Salmon Gnom Gnom

So your boss gave you an enormous smoked salmon for Christmas.  Mine didn’t.  Mine gave me a purse, but maybe yours did.  I bought this one when all the fancy boss-like Christmas goods went half off.  

   Here’s a recipe even my kids like that is served as easily for dinner as brunch.   

The ingredients:

1 ball of pizza dough
3 eggs scrambled
 Mild white cheese
 Smoked salmon
 Mustard or Dijon
 Sour cream

Okay, as you know, I live in Italy.  It is relatively easy for me to get a ball of pizza dough.  I can buy homemade dough fresh daily at the grocery.  Don’t worry if you don’t a.) live in Italy or b.) want to spend the time making your own.  There are ways around this.  Ask at your local pizza parlor if they will sell you a dough ball.  Lots of places will.  How easy is that?  There is also always the option of canned pizza dough, which I think tastes like a can, but it is an option.

-Rollout your dough more or less until it covers a cookie sheet. 

-Spread the three eggs you scrambled down the center as evenly as your sanity will permit.

When I used to make a version of this in the States, I would use Havarti Cheese.  As with so many things I used to cook with in America, I can’t find havarti cheese here.  I started buying asiago cheese because it sort of looked like Havarti.  Turns out the taste isn’t far off either.  Use whatever you like, but I would suggest something mild.

-cut the cheese (teehee) and place a layer on top of the eggs

-add a layer of salmon

-take a sharp knife and slice the edges of the dough into strps.  Try to get the same number of tabs on each side.  If you don’t – whatever.  You’re going to eat it, not hang it on the wall for a few generations.

-criss cross (make you jump, jump) the dough tabs like so

-pop it in a preheated, let’s say 350 degree, oven for…well, until the dough gets a bit golden

While it’s baking is a good time to make a yummy simple sauce from two of my refrigerator staples: mustard and sour cream.  It is pretty simple, half Sour Cream, half mustard or Dijon.  How much you make is completely up to you.

Plate it up and wait for the smiles J

I like this recipe because it reminds me of a couple really good friends.  Also, it can be altered to include anything.  I often make the same recipe with egg whites and soy-sage (my pet name for vegetarian soy sausage) as a breakfast treat for the fam.  It works well with about anything you would put into a hot sandwich, like ham and cheese. 

Happy Chinese New Year

Look what Santa brought me <3

Happy Chinese New Year to all my friends.  As it is, Chinese New year was nowhere on my radar.  Well, it wasn’t until I got to the casino last night.  I play in Venice at a place they bill as an “American Style” casino.  I can’t afford to play in the rare cash game that goes, but they host a lot of tournaments, (nightlies through WPT events and a lot in between) so I keep busy.  Last night I was going to play in a satellite for a pretty big tournament series later this week.  The drive SUCKED.  I was thirty miles from home before the THICK frozen fog lifted.  It was nuts.  I was crawling along at 40ish miles an hour on the autostrada even with my fog lights.  Ferrara is known for it’s crappy fog, but this was a whole new level.  I finally got to the casino right when the tournament was starting which would normally mean that I am just going to be sitting down ten or so minutes in; however, there was an obscene line just to get to the check-in desk.  So I am standing there waiting, agitated, and eventually I notice that I am tall.  Random. Yes, but that hasn’t often happened (outside of elementary schools) since I lived in Japan…  Then it hits me.  The entire line is Asian!  Normal to see a higher proportion of Asians in the casino than any other place in Italy, but this was twilight zone weird.  Then it clicked, Chinese New Year. 

Eventually I’m admitted to the casino, register for the tournament and head back to the poker room.  The way it works here is, you pay for the tournaments in one area of the casino, then go to the poker room, hand in your ticket and get a seat assignment.   Yesterday they had turned more than half of the poker room into a reception area for the holiday.  I had to “permesso” my way past herds folks eating oranges and drinking champagne to get to the window.  At one point I look down and there is a long rib on the floor in front of me.  Eeeew.  Yet another five minutes to get a seat card…grrr.  I then “permesso” myself into the area of the poker room still being used for, of all things, poker and find my seat.  Scanning the room, I am once again, the only female in the field.  My seat is right on the edge of the room so I have Italian chatter at my table drowned out by the Chinese chatter from the other room…which really was just made by the management placing a line of free standing posters at the table’s edge to segregate the play.  I was card dead for a long time.  I saw Q-3 and J-2 off-suit more than I care to mention.  It was brutal.  The only chips I pulled came from well timed steals here and there.  The Italians have very aggressive poker styles for the most part, and that’s fine by me.  They will often bet for me and build juicy pots. 

Forty plus minutes in I look down at my first truly playable hand, K-Q off-suit.  After being card dead so long, it was like looking at two shiny Aces.  Clearly they weren’t, but go with it.  I put in a 3.5 times raise from middle position.  Button calls as does the small blind.  Flop comes K high with two hearts.  I have no hearts.  Small bets out 2/3 of the pot. I flat.  Button three bets it.  Small has me covered and pushes in.  Suddenly my cards feel more like sardines than aces.  I think and fidget.  Either I am slightly ahead, way beat right now or he has a strong heart draw.   Couldn’t figure it out so I fold.   Button calls with a gut shot.  Small turns over A-J off.  No one even pairs; A-J takes the pot with high card and I am twisted that I didn’t have a better read and triple up.  Oh well.  Crazy. 

And so it goes.  I still have plenty of chips.  I have played the Italian boys before.  It’s going to be fine.  Another level ticks past.  Players are being sent packing like a speed round of The Apprentice.  Lots of chips on our table and I want them in my stack.    At some point I notice an I-phone peek through the poster screen and take my photo.  Um, really?  Oh wait, there’s another.  WTH?  I actively catch six photos being taken of me.  So strange.  I’m sitting there thinking about how odd this is.  I give myself a once over, checking for toilet paper on my shoe or lipstick on my teeth.  I don’t seem to be doing or wearing anything truly embarrassing.  The fellow next to me notices the phenomenon, looks really hard at me, then down at my seat card which has my name printed on it.  He makes a strange face then goes back to his cards.  Clearly he couldn’t make heads or tails of it either.  If it isn’t that I have dinner in my teeth, is it that I am female and playing poker?   Then it hits me.  They clearly think I am someone else.  Going through my mind’s rolodex of tiny female poker players with short blond hair, I settle on Jennifer Harmon.  Since she is married to an Italian, it isn't that far fetched.  I have a good laugh figuring that one short blond haired Anglo must look like every other short blond haired Anglo.  Who knows if I nailed it or not.  Who cares.  It was as close to a paparazzi experience as I expect to have and it tickled me to no end.

So the tournament and the digital film kept rolling.  I pick up a small pot here and a steal there, but no really big hands until this one:  I call the BB with 78h.  Button bumps to 4xbb.  BB called, I called closing the preflop action.  Three to the flop.  A78 rainbow.  BB checks, I push expecting any ace to call.  Original raiser folds.  BB calls with a weak ace – bingo!  He turns his kicker – boo!  "Permesso"!  I’m wading back through the Chinese New Year celebration on the way to my car.  Bet Jennifer Harmon would have played that better.  Happy New Year. 

This morning I went to get my paperwork renewed that lets me enter Italy and live here.  It seems that mine had expired…before my last trip to Vegas.  I hadn’t noticed and, lucky for me, neither did the immigration agent who checked my papers.  Oops.  It is always fun going to get papers done here.  Well, at least it makes for funny cocktail-hour fodder.  With Vegas on the horizon, I am happily digging through my wardrobe for lighter weight clothes.  I’ve even set aside a bathing suit.  May be wishful thinking, but I sure wouldn’t mind a little sun kissing right now.  I need to look good for my Asian fan base you know.

The difference between Mom and Dad

At school my kids make art like the tween sweatshop workers produce reduced-price plus-sized jeans for Wal-Mart.  If I were one of those moms who kept every scrap of paper my children ever made an adorable little doodle on, we would need a separate room for 2009-2011 and a full time employee to catalog the collection.  I, however, am not that Mom.  Normally I look at the scraps of paper, smile, coo, ask questions and then toss ‘em as soon as they turn their heads.

Then there are the art projects that cause me to shoot coffee out of my nose. 

Yesterday Rex brought home this beautiful painting.

Kelly: So Rex, who is this?

Rex: It’s my Dad.

Kelly: Wow.  He has some big arms!

Rex: Yeah, he's weally stwong.

Kelly: What is that he is holding?

Rex: Oh, that’s a sword.  And the udder one is a throw-y thing that takes bad guys heads off then comes back to you.  He’s fighting bad guys.

Kelly:  Wow.  Well, it’s really pretty.  Keep it up!

Kelly: So tell me about this beautiful drawing.

Rex: It’s you Mommy.  You’re Boo-dee-ful.

Kelly:  Awww, thanks baby.  What is that coming out of the side of my head?

Rex: Your arms silly Mama.

Kelly: …and these things here by my waist?  What are they?

Rex: Those are those fings that stick out on you (while grabbing my child bearing hips)

Kelly: Wow.  Well, it’s really pretty.  Keep it up!

So, Daddy fights bad guys with kick ass weaponry and Mom needs to diet.

If you enjoyed this post, take a moment to visit this site that always makes me laugh: I'm better than your kids

January 20th

It is January 20th. This morning there was frost on the roof tops and on the edges of the streets where cars had not yet passed. The air was cold enough to chill me through my layers and bite my lungs with each inhale.

Husband and I move house a lot. We have lived in four countries and five states. So many of my frames of reference are based on which of the ten or so houses we lived in when this happened or when we knew those people. But today is January 20th, a day, an acute frame of reference.

At exactly this hour two years ago the kids had been taken to school. Husband’s schedule had been shifted slightly so he was just ready to leave for work. I was running the Hoover. We were laughing. Token, a dear friend and Husband’s workmate, called. He sounded intense, but really, that wasn’t unusual for him. He said he was stopping by with his wife. They were three minutes out. It was strange. Always a pleasure to see them, but just a weird time for an unplanned visit.

I was still vacuuming the floors when they showed up so husband let them in. The faces were wrong. These were my friends, but the faces…they stopped the morning’s laughter cold. Something was wrong. Really wrong. It was hard for Token to get the words out. But he did. “The boss was in an accident on the way to work today. He didn’t make it.” Shockwaves bounced off my dining room walls. There was a buzzing in my ears that hadn’t been there a moment before. “I need to use your shower” he said, “I have to go to the house”. I had just seen Boss in a dream the night before...

None among us knew if his wife and kids had been informed yet, but Token was the oldest son of sorts and he would be the one at the house. Motioning to his wife and I, “You two need to get it together and wait a driveway or two down from the house if the widow needs you. You can pick up Debutant on the way”.

I couldn’t make sense of what was happening. The Boss was the best of the best. He was the guy who could look at you and see you completely, yet only focus on the good. A truly great man. I found myself behaving irrationally. I kept repeating things like, “there has to be a mistake” and “no, he is one of the good ones” as I dressed myself in a pink wool sweater and black trousers. I shook my head and said profound things such as, “No. No no no no. NO!” as I filled a bag with frozen chicken tenderloin, veggies and noodles. If I couldn’t make it right, I would make soup.

Chaos. One event causes chaos. It started off as a Wednesday. I was going to the gym. Doing wash. Going to indulge in a little on-line poker. Before I knew it, I was in the car with two of my besties and a bag of groceries that I clung to like my sanity depended on making soup. We had been together, all of us, on the Friday prior. It was a celebration for one of our own which we paired with a pot luck. The boss was an awkward public speaker. Sweet as sugar, but even in front of just us, his awkwardness came through. The words were pure and heartfelt, but he had trouble controlling his focus and eventually his shoulder went to shrugging a bit. It was the first time I had seen this and I thought it was funny. I am always one to poke fun at myself, and I found myself laughing inside at this sweet sweet man. He was so classy. He tried everything at the lunch and made sure to find out which of us ladies had made which item then complemented each of us in turn with sincere words of thanks for each of our support.

My mind wondered in and out of this encounter just days prior as we rode in shock to the home. We were requested immediately. The priest was there already and people I didn’t know. It was literally freezing outside, but she was outside in a big cozy robe and slippers being embraced and sobbing shocked tears. I went inside. Her tea cup sat empty on the table next to the tiny plate containing crumbs from her morning’s toast. Her kids' breakfast dishes sat in the sink. The house had a sense of shattered normalcy. It was in my stomach and my throat, whatever “it” was. It was on the faces of everyone there. People came and went. We stayed. Debutant took the widow upstairs and helped her bathe and dress. I started making soup. If I couldn’t make it all go away, I could make soup. She hadn’t been expecting a house full of people. No one expects to get that knock on the door. But, not expecting it won’t keep it from coming. I cooked the chicken, used veggies from atop her butcher block and some from my bag. I sliced the tomatoes thinking, “He might have bought this for her on his way home from work the other day…” Grateful to have something to keep my mind busy, I chopped and sautéed.

I had just added the noodles when Doc arrived. He had medicine to help the widow. He was going to come to the house later anyway because her kids weren’t feeling 100%. They had been taken out, uninformed earlier. Debutant had successfully gotten the widow dressed, and the Doc’s contributions had been helpful. Still people in and out. I stirred the soup, passed out sincere hugs and wept.

It isn’t like I had never been around death before. Of course I had. When my Pap passed, I was pleased for him. He had lived to over 90 and suffered so little. He had not outlived any of his children and his wife was waiting for him on the other side. Husband’s Dad had passed, but his health and mental abilities had slipped to such a point that shedding his earthly body and entering the Kingdom of heaven seemed like a blessed event. This just all felt different. Boss had just turned 45 a month prior. His youngest child is the same age as my Rutabaga.

The days passed and we were always there. Someone. We went in shifts. The days blurred together. I can’t recount it all, nor would I want to. Watching someone you care about go through such a horrible ordeal is something that changes you. There were two of us there the morning she went to see her husband in the morgue. She had spent the morning getting herself looking perfect. She wanted to look nice for him, for her love. It was the hardest morning. She came down, more herself than she had been since Wednesday morning. She looked beautiful. Her friend had come to drive her. She spoke clearly and we supported her in any way we could. My heart broke for her. For days we had been doing anything we could to support and help her. We made sure there was food in the house. In America it seems that the thing to do is to send food to the house, it isn’t the same here in Italy. We had hugged, cried, answered the phone, mopped the floors, washed dishes. She called us her angels...so considerate of us, even in her hardest hour. She came home after the morgue and spoke with her Mom on the telephone. It was removed a bit and matter of a fact. They had tried to keep her from seeing him because of the violent nature of the passing, but she needed to. The recount to her mother was heart wrenching and unforgettable.

Usually I was happy to have something to do. Something to keep me busy and make me feel useful. The laundry was hard. Before everything changed, it had just been a Wednesday after all. The wash had been drying on three racks in the office, Boss’s office. Folding the wash about did me in. This was her sweat suit that she wore when she expected to go grey with her husband. These little clothes belonged to children that no longer had a father to read them bedtime stories and see them off to college someday. This shirt was worn by a father and a husband who wasn’t coming home. I didn’t feel worthy of touching these things. The walls were covered in snapshots of a man’s life that had ended prematurely. My heart continued to break for them, all of them. My guilt was ridiculous. I sat comforting this woman, this family and I felt so guilty. When I went home, my family was whole.

Here’s an e-mail I sent to my Mom, “We are just 12 Americans here. Yesterday morning, on the way to work, we lost the Boss. He had a wife and 2 kids...10 and 6. I never thought I would be in a woman's home after being informed about her husband's death. I am at a loss. 24 hours later I feel hollow and tired like I have been working for days even though I just woke up. Yesterday morning instead I made soup. In a lovely kitchen in Italy. While a woman's life crumbled around her. I believe in God and in heaven but none of that gives me the right words. None of this is public yet. None of it feels fully real. Even in her house I keep thinking I am going to wake up and it will all be right again. He was the biggest and strongest of all of us. A great boss. Present. Interested. Just good inside. We all had lunch together on Friday. We had reservations for lunch this Friday as well. He really cared for and about us. Husband sat in his office Tuesday and they went over Husband’s work review. We talked about the meeting and the Boss Tuesday night. Then Wednesday morning a truck and a frozen over pass widowed a woman and took a Dad of 2. It is so sad and my guilt gets me. I am so glad it wasn’t my house they were making soup at. It is relief that morphs into humbling guilt. Such a GOOD guy. So amazingly surreal. They tell the kids this morning that their Dad has passed. It is numbing. My heart and prayers go out to them. I'm making muffins now. If I can't make it all go away, I can make food.”

They had a memorial service here, one of three, and there were tons of arrangements and things that had to happen. There were financials to find and sort out. Arrangements to be made for this abbreviated family as well the family that had come to help. Everyone pulled together. The service was beautiful and the Boss’s wife spoke to the attendees in both English and Italian. She was amazing. So strong. Outside we stood with her. He had died on a bridge when a truck couldn’t make the slight turn due to freezing. Outside the church she embraced a man with more survivor guilt than anyone, the man in the car behind his. He wore a neck brace, but his true trauma lay inside of him. I heard him apologize to her. She embraced him with all of her arms and all of her heart. They sobbed shoulder jerking tears together as she accepted his bereavement and eased his sorrow. The human spirit is amazing. We heal together.

 I had been on this nonstop since the moment I heard, but I couldn’t go to the second memorial. Almost everyone else did, I just couldn’t. It was held in a town just a couple hours away, where the family used to live and still owned a home. I needed to recharge so I could be strong again. The sorrow, guilt, sadness and ceaseless help had depleted me. I don’t know how long I had been running on empty. Time no longer existed.

 Two weeks after the accident I was sitting in Widow's driveway waiting to take her pets while she accompanied her husband's body back to the States for yet another (the third) funeral and for burial. It was two weeks that felt like the longest three months of my life. She wasn’t ready even though I had helped her pack her bags the night before and bring them down. I don’t know if I would ever be ready for that journey…bags packed or not. I sat in the car and listened to music. Perhaps you are unaware, but I like metal. Heavy metal. I like loud heavy music. So, I was surprised when a ballad I had never heard came on and I momentarily felt a smile from the Boss, as silly as that sounds. The song took me to tears immediately. I sobbed uncontrollably while I just as uncontrollably pushed the repeat button. Then through my tears I tried to sing the words and I cried some more. Harder. The airport driver arrived at some point. Didn’t care. All I could do was listen to the song. Again. Again. Again. I listened to it until it was familiar, comfortable. I sang along until I couldn’t make words through the tears. About a half hour later she bravely emerged. We hugged and kissed and hugged some more. I hugged the kids. Then again for good measure. I gathered up the pets: 1 dog and 1 cat and got back in my car. Secretly I couldn’t wait to be back in my car. I was tired. I had been neglecting my family for two weeks, putting off dealing with the death under the guise of needing to be strong for Widow. I wanted to go home crawl under the covers and not come out until the world made sense. I wanted to play the song.

I listened to the song an obscene number of times. I knew every word by nightfall. It went through my head for comfort. When I needed to I would put it on again. And I would cry. One day I made it through the whole song without losing it. I was stunned and cold. What happened? Had I gone cold? Could I dare smile again without thinking Boss wasn’t getting this day, this smile? Then one day I didn’t play the song. Not once. I didn’t notice. It was a week, maybe two before I noticed I had stopped. Time passed and I looked for lessons I could learn to improve my life with my family that were all still alive. I vowed to finish unfinished projects that lurked in closets and under beds. I vowed to keep the paperwork well in order and to love everyone everyday even if they made it challenging. I was here. I could take that challenge. I decided to go ahead with a very selfish something I had wanted for years but didn’t do it because it was selfish. It’s okay! 

 He died in a car accident on a bridge that froze before the road. I decided I would never use that bridge even though it was between home and Husband’s work. I would take another way…the long way…the windy way…whatever, just not that way. As if I could keep death away by just not taking that road. That bridge. Then one day it happened. I went to get Husband at work and followed the GPS. The bridge was straight ahead. How could I have been so careless? My breathing went shallow and my palms went to sweat. There was no place to go. I had to go over the bridge. Then I did. My heart hurt. My eyes stung. I had driven over the bridge. I pulled over and turned on the song. It felt completely different. I felt completely different. The words said something I hadn’t heard before. Not in the hundreds of times I had listened to them.

I sit at my computer today – two years later and I am listening to the song. I want you to listen too.


 Shine On
By: Jet

Please don't cry
You know I'm leaving here tonight
Before I go I want you to know that there will always be a light

And if the moon had to runaway
And all the stars didn't wanna play
Don't waste the sun on a rainy day
The wind will soon blow it all away

So many times I'd planned
To be much more than who I am
And if I let you down I will follow you 'round until you understand

That if the moon had to runaway
And all the stars didn't wanna play
Don't waste the sun on a rainy day
The wind will soon blow it all away

When the days all seem the same
Don't feel the cold or wind or rain
Everything will be okay
We will meet again one day
I will shine on, for everyone

So please don't cry
Although I leave you here this night
Where ever I may go how far I don't know
But I will always be your light

That if the moon had to runaway
And all the stars didn't wanna play
Don't waste the sun on a rainy day
The wind will soon blow it all away

When the days all seem the same
Don't feel the cold or wind or rain
Everything will be okay
We will meet again one day
I will shine on, for everyone
When the days all seem the same
Don't feel the cold or wind or rain
Everything will be okay
We will meet again one day
I will shine on, for everyone

At some point I researched the song and found out the lead singer had written it after his Dad had died. His family was having a hard time coping. He wrote this song from his Dad’s perspective. It was recorded in ONE take. Unbelievable.

So many of us are bonded in parallel experiences. I can’t say everything that’s on my heart here today. It has gotten hard to type through the tears. This blog post is more for me than those who will read it. Love. Lots of love out into the world to all of you.

Diamonds and Semi-precious Metals

Ex-Voto from a church in Sorrento

So many of the sites I end up visiting here in Europe are churches of one type or another.  Most of the time I find myself fixated on the ceilings above or the floors below, but every once in a while I actually catch sight of the in-between.  The first time I saw these little metal doll parts (and took notice of them) was in our local Duomo here in Ferrara.  They are tucked away on a back wall easily missed due to the gorgeous alter on their right.  They aren’t advertised, or even illuminated, they just sort of hang out mostly on their own.  They are quite curious though, these metallic hearts, legs and organs.  I found myself looking around for some sort of explanation, but let’s be honest, even if I found one, it would have been in Italian and I wouldn’t have had a clue.  Therefore, like so many curiosities I encounter, the images got stowed away in some seldom accessed nook of my brain and off I went shoe shopping.   

The thing about those nooks and crannies is, sometimes they get accessed.  The fam and I were walking to the train station one day in Sorrento and there was an open church door.  Curiosity got the best of me, much to my poor, drug everywhere children’s grumbles.   It wasn’t the largest or most grand church, but once inside my eyes, of course, went straight to the ceilings.  Gorgeous!  I took photos like I was getting paid by the frame.  On the way out, after a good 60 frames, I see these kooky little body parts!  As with the dog and his bone, I couldn’t let go.  A curiosity had turned to a fascination. 

A couple days later we found ourselves touring inside one of the most interesting churches we had stumbled upon, Chiesa del Gesù Nuovo, a basilica in the heart of Naples.  The name translates to approximately, “Church of the New Jesus”.  The first thing I found fascinating about this place was the façade.  Our town, Ferrara, is riddled with museums, but by far the most famous and fascinating is the Palazzo Dei Diamante, or The Diamond Palace. 

Palazzo Dei Diamante

The name comes from all the hand carved marble diamonds on the face of the building. This place wasn’t always a museum. It was built as a palace for one of those darn Estes I’m always talking about. It was built in 1493 and to say it was another time would be a sad understatement. There seemed to be much more than zoning laws to consider when building in that day. Energy was of the utmost importance and every project needed to have a renowned astrologer on the payroll to tap into the past harmony with nature as well as the forces of heaven and God.


So, legend has it that there was a diamond from the crown of Ercole d'Este hidden in one of the carved diamonds. Why? Why place a valuable gem on the OUTSIDE of a building? To concentrate the earth energies within the building, Duh. Diamante was built to attract the positive forces of the universe. Positive forces or not, I would imagine a hidden gem would attract thieves. Apparently me and the old Duke have that in common. You see, only he and one other dude knew where the diamond was supposedly hidden. As a way to say thanks for your help, the always pleasant Duke had the other man blinded and cut out his tongue for good measure. I personally prefer dinner invitations in thanks, but I’m no royal now am I?




The museum is a fave. I have seen every one of the world class exhibits they have shown during my time here in Ferrara. The most recent I somehow got in for free. I think it may have been the staff doing penance for the nasty Duke, or because I am a resident. What evs.



This actually was the best photo I took of the outside of the church.  If you want to see a better picture, try Google :)



Okay, back to the Church of the New Jesus (conveniently located across the palazzo to the Church of the Old Jesus). The similarities between the Diamond Palace and this place stuck right out. Ha!


Some of the similarities are a bit more obscure.


It really is the façade of this building that fascinates me. Again, it is covered with carved pyramids like a more rustic version of the Diamante. This building is in Naples, in the South of Italy. This Venetian Renaissance architectural style was practically unknown in the south which made this building curious from the start. Let’s explore some deeper curiosities shall we? So positive energy is way better than the alternative negative energy right? Well, if one wants to let the good in and keep the bad out, one needs to hire stone masons that specialize in these things, which they did. When the stones were placed, they included a myriad of signs carved into them. Sounds like Ercole d'Este wasn't the only one hiding things in a diamond point façade. Anyway, legend had it that these etchings were part of the positive energy thing, but maybe they got a bit mixed up because this church just kept suffering one crazy disaster after another. The Jesuits kept being kicked out, the place caught fire, the dome collapsed…a few times, the place was robbed, and well, it was bombed in a little scuffle referred to as WWII. Fail.

Well, in 2010, after centuries of folks thinking that this place just got put together wrong and instead of bringing in all the positive energy, it was bringing in nothing but negative, a discovery was made. The crazy graffiti carved into points was actually Aramaic letters and made a forty-five minute concerto which is now known as Enigma. That makes me want to go watch X-men. Anyone else?


Inside this fabulously resilient Church of the New Jesus is the most spectacular collection of little metal body parts!

I cannot capture it all in one photo.  It is unreal!  The frames wrap and twist around the back of this side chapel climbing the walls to the ceiling!

Here is one of many groupings

Close up from within the chapel

So what are these things? Ex-voto, votive deposits, or votive offerings. Obviously I knew nothing about these when my curiousity got the better of me, but I am capable of researching things of interest. I may have stumbled across these in a Catholic church, but votives go way back. I found pictures I took from items recovered at Pompei listed as ex-voto!  Archaeologists actually found this sort of offering in Sparta in the 5th century BC! It is amazing how many relics are attributed to this sort of offering. In older cultures, it appears these offerings were made in anticipation of prayer or wish fulfillment, or to make nice with some sort of supernatural force. The ones in the Catholic church are more likely to say “thanks” for an answered prayer. A lot of these more modern votive offerings are little semi-precious metal bits like in the pictures above, but not all. In Mexico, they tend to use painted bits. There are loads that are military or maritime related. There is no need for these offering to be tiny either, whole statues or churches can fill the bill. Ever make a votive offering? How about light a votive candle? Think about it.

In case you find yourself wanting to make a votive offering for the healing of a body part, you can find these items still available for purchase...in Naples at least.

Power Hungry American

I have tried to show some of the super cool things about living in Italy, Ferrara in general, in this blog, but not everything is as sweet as the smell of basil in the sunshine.  It is nearly eleven in the morning here and I have fifteen household balls in the air.  I bake cakes, so I have one in the oven and a second cued up for entry.  I made a lot of dishes assembling these cakes so the dish washer was in use, as was the washer.  Last night I cut Rex’s hair because froes on big headed white kids aren’t really that cute. When I got my first load of wash out I went to hang it to dry as normal and noticed little bits of Rex’s hair were sprouting from my freshly washed wears.  Because of this I allowed myself the indulgence of the drier.  Generally I do ten to twelve loads of laundry a week.  It sounds like a lot, but we have a European washer that holds roughly a set of single sheets.  Not so big.  Electricity costs a load here so I took to hanging all the clothes as a way to keep the power bill in check.  (The ceilings are over ten feet tall.  I need those utility dollars for the gas heating.)  Got to tell you, I love having the washing machine up-stairs where the clothes and bedding are naturally dirtied.  Makes so much sense. 

Since the cake was baking, the next cake cued, the laundry washing with a second load drying in my energy conscious vent free dryer (Instead of an exhaust tube, it collects the moisture in a little plastic reservoir ), I thought I could knock out the ironing while frying my brain with a little day time TV.  I settled on America’s Next Top Model mostly because I LOVE that show for no good reason and Husband would rather make out with Medusa than watch. I brewed a whole pot of coffee just for me and settled in.  Perfect.  I was doing all my crappy chores and still managed to feel a bit spoiled. 

That is when the power went out.  Well, it is Friday the 13th, but the power goes out here way too frequently reguardless of date.  Most of the time it is something in the house that pops one of our two circuit breakers for this monster.  The Italian lifestyle is a lot less fossil fuel hungry than the American.  Their top allotted power draw is significantly lower than that of the average American household.  That is why when we arrived we got a slight elevator added to our consumption, allowing us to pull more power than a typical Italian Household.  Still, we pop the circuits on occasion.  Today amazingly even with all the crap I was running, it wasn’t my circuit breaker that popped.  It was just the power going out.  Happens. 

Ever hear of a half baked idea?  Just as effective as a half baked cake.  If the temp in my European sized (think Easy Bake) oven drops three more degrees, the cake will not be salvageable when the power comes back on.  Time be damned, that cake has about fifteen Euros worth of ingredients in it. 

Since we have a consumption elevator, we have added a sort of cantina in our basement.  There is an American sized fridge AND a deep freeze all with European wiring.  This has been great for us because we have been able to drive a couple hours to an American style store, stock up, and resist change and complete integration.  What?  Sometimes you want to make tacos…or a turkey…or an American ham.  Try buying Rotel in town, I double dog dare you!  Last year we went to Garmish, Germany for a ski get away/work trip.  Even though we went around and unplugged just about everything, the power went out.  No idea when it happened, but it did.  A European fidge/ freezer full, an American frige/freezer full, a deep freeze full…total loss…way more than fifteen Euros worth of ingredients there!

I have been enjoying my break from domestic goddess-ness to blog.  I just went to release the two cups of coffee I consumed, and well, I walked in to the restroom and tried to turn on the light.  Man.  Twenty minutes of writing about the power being out and I tried to turn on the lights.  Really. 

My time may be running thin.  The power seems to have just kicked back on.  Good thing too – my coffee was getting cold.  The cake amazingly is baked to perfection!   Good job Easy Bake oven!  I need to bang on the oven’s dials for a while until I get the clock to set.  The oven will not produce heat if the clock isn’t set.  Silly Italian oven.  Silly Kelly for never figuring out the setting sequence. 

Any of you all who fantasize about “the good old days”, I’ll take the clothes, but leave you the rest!  I like washing machines, internet access, and America’s Next Top Model.

Making Room

Making room for "Big Rocks"

'Tis that time of year when resolutions abound. 

I thought about making some, but then there was a shiny metal object… 

Resolutions are great, don’t get me wrong, but I have never been very good at hitting the traditional timeline.  Seems like every time I go for a walk and have a long honest conversation with myself, I make goals.  Those are sort of the same things I guess without the annual review format.  This summer was a big one for me. 

There was a chain e-mail that circulated some years ago.  I liked it so much that I sort of robbed the philosophy and often refer to things as “Big Rocks” or “Water.”  Here is a version of the story:

A professor stood before his class and wordlessly picked up a large empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with rocks 2" in diameter. He then asked the students if the jar was full?

They agreed that it was.

So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles, of course, rolled into the open areas between the rocks. He then asked the students again if the jar was full.

They agreed it was.

The professor added sand. He then asked the students again if the jar was full.

They agreed it was.

Finally he poured in a glass of water.  The jar was full.

"Now," said the professor, "I want you to recognize that this is your life. The rocks are the important things - your family, your partner, your health, your children - anything that is so important to you that if it were lost, you would be nearly destroyed. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. Smaller yet is the sand.  The water is everything else. The small stuff."

"If you put the water into the jar first, there is no room for the sand, the pebbles or the rocks. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your energy and time on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you.  Take care of the big rocks first "




It is cheesy and I know most have you probably received this from your Aunt who told you to pass it on to twenty people in twenty minutes or bad luck would follow, but I love this!

So many times when I find myself stressed or confused, I’ll ask myself if this is a big rock.  If not – eh.  No need to get too worried about it.  I mean I’ll still do whatever it is if I committed to it, but maybe giving it a bit less of me.

The tricky thing is figuring out what exactly those big rocks are for you.  During a walk, I realized I had allowed too many of other people’s rocks into MY mayonnaise jar which left way too little room for my rocks.  For me.  Being completely honest with myself and sorting out what really matters to me rather than what takes up my time or stresses me out, I was able to refill my jar in a way that better represented who I am and where I want to go.

The thing that gets me about what people choose to focus this New Year’s energy on, is so often it is sand in their jar.  To take a pebble and make it a big rock, something has to leave the jar…maybe a whole lot of something…or be reduced to sand.  Maybe that’s why so many folks don’t last until February with their resolutions.  They add two or three or four big rocks to an already full jar and can't figure out why they don’t fit.

This year I made poker a big rock.  It matters to me and I want it in my jar before the pebbles and sand go taking all that prime real estate.  If you have ever met me, I am sure you can name off my other big rocks.  Admitting to myself and to my family that playing a card game matters that much to me was a break through.  I don’t live in Vegas or on the Gulf Coast.  But, the closest casino isn’t too far away, about an hour fifteen if you get on the autostrada going the right direction.  There is rarely a cash game there and when there is, it is way out of my price range.  Still, they have decent tournaments and really, that’s where I want to be anyway.

I know it is already January 10^th, but if you procrastinated making resolutions, I would like to challenge you instead to fill your mayonnaise jar putting in the big rocks first.

I had an Epiphany

La Bufana's House

In middle school my class wrote essays about having those moments of clarity known as epiphanies.  I think I still have my paper, but I am way too lazy to go find it…especially since I would then be obliged to type the whole damn thing in here.  Beyond that, I am relatively certain that if I did seek out my eighth grade essay, I would likely have to lower my current opinion of its pure brilliance.  I am an American and I like my inflated sense of eighth grade achievement.  Also, my eighth grade bangs were killer. No lie.

In the Christian sense, Epiphany Day is the 6^th of January.  It is a feast celebrating the magi otherwise known as the three kings or the three wise men.  Recently I was having a discussion with another non-Italian international and she referred to these guys as the three magic kings.  Regardless of the name you use, they followed a star and end up meeting little tiny baby Jesus on the twelfth day of Christmas.

Here in Italy there is a mythical character who flies through the sky and fills the good children’s socks with candies and toys.  The naughty little ones get stockings full of sugar charcoal, onions and garlic.  Sounds remarkably similar to the American lure where an old dude flies through the sky right?  Big difference is, La Befana does her flying on Epiphany Eve rather than Christmas Eve.  Befana is said to be an awesome housekeeper.  So awesome that she may just sweep your floors with the broom she rides on her way out of your house.  If there is going to be unlawful entry into my house in the name of a traditional Italian celebration, I would gladly trade a sock full of sugar for a clean house.  I mean that too- any of you New Year resolvers who gave up junk food or sugar, I will hook you up – after you sweep my floors a-la-Befana.

La Befana is almost always portrayed as a haggard old witch in a babushka riding a broom of straw.  Here are some that were for sale this holiday season.

Saint Francis of Assisi

 

I thought about dressing up in Befana fashion and doing a little B&E just to show my Italian spirit, but we decided to knock out yet another one of Italy’s regions with a trip to Assisi (Ah-See-See) in the central Italian region of Umbria.  You all have surely heard of Saint Francis of Assisi even if you aren’t Catholic.  He was the dude who went to Egypt in an attempt to convert the Sultan, put up the first nativity scene, and was the first human to experience stigmata.  When he wasn’t busy with this sort of frivolity, he was off creating the Order of Poor Clares  as well as the Third Order of others and Sisters of Penance.  He’s one of two Italian patron Saints, I think he is like the one of pets or cured meats or something.

Anyway, this cathedral was MASSIVE…you know, like cathedrals tend to be and I just kept being struck by how this was built with ridiculous amounts of money and worldly wealth in honor of someone who had a distaste for such things and preferred to live in poverty.  Se la vi, it wasn’t wasted on the pilgrims of which there were many.  I have been in a lot of churches in Europe as a tourist and I have never seen so many pilgrims!  It was really rather humbling.  Maybe they were there for the epiphany.  I don’t know.  

This is Me and Roo standing outside the entrance to the lower church which is where the Saint’s bones are maintained.  There were so many people there at the Tomb of the Saint that one had to continue a slow stutter step without stopping.  Again, there have been many uber interesting things to behold in the tombs of Cathedrals, but never had I been caught in such tourism. 

While looking through a pile of touring photos, I noticed that we take a lot of pictures and I often looked like a thrift sale.  So, I made a conscious effort to not dress like a bum nearly as often and I was doing great with that until this beauty!  Great outfit right?  I know!  Skinny ankle length jeans with trainers and white tube socks with a jacket that is a size too large, maybe I should crop my legs out of this photo…

Scary Elevator

Randomly, my day did not start off so incredibly unfashionable.  We stayed the previous night in the southern coastal town of Sorrento.  Our bags were in the car and the key turned in at the desk, but we had not been to our hotel’s private beach, maybe because it was wicked cold being January and all, so we took the elevator down the cliffside to visit the beach.  So worth it!  Exiting the elevator that would give the sanest person phobias, we were greeted with views: in one direction was a waterfall coming down the cliff face, the other way was the gulf of Naples and Mount Vesuvius.  It was all so amazing that I decided to take the brand spakin' new camera I got for Christmas and make a panoramic video clip for posterity.  And that, was the precise moment when a wave came out of nowhere and caused me an epiphany…

Wet Kelly

The sea is pretty cold in January.