge.

little beaded flowers, again

2011-03-07T19:22:00.001+01:00

So, I get these emails from my friend Martha everyday with little helpful household hints, recipes, decorating ideas, and craft projects. Today she send this one.

Makes me think that she must have asked Jeeves for some help with a little electrical problem she was having like this.

Martha, call an electrician.

bull's-eye

2011-03-05T15:25:00.000+01:00

It's finished!

I'm so very pleased. Looking at it just makes me want to take a long hot bubble bath so I can put my clean naked feet on this rug.

David says it makes him want to play darts.

A bit of Thursday randomness...

2011-02-24T17:29:00.000+01:00

1. In the past couple of weeks I've been in more official offices than I have in the previous 8 years living here combined. Ok, that's probably an exaggeration but, well, it FEELS like that. Anyway, after every new visit I leave the just visited office feeling shocked, amazed, dumbfounded, frustrated, excited, confused, amused, and I'm invariably laughing. I've come to realize that Italy and my husband have a lot in common - I don't understand how either of them function but I'm frequently awed and always entertained and I love them both.

2. I have just one thing to say...crayon rings.

These little beauties are still in their incubation phase, but I know they've got potential!

Perhaps my need to break, melt, and carve perfectly good children's drawing materals into fashion accessories has something to do with number 1.

Taggiaschi

2011-02-14T18:00:00.000+01:00

So, Saturday night was the festa of San Benedetto in Taggia. I'm sure I've posted before about San Benedetto...it's when they set the town of Taggia on fire.

Folklore has it that when groups of warriors were making their way around the Riviera, raping and pillaging, they skipped the town of Taggia. Ya know why? Because the clever Taggiaschi (people of Taggia) knew that the bastards wouldn't waste their time sacking a town that had already been sacked...so these ingenious Taggiaschi set the town on fire on their own! They destroyed their own damn town so the invaders couldn't! Damn clever.

In celebration of their brilliant forefathers, current Taggiaschi annually set their city aflame.

This year we were invited to a pre-festival dinner at the parents of one of my friends. We had tripe with beans and pork with, well, I don't know what but it was delicious. Halfway through the dinner we realized that the woman sitting across from us was our insurance agent. It wasn't until we heard her name, Maria Pia, that we figured out who she was. One just doesn't meet too many Maria Pia's floating around...even in Italy. Here's my friend and her parents.

And here's Maria Pia.

Here's Maria Pia's husband, who had kind of taken David under his wing by the end of dinner.

Then, the festivities began. The way the festival works is that anyone with a cantina (a cellar) opens their doors for friends and family to come in to celebrate. People without cantina's wander the streets going from one huge bonfire to the next, on the way they stop in every open cantina for a glass of wine and something to eat (as if the tripe hadn't been enough). Think of a city wide pub crawl but with good wine and even better food and it's free. Ok, forget the pub crawl thing...San Benedetto is nothing like a pub crawl.

Anyway, since everyone in Taggia has lived in Taggia their whole life, and is probably related some how to the original Taggaschi who fought off the invaders pretty much every cantina is open to everybody. Or so it seemed to me and the group we were traveling with. But then again, the open doors to us could have had something to do with the fact that the vice mayor was in our group.

Meet Ivan.

We started first at his mother's cantina. Here's Ivan's mom.

Then, as one does we wandered the streets of Taggia...actually I saw parts of Taggia that I never knew existed. Taggia is a big town! Who knew? We were with a group, so we travelled in a group. If one person stayed longer to chat at one cantina, the whole group stayed. This got a bit tough for the people in our group when David and I started running into everyone we've ever met from Taggia -- parents of former students, neighbors, friends, friends of friends, the lady who sells me garden supplies....

And then David really put us at risk of losing our group for good when we stumbled across the cantina of BARBA ROSSA. He was so shocked and happy to see the Americans he sold the turkey to that before I knew it David had two plates piled high with hot meat and an overflowing glass of wine.

"I thought you guys lived in Carpasio or something! NOT Taggia! Here have some more pork." Carpasio is like 15 km up the valley - it's home to many foreigners who, obviously, never come to San Benedetto.

To which David promptly responded, "We live in Maberga! You need to come over for a cook out! We have an awesome grill! This pork is outstanding." Now, I think that's nice of David to think that that piece of shit pile of rocks that I made is really awesome but I doubt the best butcher in the area with see its beauty. When I finally pulled David away to join our increasingly impatient group they were setting a date for this grill out.

Back on the road with the group I found myself apologizing to Ivan, "I'm sorry we were so long. He's our butcher."

"I hope we don't run into your baker" was Ivan's response.

The night ended for us at this cantina, which has the reputation as being the best one. It was pretty festive...what with the music and the singing and all.

It was 1.30 when we told our hosts that we needed to head back to Maberga. "But you'll miss the hot chocolate and pastaccini in OUR cantina!"

"When do you do that?!"

"3.30"

We couldn't make it. For all the warm welcomes we had in every cantina from friends and locals and butchers, in the end we showed our true colors...we are not real Taggiaschi. Had we lived in Taggia at the times of the raping and pillaging, we wouldn't have been with our fellow towns people burning...we would have been sleeping.

The Hypocritcal Collection

2011-02-09T20:13:00.000+01:00

Is it hypocrisy to be really proud to be from Wisconsin seeing the Packers win the Superbowl when I also am really glad I don't live there? Can I do that?

I mean, can I post here a bunch of green and gold stuff that I collected to show my team spirit?

And can I brag to you how freakin' awesome the Green Bay Packers are as an NFL team? And brag that all the players and coaches and staff were saying, "We're bringing the trophy home!"...HOME. Yeah, because Wisconsin is so awesome that we had Lombardy?

Can I do that when, just 3 days after the big game, a morning in February, I spent the morning in shirt sleeves cleaning the terraces and harvesting veggies from my garden -- all the while praising God that I live where I do? Is that hypocritical?

Yeah, probably. So, I'd like to present the hypocritical winter collection:

The "Go Packers" earrings

which, if you'd like buy yourself a treat for being such a great GB fan, can be found in my Etsy shop.

And the Winter Orto collection...

which I will share the recipes I use with you, just after I do a google search to find out what all those veggies are.

2011-02-03T20:26:00.000+01:00

So, I've recently been sent two videos that I feel the need to share and compare. One is French and the other Italian. Thank you Ambra and Uncle Mike (you guys who don't know Ambra and Uncle Mike can guess who sent me what).

Before you watch these videos I'd like to interject that there is a huge rivalry between the French and the Italian, particularly in the region where I live. For the Italians the French are the "bastard cousins". Ok, yeah, every country seems to have a rivalry with France...or maybe most every country just doesn't like the French. In our area it's heightened by the fact that the French, in close proximity, used to be Italian. It was a WWII deal that gave a bunch of Italian land (and people) to the French. A more learned historian than I could explain the reasons for this, I just know it as fact. So the Italians hate the French...as do the Belgians, the English, the Americans, and well, it seems everyone.

Please don't get me wrong, I personally don't hate the French. I'm really not prejudice, some of my best friends are French.

So, what can we glean about the French and the Italian people from these two parallel videos?

Italian

French

Really all I can see is that Italians seem to have more rhythm. But I'm open to other observations.

PS: Wayne, two posts in one day! How about that! Yes, David is on the road.

Snow Day 2011

2011-02-03T12:43:00.000+01:00

So I was talking with my family in the American midwest last night. They were all home...both my parents, my niece, nephew, sister and brother-in-law. All of them house bound because of the monster snow that's fallen.

Here in Liguria monster illness has been falling. Every little english learner I've seen in the past 2 weeks has been home sick with fever. Great. I wonder if their moms think that my American immune system is big and strong and plentiful, like my home land. Well, it's not. Now I too am feeling a little under the weather, so to speak.

In an act of family solidarity I declared today a snow day in Maberga, too. You know, just to be supportive.

Snow Day 2011 activities in Maberga included opening every door and window for a massive spring cleaning, washing every bit of cloth that is worn, sat on or slept in, playing with the doggies on our (almost) clean land, and picking flowers. It's about 50 degrees here with brilliant blue skies and a wonderfully warm sun.

Snow days are great.

Das Needles 2011

2011-01-29T11:08:00.000+01:00

It was a big day at the Das Needles' gathering.

One of us entered the wonderful world of sock knitting...

One of us cast off an awesome poncho...

One of us had a birthday...

And we all got gifts...

As the Danes say, "it wasn't so bad".

2011-01-27T18:50:00.000+01:00

So, last night I was driving home from a lesson and I got stopped by the police. Not THE police, just one guy who happened to be standing in the middle of the road I happened to be driving on who happened to notice that my lights weren't on. Lucky for me, I DID see the man in the middle of the road, despite my lack of light.

I must interject here that I know this cop. Well, I don't KNOW him but I've seen him around a lot. He closes off the road in front of the elementary school at pick up time at the close of the school day. One day I was there to collect a little friend of mine and I saw him at work. A young woman on a vespa had the gall to drive right through the blockade for the school pick up, ignoring all warnings that the road was closed to motor traffic. This diligent arm of the law went running after her screaming "THIS (the blockade)! THIS! THIS IS NOT AN OPINION!!!!!" Dude really does his job and takes the rules seriously. You gotta respect that.

"Turn your lights on", the Policeman shouted at me.

I politely responded to this man who takes the law (like driving in the dark with lights) seriously, "They are on.".

"No they aren't," he shouted back. "Pull over!".

The policeman had me check the lights, and damn if he wasn't right. No lights.

Funny thing is that the lights icon on my dashboard told me that my brights were on (I love Fiats). A funnier thing is that I believed the dashboard and not the reality of my total lack of vision in front of my car.

Luckily I was about a half of a block from my mechanic's shop.

"I'll go directly to my mechanic now."

"Not in the car you won't."

"But it's just around the corner."

"Nope. Too dangerous."

So I walked the half of a block, after parking my car illegally and saying a little prayer of hope to the car-god that my mechanic would still be in his shop at 6.30.

Let's all say a prayer of thanks to the god-of-long-lunches who gives mechanics working hours in the evenings.

"Ciao Domenico!"

"Where's your car? What's happened?" I guess people don't usually WALK to the mechanic shop.

"The police stopped me because my lights don't work."

"Where's your car?"

"Parked illegally in front of the Post Office."

"The post office? The one that is a half of a block away? Why didn't you just bring it straight here?"

"yeah. The cop wouldn't let me."

"oh, ^$&*^%^&*! Let's go."

Walking to my car Domenico the mechanic said, "so, where've you been? Did you go to America?"

"yeah. I did. 3 weeks!"

"&&%^%^! No! I was just kidding!"

In two seconds we were at the car, where we then stood outside of the car for about 15 minutes while I heard about Domenico's visit to the States several years ago...which I've heard about just about every time I've been to his shop in the past 4 years (which has been often. I love Fiats). Domenico drove from coast to coast. In case you were wondering, his favorite place was Las Vegas and he lost 10 pounds during that trip.

We drove to the shop, with the flashers on, and on the way we saw the cop -- who we promptly saluted with hand gestures hidden in the car that said "$^&%%&". Once at the shop, Domenico promptly changed both bulbs and then discovered that I'm actually American and not English. Which, by the way, he's known since my first visit to see him.

"*%%&*&&%! I thought you were English!"

Playing along, I said, "$&*&^*! I'm not ENGLISH! I'm american!"

This might explain his surprise that I had actually been in the States when he jokingly asked me.

So I gave him a few euro and went on my merry way to pick up some pastaccini and David for the dinner we had been invited to at Augusto and Lina's.

I told them my story.

"Was it the police with the light hair and the red face?", they asked me.

"Yeah!"

"Ah. Well..."

Apparently that explained everything.

2011-01-22T17:31:00.001+01:00

I've been wanting to learn German for some time now. You know, for all those dinner parties I go to here in Italy...where the predominant language is German.

So anyway, David got me a German workbook for Christmas (along with Michel Thomas' language cd's - if you want to learn a language and don't know Michel, you're missing out). We had a German friend over for dinner the other night. I told her about my plan to learn German and showed her my book, as if I needed to prove to her that I was serious. Here's the book...

She just laughed and said, "ahhhh, 10 minutes a day. But it doesn't say HOW MANY days!"

She's got a point there. For the rest of my life is probably the answer.

Let's look at a few other things that can be done in just 10 minutes a day...for the rest of your life:

1. Cleaning the terraces.

In anticipation of David's return home from his summer season of work, I had asked Augusto to "clean the terraces" for us. I thought it would be a nice little gift I could give David...the gift being my not nagging him all winter to go clean the terraces. I also thought that with a couple days work Augusto would weed whack a bit and voila! No no no. I should know Augusto better than that by now. I should also have known better what the state of our terraces was.

So Augusto has been working, well, a lot. I've seen him taking machinery up to our land that I didn't even know existed in an effort to tame the wilderness that we've allowed to grow there. He did weed whack...where he could. He also cut down a ton of our trees that were either dead or so overtaken by weeds that they would be dead soon.

Then he said, "so now you guys got a little burning to do." That's like the understatement of the century. And then he said, "and you've got a lot of nice wood for your stove." Yep, we sure do. Except the "wood" is still in tree form that all needs to be chopped before we can even start the burning.

Bottom line is that I've given David (and myself) a really nice gift that keeps giving...just 10 minutes a day for the rest of our lives we'll be cleaning the terraces.

2. Mette's new shawl.

Yep, Mette's back which means the knitters are back together. She got this beauty from her husband as a Christmas gift.

No no no you non-knitters. He didn't give that shawl. He gave the PATTERN and the YARN to make it herself. What a guy!

Look at that thing! Makes me dizzy just thinking about the work that's going to go into that puppy. Mette, just 10 minutes a day....

and last but not least...

3. My new peasant dress.

Another Christmas gift I got was this awesome hand knit creation from my mom.

Can you believe that she made that for me? I'm sure THAT will totally put her at the top of the list for Mother of the Year this year.

And I'm sure she just had to work on that for, well, like 10 minutes a day.

connections

2011-01-12T21:53:00.000+01:00

So, I've recently reconnected with one of my old friends on that wonder of internet networking/great time-sucks known as Facebook. After the usual recapping of 20 odd years in 3-4 sentences, my old pal asked me this:

"Lynn, what is a girl who graduated with degree in economics from a rather prestigious school doing on the side of a mountain KNITTING?"

Well, Tommy (that's not really his name, by the way) here's the answer:

I'm working on this *

while I listen to this.**

*For you knitter/crocheters: if you aren't into animal hats, or maybe develop an involuntary nervous twitch to anything Martha, Lois (from comments fame) has this great project -- a perfect quick one for working on whilst listening to a radio play.

**For you non-knitter/non-economists: this is a very enjoyable explanation for the terrible state of the world's economy. And if you don't think you have the 45 minutes to listen to it, just don't get on Facebook tonight. Grab a glass or mug of your favorite beverage and settle in.

2011-01-07T16:22:00.000+01:00

So I just got an email from Wayne (of the comments fame) telling me, and I quote, "Let's get up off of the couch and get back on that blog!!"

In fact, the couch is exactly where I have been. I can't help it, I've been digesting. And I find that's easier done in the horizontal position, preferably with a book or a movie.

A few nights ago we were invited to dinner for panini fritti. Yep, they are exactly what they sound like -- deep fried sandwiches. Whoa. I don't know if TNT tastes as good going down as panini fritti but the end results of the two is the same.

And yesterday was the Befana (aka: the epiphany, to Christians). Happy Befana. I've never really understood the Befana holiday. I guess I still don't. Befana is a witch. She comes on the 6th of January to bring presents to kids.

This site is kind of helpful for some Befana background. But I have my own theory which is that the Italians wanted to extend their Christmas holidays for yet another week after New Year, so they invented another holiday. They decided to make the mascot a witch because, apart from the gifts that she brings the kids, ya know what she really brings?

The end of your winter holidays. That witch.

So we were invited yesterday to celebrate the befana by, you guessed it, eating and drinking.

Pork was on the menu.

Are any of you who've been following OliveKnitting for awhile worried about the pig population in this country?...I'm starting to be concerned. Yesterday we had the usual 6 course meal. Of the six, only 2 didn't contain a pork product...those of course being the fruit/nut course and dessert. There were 5 pork dishes in the antipasti and 3 in the secondo. Oh yeah, and the primo piatto was ricotta and bacon stuffed cannelloni.

That's a lot of pork.

Just in case you were wondering, here was yesterday's Befana (or her husband) with the dessert....

Just a little tiramisu.

Today David and I did some grocery shopping. We've never bought so many veggies at one time. I should be off the couch in no time at all.

Happy New Year, Everyone.

2010-12-27T17:11:00.000+01:00

So, here I sit, back in my home after a month away. Back at my computer in my studio which is the upper floor of my old italian stone house. I'm facing the 10' turkish rug hanging on the wall that David bought in Istanbul 11 years ago when we started this journey. I'm warmed by the wood fire, the sounds of my dogs barking out side in the garden, and the smell of chicken alla cacciatore coming from the kitchen. I can't help but think of Kevin Costner.

If you build it they will come.

Prior to coming up to start this post, I opened a bottle of prosecco, the wine of celebrations in my mind. "Guess what today is," I said to David. "Dude, I've been writing my blog for 5 years! Yeah, ok, like not really in the last month, but I mean, like I STARTED 5 years ago. Whoa."

Then we played that game that we like to play..."where WERE we 5 years ago?!" (note: I highly recommend this game. It's fun to reminisce as a couple, to view the passage of time and how it's manifested in your lives together, and, if your partner happens to be a lot older than you, it's a good way to check for dementia).

We were here, of course, 5 years ago. In this little stone house, trying to kick start a life "off the grid", or "in the margins", or if you prefer, without a tv. Five years ago there were no stairs connecting the first and second floors. No ceilings or insulation. No room in the house that was protected from the weather. No city water. Sometimes no water at all and, sometimes no heat at all - and sometimes both (or neither, as it were) at the same time. No jewelry business, no tour guiding, sometimes, no work at all. No high speed internet, no skype, no home phone. No dogs. Few friends, except the ones that were far away. A lot of knitting.

Hmm. That all sounds rather pathetic - except the knitting part, of course.

If you build it they will come.

I'm not really sure exactly what I think I've built here. Honestly, I'm not even sure if I'm referring to my blog, my house, or my life. They do all seem to be woven together. Or maybe a better textile metaphor would be that they are all three one big tangled ball of knotted yarn that I'm too impatient to unscramble but I've started knitting a sweater with it anyway. (only the knitters our there will understand that, sorry. I don't mean to speak in a secret code in front of the rest of you but, well, that's the way it is. Learn to knit if you want to understand - start with a wad of yarn the cat's been playing with...then you'll get it).

So anyway, thanks for coming - all of you who've come to visit, virtually and actually. And to the people who have helped landscape my garden and taught me how to prepare cozze. And those who have contributed time, money, moral support, a stove, and annual car posters. To a community of knitters that I'd only dreamed of having and who are real people and real mentors. And thanks to the gardeners who have taught me about compost and how to tend to veggies and what to do with them when I have them (you guys -- your job's not really done here yet). And those who have taught me the power of the internet with its vast community and infinite free patterns to share.

And I'd like to thank my host, Blogspot, without all the hard work you guys do I wouldn't have....

Oh, sorry, I got a little carried away there.

Anyway, thanks for coming...and here's to another 5.

Hello from Wisconsin Part II

2010-12-12T19:39:00.000+01:00

Italy meets Wisconsin, again...

I'm supposed to fly out tomorrow...feel free to speak with the saint of your choice on my behalf.

Now, I've got to go. It's Sunday and everyone knows what that means. Yep. Go Pack. (and I don't mean my luggage)

Hello from Wisconsin - Part 1

2010-12-08T17:06:00.000+01:00

Italy meets Wisconsin....

at Christmas time...

PS. If you don't recognize the men in these photos a)you should be embarrassed, b) you can go here and here.

2010-11-22T17:25:00.000+01:00

Guess what I'm doing tomorrow?

Yep, this.

Guess where I'm going?

Yep, here.

(not Puerto Rico)

2010-11-19T13:21:00.000+01:00

So we were sitting in a restaurant last night, having some din and listening to some music with a couple of our Thanksgiving participants. They were Maberga virgins before last Sunday, now they can't get the place out of their minds.

In fact, the husband was talking all about his journey to the top of the world for American thanksgiving at work the other day. His colleague says, "yeah. I know Maberga! Ya know how it got it's name?"

Here's his story.

During the Roman times, Taggia (the town at the bottom of the mountain, our mother town, if you will) was a prosperous, reputable town (not that it isn't now, but I guess it was more so then...2000 years ago). Being an honourable, high class place, Taggia needed a place where they could send their undesirables...you know in the same way England needed Australia.

So these unwanted misfits were banished to a place far away in the mountains where they had to fight the elements and search for water and grow their own food. They called this place Mal Bergo, which of course in Latin means "the bad town" or maybe "the town of the bad" or, you know, something like that (my latin isn't what it used to be).

Over time, it's become known simply as Maberga...home to misfits who fight the elements, search for water and grow their own food.

Thanksgiving - Mal Bergo style

I'm just kidding. That's a 5 star hotel somewhere in Piedmont.

Ours looked like this

2010-11-13T21:37:00.000+01:00

It's the coolest damn thing. You wake up on the day before you are having guests and your house is TOTALLY CLEAN, spotless, like I'd-eat-off-the-floor-and-you-have-dogs clean. That's just freakin amazing....

Yeah yeah yeah...thanksgiving planning at Casa Cornwell continued today with me brandishing the mop, vacuum, and dust rag for about 10 hours straight. How is that possible in a 900 square foot house, you ask? Actually, right now I'm asking myself the same thing. Let's do the math...

umm...ok, let's not.

Trust me, it took all day to clean my house. Thank goodness David did the last minute shopping and then cooked for, well, 10 hours straight.

We're having 8 people for dinner. I wonder what my folks are doing given that they will be hosting somewhere around 45 people on the 25th.

On a related note I'd like to report that our turkey arrived today...it's a girl and she weighs a bouncing 6.7 kilo.

...you do the math, I'm too tired.

If you're passing by Maberga tomorrow around 3, stop in. I think we'll have enough.

Turkeys

2010-11-06T17:33:00.000+01:00

Oh my God, I forgot, I have a blog.

Thanksgiving planning is well underway in Casa Cornwell. We will have two Thanksgivings this year, one in the States and one here.

So the other day I went to order the turkey. You have to order a turkey in this country if you want to be assured of having one. They aren't just piled floor to ceiling in every grocery store from Nov 1 on. Oh no...

So I went to the butcher who is called "Barba Rossa" (Red Beard...he doesn't really have a red beard but he does have a beard and it's redder than, well, say, mine). Barba Rossa is the most awesome place to buy anything that I've ever been...seriously, Barba Rossa is to meat what Skyloom Fibers was to yarn (sadly closed now - some of you Denver readers will surely remember it).

So I illegally parked my car outside Barba Rossa's shop (everyone does this, it's just part of the shopping experience) and went in. I walked directly to the cashier and said, "I was wondering if maybe I might perhaps be able to get maybe a turkey?" She turned to the guy with a machete behind her (Barba Rossa's brother, he's got dark hair and no beard).

He said, "no problem. I can get you a whole adult 'maschio' (male) which would be about 14 kilo."

Ok. Time out.

Since this is a Thanksgiving story, I'll like to stop here and interject a few things that I'm thankful for:

1. I'm grateful for having had the presence of mind before going to order a turkey to look up what size I would want. (yes, at 41 I am for the first time in my life cooking a turkey - by the way, I read 1 to 1.5 lbs per person...if this is wrong, please don't anyone tell me because it's too late)

2. I'm grateful for knowing that 1 kilo is 2.2 lbs.

and

3. I'm grateful that I don't need a freakin' 14 kilo turkey. In case some of you are slow with the math, 14 kilos are 30.8 lbs.

Oh, and

4. I'm also grateful that we don't have 14 kilo turkeys running wild around Maberga.

Back to the butcher...

"um, wow. yeah. that's great. um, there will just be 8 of us."

"I'll get you an adolescent female"

I hope she's got breasts.

Is progress always good? Right now I would say, no.

2010-10-15T21:08:00.000+02:00

So the idralico came to Maberga today.

The idralico put in them tubes I've been waiting for. Actually, it was just one tube, made of some space-age polymer that is guaranteed for 50 years, AND insulated against freezing. Here it is...

Lovely, no? No.

Trying to be optimistic and find the neon blue lining in every cloud, even in one that runs across my back yard, I keep telling myself, "cool! Never ending water with pressure."

So the idralico, and his father, attached this eye-sore from the main water tube to our house. Then they made sure that the boiler didn't leak and that the water actually ran into the house. Cool. All working well. Then they left.

Approximately 10 minutes after they left, I washed some dishes. I washed dishes in some high pressure sink water that had no insects in it. Very cool.

Then....

I turned off the water in the sink. Nope. The water just kept running after I turned the faucets off. We're not talking here about a drip. The water was gushing, with all that beautiful high pressure right through the kitchen sink...whilst the tap was closed.

Ring, ring.

"Augusto?"

"Ciao, Lina? Hai l'acqua?" (do you have the water?!)

"Yep, Augusto. I sure do!"

"bene. bene." (great)

"Yeah, but there's a little problem. It doesn't stop. The water is gushing from the kitchen sink, I can't get it to stop, AND now I have to pay for the water so I've got to make it stop."

"hmmm?"

"yeah. Can you tell the idralico?"

So the idralico calls and tells me he will be here first thing in the morning.

"so I should turn off the water at the main for tonight?"

"si. Se non vuoi pagare per tutta la acqua persa" (yeah. unless you want to pay for the water you are losing in the sink).

So after making dinner tonight, I went out to the garden hose ... which is now connected to the old water tube from the mountain spring. I filled the watering can several times to bring water into the kitchen sink to wash the dishes.

As I was filling the water jug for the third time I thought, "wow, this is really funny. It's like what it must have been like in the old days when one had to bring water inside from the pump to wash." Then I stopped laughing when I remembered that just a few hours ago I had running water INSIDE my house.

So, as I sit here wishing I could have a high pressure city water shower, or even a bug infested mountain spring green water bath, I'm thinking maybe I prefer the old technology.

Good news is, if I have to go several days without a shower, I have a new hat to hide my unwashed-hair...

On a completely unrelated note, I'd like to thank everyone for your kind words of support about my better-than-half success on this summer's projects. Let me tell you, it wasn't easy but, shucks, with you guys behind me, heck, I feel like I can be below average whenever I want. I love this blog.

I would also like to thank Lois for giving me this award. That's so very nice. Thank you.

From now on, I'm an optimist.

2010-10-07T09:10:00.000+02:00

So here's the thing. Pessimism doesn't pay.

Remember that city water that we've been waiting for? How could you forget, I've been whinging about it for ...um...years? Yeah, years. I've been waiting, and talking and planning and talking and waiting for the city water to arrive at Casa Cornwell for years. I've got to be honest with you, I just never really thought that it would happen. Pessimism.

Then this heroic neighbor fought and fought, filled out form after form, raised money and interest, and then fought some more. There were arguments with bureaucrats and neighbors and then, when one group was satisfied, the other group started up again with complaints, always stopping or slowing the progress. I'd like to point out that this persistent neighbor doesn't even live in Maberga. He has an amazing rustico (read: ruin) that, with about a million euro and 100 years of work can be habitable. But all the same this neighbor stayed on the water cause. He must have been dreaming about that hot shower with loads of pressure that he could have when he finally moves into that house of his. Optimism.

So then when the bureaucrats finally gave the go ahead, the tubes came. Kilometers of tubes going from the top of the mountain to the bottom. Neighbors pitched in and the tubes were installed. And still, I doubted. So we had some tubes, the water still wasn't running through them.

Last Friday I passed this neighbor on the road. "Lina, the water is open."

"What?"

"The water is open. You can turn on your tubes and have the city water in your house."

No. No I can't. I have no tubes connecting the main to my house. Pessimism dampened that fire that should have been under my ass to organize my water tubes.

So now all that clean, potable water with all its beautiful pressure, that should be showering down on my head, is just rushing by my house.

Lesson learned, from now on I choose optimism.

Let me start here with a look back at Project 20/20...which I have declared is over. Since it was meant to be a summer challenge and since I've just done the summer/winter clothes exchange thing and I'm thinking about turning the heat on tonight, summer must be over. Project 20/20 over.

Let's look at how I did: 12 house and knitted projects completed. Twelve. The challenge was 20. Twenty.

At this point we can take one of two perspectives.

12 out of 20 is 3/5th, or 60%, or a D-. Wow. Decidedly below average and a total drag to think about.

Let's try that again in a different way...

12 out of 20 is more than half done! My glass isn't merely half full, it's 10% MORE than half full! Plus, I have 12 + 12 (house and knitting) projects done that weren't done at the beginning of this brilliant initiative of mine. That's actually 24 projects...wait, I haven't quite finished a couple of the knitting ones, so let's subtract 2...that's still 22 projects which is actually more than 20!!!! That is truly awesome! Well done, indeed. (shut up you pessimists...I know that the project was 20/20 which is actually a total of 40 projects. Just shut up, ok?) Now my glass is over flowing!!!!!

Optimism is way better.