My Charmed Childhood

I am feeling really sappy after a frustrating day at work, so let me apologize in advance for what's about to happen. Or wait, no, I'm not sorry. I am lucky.

When I was a kid I was forced to play outside. Literally forced. Well, sometimes I wasn't, but there were times where Mom literally had to kick me and my sisters outside and locked the door behind us in order to keep us from wasting our lives away watching TV all summer long.. She would have the kiddie pool filled up with early-morning cold hose water before we were even fully awake, it seemed, some summer mornings, shoo us outside after breakfast, and we were out there to stay. The morning would start off slow. Then we would dip our feet in to the pool and the whine about how freezing it was. But we would eventually gravitate to our repertoire of making grass and berry "salads" in the frisbees, collecting ladybugs from the honeysuckle bushes, taking sips of nectar from the lilac flowers, riding our bikes around the block or many MANY blocks away (Mom didn't know that part), playing on the neighbor girl's swing set, taking our Barbies outside to swim once the pool warmed, hiding under the canopy of the heavy branches of the bush in the backyard...oh so many things. And all of this in the middle of Milwaukee. And it was fun. Really fun. Sounds like I have a pretty expensive pair of rose colored glasses about my wonderful childhood, doesn't it. Perhaps. Or maybe it really was just that awesome.


In the winter, we would sometimes (only sometimes...it gets COLD in Wisconsin in January and February!) spend hours outside. I remember coming in from the cold, my feet sopping wet and the knees of my jeans too where the snow had creep in through the snowsuit and melted. Mom would even have us put our feet in plastic bags to hold off the inevitable just a little bit longer. Smart woman. Our gloves would be wet but frosted over to the point where there wasn't a spot not crusted with ice crystals to wipe our runny noses. But the snow was so deep we could tunnel through it, or at least we tried. Snow men were constructed when possible, and when it wasn't it was usually because the snow was so heavy we couldn't lift the head onto the torso. Our front yard sloped just enough that we could slide down it on sleds. If we were really really lucky, Mom and Dad would take us to Danine Park a few blocks up the street to skate on one of the ponds there. We all had our second hand ice skates, laced as tightly as possible to stabilize our shaky ankles, and fell more than we probably were upright, but I loved it. If we were indoors, my sisters and I would literally play Barbies all. day. long. And then pick up and start over where we left off the next day. This could last for a week.

Sometimes Mom or Dad would announce that we needed to load into the car quickly because we were going on a "surprise." I'm sure we did, but I don't recall us whining to know where we were headed. We just knew it would be good. Often it was the Milwaukee Museum, my personal favorite, but it could be the zoo, a movie, the art museum when we were older, and a few times I even remember Mom taking us to see live theater - once it was a Beauty and the Beast play that I can still catch glimpses of at the edge of my mind. Dad would often load us into the car just to go on a drive. I remember those mostly during the fall, him pulling in to the parking lot of some state or county park where we would wander trails in the late morning sunlight. My favorite would lead us to the lake shore where there would sometimes be monarch butterflies perched on the rocks on the shore, trying to catch the last of the summer sunlight before they died. We would look for fossils and Dad would try to explain geology to us though we had no idea what he was talking about. A few times we would drive over to the lake front with our bikes and ride the trail for what seemed like a wonderful forever. Oh, and horse fields. My parents were so cool because they would pull over so we could pet horses. I bet we pet dozens of horses across the state of Wisconsin. Mom frequently took us to the library. She would disappear into the adult half, and we girls would become immersed in the kids section. I remember when she finally said we should get our own library cards. I felt so grown up, though I was probably eight or so.

Our vacations would either involve camping or making the long trek to Massachusetts. Camping trips could last over a week, during which we would hike and hike and swim and hike some more. Dad would try hard to get us up at the wee hours to go on bird watching hikes, and often failed, but bless him for trying. I remember being grumbly a lot of the time, and why he didn't just give up I will never know but always appreciate it because on the excursions he did get us on, I usually came back having had a great time. Canoe excursions on the Mississippi River at Wyalusing State Park are particularly memorable. So was an epic, though really poorly executed, tennis match after my sisters and I took lessons one summer. We were soooo bad! But I remember laughing with my parents and sisters in that mosquito infested, overgrown, cracking tennis court. And if we headed to Massachusetts instead, I remember soundtracks of James Taylor and Chicago during my brief periods of staying awake. Then it was family and beach and seafood. Historical and literary sights. The Pilgrims were real because I saw their boat. Angels were real because we went to the Sacred Grove. So were witches because I saw their museum. Seriously, history was rad.

So now is the "so what" point. During my visit this summer for my brother's wedding, I had the first time opportunity to watch my nieces and nephews play together. This was the first time in years we had all been together and that the kids were old enough to play together outside. And I was brought back to those summers of being outside all day, not afraid that I would be kidnapped, only coming in long enough to get a drink and use the bathroom, not watching TV all summer unless the temperature and humidity made outside exposure dangerous. And I saw those kids living a moment of the childhood I had, a childhood I didn't necessarily love at the time but do now. I had a childhood that fostered creativity, learning, reading, and an appreciation of the outdoors. Sure, I kicked and screamed a lot of it I'm sure, but now I get it. Maybe my mom didn't have this genius plan besides surviving the day without going crazy with us. Perhaps my dad didn't really like going to the museum AGAIN, but couldn't stand the begging and didn't want to go to jail for harming his annoying kids. But they both did it again and again.

I am rich with experiences that often didn't cost a ton of money but have left me so appreciative of the world around me. And the experiences they had and the risks they took as young adults, on display in their photo albums, are part of me too, as a lot of the plans I had and still have for myself are because I have always known that I would and could do things because my parents did. If I wish nothing else for the sweet children in my family, it is that my siblings and I teach and show them the same possibilities for their own futures, that they feel inspired and excited for the details of the world and the scope of the world and the hope of the world. Because it is still out there for all kids. A lot of them just don't know to look for it. Lucky for me, I did because my parents showed me. And rose colored glasses look good on me, so I'll keep them on if you don't mind.

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Surviving an Italian Bathroom, Hotel, and Drinking Fountain

A huge part of the intrigue of visiting places outside of your home country are the little daily quirks that make it different from your daily experience.  There are countries in Asia, South America, and Africa which I'm sure are so different that it is alarming.  But then there is sweet big sister Europe, oh so close in dress, music, food and custom to America that it is easy to think that a one or two week visit really won't be much of an adjustment.  And then you need to use the facilities and your idea of a cookie cutter world crumbles because you've just dropped your drawers without  knowing the answer to one vital question: WHERE THE HELL DO YOU FLUSH????

Take a deep, deep breath and relax.  Italians flush the toilet too.  So look around you.  It most likely is on top of the toilet tank.  No such luck?  Ok, hope is not lost.  Look on the wall.  Is there a button just behind the tank? Is it silver?  Is it divided into two sections? Is it white plastic?  Are there two of them?  Push one.  The bigger button is for a bigger flush.  If it's not on the wall behind the tank, look at an adjoining wall, and breathe a sigh of relief.  No buttons anywhere?  Ok, ok, CALM DOWN!  Is there an elevated tank, because some older toilets have them. The button might be at the bottom of the tank and require you to push up.  Is there a pedal on the floor?  Chances are, it flushes the toilet.  If there is a button on the wall but no faucet handle, then the floor pedal is to get the water flowing at the sink.  So do your business and flush with confidence, knowing you mastered a basic function in another country.  

Notice the bidet on the left of the toilet.  This is in a restaurant.  What if you splashed on your  pants while trying to use it?  Can you imagine, having to walk back through the restaurant after a mishap with the bidet?

If all you see is a hole in the floor, well you're on your own (just use the handicap bathroom, which will always have a standard toilet).

Now, Italian (and lot of European, mostly southern) bathrooms have not one but two porcelain thrones - the one we Americans are used to, and also the toilet's little sister: the bidet. Most Northern American's approach with fear and trepidation, not to mention a lot of confusion, this second pot/sink combo.  If you're like me, you know - or at least have heard rumors about - what it is used for.  Your bum. It's for your bum.  It's a bum rinser (see directions here, and I would strongly recommend the video at the bottom).   Now, I tried to imagine how it was supposed to function (wish I had seen the video years ago!), but couldn't picture how that was supposed to...work.  Can you use a bidet for other things besides yer bum?  Well, the answer is absolutely.  Even if you can't figure out how to use it for that fresh and clean feeling, it makes an excellent foot soaker/leg shaving aide.  Just make sure it's clean first.

Chances are that you will master the toilet flushing at the airport long before you even check in to your hotel. So what happens when you get to said hotel, walk in the door for the first time, and the light switches don't work?  Before you throw your hands up and in frustration head for the metro to take you back to the airport so you can get out of this backwards country, take another breath and think about infrastructure.  Yes, you read that right.  Infrastructure.  Italy is old.  Really old.  It's power grid is equally old, and the bureaucratic red tape to update anything is ridiculous (it's not the locals wanting to live primitively, it's the government making it near impossible to make what we would consider standard improvements).  If you've ever wondered why so many Italians hang their laundry out to dry instead of investing in a laundry dryer, it's probably because running a dryer simultaneously with an iron and a hair dryer could blow the electric grid to their home (well, at least a few dozen fuses).  And energy costs are extremely expensive too, somehow factoring in to the age and the red tape.  SO, when your hotel light switch produces zero results, curse Italian bureaucracy first, and then take a look at that hotel key you are holding.  It is literally the "key" to your lighting problems! The light switch next to the door probably has some kind of key hole, regardless if it's the metal or the plastic credit card type, which switches on the electric current to your room.  Hotels save lots of money and energy when their patrons can't leave the TV on all day or forget to turn off the bathroom heater because when they leave, so does the power.  Oh, and nobody wants to lug a huge key like these ones around (and they were almost ALL like this), so don't forget to turn it in to the front desk as you leave.  This procedure gives you the opportunity to practice your Italian numbers and get to know the front desk worker quite well, so ask him how to get places, to circle your destination on the map, to recommend restaurants, call you a cab, or if there really is an airport strike - they will help and are REALLY friendly.  And some of these workers know lots of languages, so stick around long enough and you'll hear them work their international-relations magic!

Last but not least, getting a free drink of water is one of the best things about Italy.  While you pay an arm and a leg for water at a restaurant because Italians have this weird thing about drinking bottled water, there is drinking water for the taking on the street - if you know what you're looking for.  It may just be a spigot in the middle of a square and look just like what you will see at a campground.  It may be an ornate looking punch jug kinda thing (you know, the ones you see at family gatherings or at catered events with water and lemon slices in them and a little spigot on the bottom) with lots of people gathered around it at the Vatican, or a spout coming out of the side of a still-working Roman-era aqueduct.  Unless there is a sign saying the water is not potable (non potabile), it's safe for the chugging.  Isn't this a great country!

So take a poop with the lights on and then drink an absolutely free toast to Italy with your reusable, recyclable bottle filled to the brim with crystal clear water.  Cin cin! Salute!

Eating in Italy - Rome

I've already confessed that my first meal in Rome was a quarter pounder with cheese, fries and a coke from McDonalds.  As if this didn't hint at my foodie explorations in Rome, I will just say that of all the places I visited, I ate the most poorly in Rome.  That doesn't mean it was without adventure, that it was unexpectedly bad, or that I didn't have any good meals here - I was coming to terms with what wasn't left of my budget, I wasn't in the mood to go searching for a good meal, it was a lot more about limited time and eating on the go, but I still had a few worth talking about.  So here is what Rome offered me and what I partook of:

I can't believe this is my final food post and I haven't talked about the AutoGrill:

 

 

The AutoGrill is Italy's answer to a rest stop.  There are basic electronics, groceries, coffe and tea, sandwiches, bakery items, and other things you'd find at a rest stop for quick purchase.  AutoGrills also have a sit-down, cafeteria-style restaurant in them.  Since our Rick Steves group bused between locations, AutoGrills became a regular stop for us.  On our first night in Rome as Ann, Melanie, Cathy and I were strolling, we came across an AutoGrill in the middle of Rome, and we stopped and got a gelato there. I got a panini once (they'll ask you if you want it hot or cold, so know those words), a doughnut, fruit and a potato quiche in the cafeteria, sometimes just a juice or bottle of water.   To eat something behind the counter, the M.O. is to go to the counter, tell the worker what you want and pay right away, and you are then handed a receipt.  If it is not busy, they'll get your food right away.  If they are swamped and you want a coffee or juice, as the coffee counter usually is, you take your receipt and, Roman style (all over Italy), you fight your way in to the front of the counter.  You hand your receipt to one of the baristas when you get his/her attention.  They will usually rip your receipt, hand it back to you, make your drink, and then it's up to you to remind them who you are when they are done.  You drink standing up either at the counter or at standing tables.  While I never ordered a coffee or tee, I thoroughly enjoyed a spremuta, a freshly squeezed orange juice.  Man, talk about refreshing!  In the picture at the bottom right, in between the man in the striped shirt and his companion, there is a white machine where the barista will insert whole oranges and our squirts your juice.  Ahhhh!

Our tour officially ended after our second day in Rome.  To celebrate our travels and new friendships, most of the members of our Rick Steves tour group opted to have dinner together.  Virginia arranged for us to eat an authentic Roman dinner at Target.  The following four pictures were not taken by me, but I found images that looked identical to what was placed in front of me.                                                                                                                                

After the bread was an arugula, fennel, olive, mandarin salad.  Honestly, I don't love the first three ingredients of the salad, but if I could get all four items in the same bite, it was pretty good!   

The first (pasta) course was pasta all'amatriciana, which uses a tomato and peccorino cheese based sauce with cured pork jowl.  It's probably better that I didn't know exactly what I was eating when I was eating it - the thought is kinda weird.  Pork jowl is chewy, so it was totally noticeable that there was something strange in the sauce (which didn't taste like American tomato sauce, by the way...was it the pork jowl? The pecorino?).  It wasn't until I looked up the restaurant menu to remind myself of what I ate that I realized how authentically Roman this dish really is (I thought they were dumbing down a generic spaghetti-like recipe for us uncultured Americans).

The second (meat) course was veal saltimbocca, another Roman dish, of lightly pan-fried veal cutlets with prosciutto and sage and a wine-based gravy.  It reminded me a lot of Thanksgiving because of the sage.  It was pretty good.  Then dessert!  panna cotta with raspberry sauce.  :)

Rome and Florence have a lot of take-away restaurants more than smaller towns do (obviously) to accommodate business people on the go.  These places stay open into the dinner hour as well, but see their biggest crowds for lunch, and sometimes those crowds are more like mobs.  Some are primarily pizza-by the slice places, others have a variety of sweets and sandwiches (as the one below did).  Again, they are the Italian fast food place.  If you take it to go (food) or stand at the bar (drink) it is cheaper than if you sit down.  I had a few meals at these places, both pizza and sandwiches.  They are pretty average (what do you expect for pre-made fast food?) but that it OK and the locals eat at these kinds of places too.  They aren't America's fast food prices though - cheaper than restaurants, but still not "cheap."

My favorite meal in Rome (though I'm not sure how authentically Roman it was) started with a caprese crostini...

followed by the BEST pasta dish I have ever had - fettuccine with pesto (and I'm sure there was butter in there too), shrimp, and grape tomatoes.

 Ann had a delicious ricotta and spinach-filled ravioli with a butter sage sauce.

 For dessert I had a chocolate mouse.  It was fitting that my first restaurant dessert in Italy was chocolate, and my last restaurant dessert was chocolate.

 Add another Margarita pizza, a pizza pocket kinda thing from a food cart (on left) which was pretty crappy, more coconut gelato, and suppli (REAL Roman street food on right), which is a fried ball of rice with tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese (or vegetables or meat), and that rounds up my Roman food adventures!

Christian Rome

I saw dozens of churches in Italy.  I guess that isn't a very surprising announcement.  I saw churches that were "new," built in the 1600's, and others that were built before Columbus sailed the ocean blue - like, 300 years before.  Some churches were very humble, with crumbling frescoes that were almost washed away by time and room enough for no more than 100 people. Others were ornate, decorated with art and sculpture by masters recognized during their lifetimes and considered priceless today, enhanced with marble and gold leaf for their hundreds of parishioners to admire. It is amazing to me, regardless of the scale of the building and level of adornment, and I can't help but wonder how many prayers have been said, how many candles lit, how many tears have been shed, how many babies blessed, how many weddings...that's a whole lotta faith going on.

Santa Maria Della Vittoria - a lot of Roman Renaissance-era churches actually have a similar facade.  As opposed to a lot of Assisi's simple/more simple churches, Rome's are extremely ornate, this one being one of the most I saw.

the reason for the visit, Bernini's "Ecstasy of Saint Teresa"

Basilica of Sant'Agostino

"Madonna di Loreto" by Caravaggio

Rome trumps all with, of course, St. Peter's Basilica in Vatican City.  A grander, more jaw dropping Catholic house of worship can not be found.  It instantly draws your eyes up, and it is amazing how small one can feel in such a place.  After spending some time exploring the basilica, Ann and I took a Scavi tour, where we got to go underneath the St. Peter's to where it is believed St. Peter himself is buried.  There is actually a whole necropolis where pagans and early Christians were buried under there, and it was eerie walking along what used to be streets with above ground tombs that looked like home fronts.  Over time it was built upon, and then built up on again, creating layers of the Basilica, the lower chapels only available to the Pope and Cardinals (but which can be seen on this tour), as St. Peter's became the structure that it is today.  It is hot down there, most of it due to the visitors themselves.  Only small groups of no more than 14 are allowed at a time.  St. Peter's supposed tomb is actually extrememly unpretentious, and nothing has been done to set it apart.  The current Pope Francis is actually the only pope to have ever even been down to the necropolis.  The main altar of St. Peter's is built directly above the unmarked grave.  Of course, there is a whole story (see Wikipedia) of  how and why it is believed that this is the place Peter was buried, with archaeologists and historians involved in its verification.  But regardless if I or anyone else believe that Peter truly was buried there, it was a neat experience to see the "rock" that the Catholic church literally and figuratively built itself on.  

the wall surrounding Vatican City

passing through the wall and under the colonnade that leads to St. Peter's Square 

the fashion police - Literally, this is the modesty gate.  I saw people turned away.  I saw women with multiple scarves wrapped around them so they would pass the test.  I a family being escorted out, their little girl (maybe 7 or 8) bawling, because she was wearing a sun dress with spaghetti straps - the modesty clause applies to kids too.

Bernini's bronze Baldacchino and high altar of St. Peter's (directly over the tomb); this is about 1:30 pm

Michealangelo's "Pieta"

a mosaic of St. Peter holding the keys to the church

St. Peter

the high altar, also done by Bernini, called the "Throne of St. Peter"

another Bernini statue over an exit door

I talked to him...sort of

He actually came to Ann and me, with the help of the Italian  museum hottie on break.  I was too scared to walk through (everyone was staring and taking pictures of them), and "Only the penitent man will pass" kept running through my head

Yeah, talked to them too (we had to walk past them to get to the Scavi tour)

The Italian museum hottie.  Ann took this picture of him after asking him if he worked here.  He got this look on his face, tugged at the florescent vest, and gave her this "Would I be wearing this otherwise?" face.  We laughed and she took his picture.  Then he helped us with the Swiss Guard so we could figure out where to go for the tour (all I had was a confirmation email that said to go to the Excavations Office, but there were no signs indicating where that was.

The tour ended just underneath the Basilica at about 5:30 pm.  We could hear the organ playing for evening mass (that was cool), and we walked back in to see this:  the lowering sun beaming through the windows.  It was magnificent!  

the altar lit up for mass

this is from the very front entrance of the basilica