New uses for a bidet...

In yesterday's post, I told you that we don't use our bidet...at least not for its intended use. Here are the top four most common uses of the bidet in our house.

Handy-Dandy Bidet Function #1:
toothbrushing spit receptacle...

Handy-Dandy Bidet Function #2:

The Barbie (Sometimes Co-ed) Day Spa... Handy-Dandy Bidet Function #3:

Car/Truck One-Stop Wash...(no drying service available, though. All vehicles will be drip-dried as they are carried throughout the house.)

Handy-Dandy Bidet Function #4:

DVD cleansing station--for all your audio/visual cleanliness needs...

So there you have it.

If you're European, you probably cringed your way through my bidet photo essay. If you're American, you probably thought: Cool! My kids would love this.

Mine sure do.

What's a bidet, anyway?

If you're not American, you might be wondering: Why would she post a photo of a bidet on her blog? If you are an American (like me), you may be asking yourself: Why is she posting a photo of a mini bathroom sink on her blog? Before I lived in Europe, I'd heard the word bidet (pronounced beh-DAY) but didn't exactly know what it was used for. Okay, I had NO idea what it was used for.

Now I do.

Ew.

But in our house, the bidet is not used for its intended purpose. In fact, it's been taken over completely by my three kids, who have come up with...shall we say...unique uses for the bidet.

Tune in tomorrow for the photos...

Buona Festa del Papa'

As promised, here's a photo of the gift my third grader made at school for Father's Day:

Yup. It's a bottle of wine, with the label designed by my daughter. For those who may remember, my daughter's class took a field trip last fall where they learned how wine is made. They actually took off their shoes and socks and smushed the grapes themselves. That was in September. Six months later...a bottle of wine!

It's not half bad, either (as long as you block out the image of all those toes in your wine...)

Tap, tap, tap...

...is this thing on? (blows into microphone)...testing...testing....

I'm back, and my apologizes for waiting so long to post. All is well, I've just been busy with writing assignments/tasks/revisions, and I've neglected my blog, once again. My mother thought her computer wasn't working because she kept getting the "same old post" and another friend (Hi, Sharon!) emailed me asking whether or not I still existed, so I thought I'd check in.

My last post was about Carnevale, and I fully intended to post more pictures, but all of the parades, festivities, etc. were doused with freezing rain. Which can happen when you schedule a major holiday with outdoor festivities in...February. I mean, come on, people.

But as tomorrow is Father's Day here in Italy, my next post will be a photo of the gift my third grader made at school for her papa'. It's not your regular pencil holder/tie organizer/bar-b-que apron kind of gift. Oh, nay. You'll never guess. ;-)

More soon...

Carnevale has arrived!

Carnevale season began this past Thursday, but the costume frenzy began in mid-January. If you're Italian (child or adult), your mother or nonna (grandmother) might make your costume. Or you could buy one at a store like the one we visited last weekend.

You could start with a mask:
Add a hat:

Or go all out from head (note the wigs in the background) to toe:

Here's the line-up of children's costumes:

A fireworks display...

...and kilos of confetti and string--enough to make you thankful you're not an Italian street cleaner.

This will be the 7th Carnevale I've spent in Italy, and I must say that this next item was a new one for me:

If you can't make out the writing, it says: Hill Billy Teeth. Do Italians really know what a Hill Billy is? I asked my Italian husband what he thought Hill Billy meant, and he said: "It's the guy's name, right?" (In Italy, people often introduce themselves and sign their names with their last name first, then first name. As in: "Hi, I'm Hill, Billy. Nice to meet ya.")

Um--no.

I'm guessing the store won't be selling out of this item anytime soon.

I'll post some more Carnevale photos later this week.

P.S. Today is the first blogiversary of Italian Moments!

Guten Tag from...Italy, of course!

A few weekends ago we went to a village called Sesto. It's nestled in the Italian Alps (Dolomites) in a region called Alto Adige. Also known as South Tyrol. Also known as Bolzen. Oh, and Bolzano.

Confused? You're not alone. One skiiable mountain divides this Italian region from Austria. After WWI, the Austrian-Hungarian Empire lost this zone to Italy, even though over 90% of its residents spoke German. And still do. They speak German at home, in school, in shops, and will switch to German-accented Italian only when pressed. Signs are both in German and Italian. Here's a local bakery run by the Happacher family. Note which language takes first billing.Reflected in the window is one of those gingerbread-looking houses that are scattered up the mountain-sides and throughout the villages of this region. (It appears that I'm quite the photographer here, doesn't it? But I must say that I didn't even realize there was anything reflected in the window until I looked at the photo a few days later...).

Here's the house where we always stay when we go to Sesto:

The paintings around the windows are also very typical here. Here's a close-up of the front door:

Two things to notice here:

1. Above the door, in German, it says that the house was built in 1698, and rennovated in 1973.

2. The chalk writing on the top of the right-hand door was for the Epiphany--villagers dressed as the Three Wise Men come to everyone's door and leave their initials: G+M+B surrounded by the numbers of the new year, 2008.

It feels like you've stepped into a story book. With good food.

Skiing is the main industry in the winter, and that's just what we did. Although, I use the term "we" loosely. My husband learned to ski in this village when he was a boy, he skis like poetry-in-motion. Whereas I ski more like a third-grader's-essay-on-momentum-in-motion. Which means I hang with our two-year-old while our girls ski with my husband. Usually. Here's a shot from the gondola:

This is my favorite part of skiing...the rifugo at the top of the mountain where you can drink hot chocolate or warm vin brule.

They also had this snow sculpture at the top next to a playground (My kids are the three dressed in snowpants and jackets):

Arrivederci...and Auf Viedersehen!

In bocca al lupo, times thirteen!

The Italian translation of "good luck" is buona fortuna, but that's not what most Italians say. If I wanted to wish you luck here in Italy, I'd say: In bocca al lupo, which literally means "in the mouth of the wolf." Then you would say: "Crepi!" which means "Die!"

I know...it's a rather strange comeback considering I'm wishing you luck, isn't it? But what we're really saying is this:

Me: You don't really need luck, because you're the kind of person who would come out on top, even if you were to find your head in the jaws of a slobbering, extra mean wolf with bad breath (okay, so I embellished that last part a bit). But just in case, good luck, anyway.

You: If I ever find myself with my head in the mouth of a wolf, may the wolf die instead of me!

It's a bit gothic as far as sentiments go.

But, I'd like to take this opportunity to wish Jay Asher good luck tomorrow! Jay wrote a fantastic book for teens called Thirteen Reasons Why, and tomorrow the the American Library Association will announce the winner and runners-up for the Michael L. Printz award for excellence in Young Adult Literature.

No matter the outcome tomorrow, kudos go to Jay's book for opening up dialogues in schools across the country about teen suicide prevention (check out this latest post on the blog he writes with two other children's authors, Robin Mellom and Eve Porinchak, called the The Disco Mermaids here).

So here's to you, Jay: IN BOCCA AL LUPO! :-)

UPDATE: Thirteen Reasons Why was chosen for three incredible lists by the Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA):

* Best Books for Young Adults
* Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Adult Readers
* Selected Audiobooks for Young Adults

Congratulazioni, Jay! If you were here, Italian social norms would require that you take everyone out for a celebratory drink, so be glad you're in the U.S.!

(See how effortlessly I weave in children's literature with lessons on life in Italy?? Very smooth.)

Aaaaand it's a wrap.

The holiday season finally ended here in Italy with the Epiphany on January 6. On the night of the 5th, a good witch called La Befana visits Italian bambini as they sleep, leaving gifts. In case you've lost count, that's three--count 'em--three gift-getting occasions for Italian kids in the space of one month (including San Nicolo on December 6, and Christmas). Italian parents are now officially out of money.

If you haven't heard the legend of the Befana, you might want to check out Tomie dePaola's picture book here. But basically, it's the story of a cranky old lady who watches the procession of the Three Kings pass by her door. When a boy tells her that they're on their way to visit a baby king, she decides she doesn't want to miss out. She follows the northern star, but by the time she gets there, the holy family is long gone. (Obviously, showing up late has been a recurring theme in Italian culture for thousands of years...).

Italian children don't put out stockings for Babbo Natale (Santa Claus), but they do for the Befana.

According to legend, the Befana is supposed to sweep up before she leaves. I'm not sure what type of broom she's using, but it's the kind that leaves all the big dust bunnies behind. I'd like to see her update to one of those fancy vacuum cleaners that vacuums up the dust and washes the floors at the same time. Maybe even a rider vacuum (do they have those?).

She's only supposed to sweep the rooms where the children sleep, though. That's okay...next January 5, I'll have one kid sleep in the kitchen, one the living room, and the other in the garage.

How about you--are you glad the holidays are over?

Ringing in a Super New Year

Whether your New Year's Eve outfit is a ballgown or a pair of sweats, your underwear should be red, according to Italian tradition. Apparently, it brings luck. It's probably safe to say that quite a few red-underwear-clad Italians did, indeed, get lucky on New Year's Eve.

I'm thinking Superman must have been Italian--perhaps his real name was Clarko Kento?

P.S. Speaking of super men, Happy Birthday to my Dad today!

Tanti Auguri is like saying Best Wishes, and Italians use it for all occasions. They actually say it more often than Buon Compleanno, which means Happy Birthday. In fact, the Italian Happy Birthday song goes like this:

Tanti Auguri a te,

Tanti Auguri a te

Tanti Auguri a Dad (this line doesn't flow as well, does it?)

Tanti Auguri a te!

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Buone Feste!

For those of you who celebrate Christmas, I apologize for the belated greeting, and I hope your Christmas was a happy one!

The Italian word for Christmas, Natale, is only one vowel away from my name, Natalie. I must admit that when I stroll through the city at this time of year, I feel famous. Buon means good, so at first glance, it appears that all the shops are festooned with signs that read: Good Natalie! Love that.

The Italian way to say Happy New Year is Felice Anno Nuovo. I'd just like to point out the critically important second n in the word anno. About 12 years ago, I was writing out holiday cards to family and friends in the States, as Davide, my Italian boyfriend (now husband) looked on. At the bottom of the cards, I had written: Buon Natale e Felice Ano Nuovo. (Note the lack of the second n in anno.) Davide started to laugh--one of those laughs where he can't speak for a good 60 seconds, complete with tears streaming down his face. When he finally pulled himself together, he told me about the missing n.

Apparently, I was wishing my loved ones a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Anus. Oops.

.

So with all the n's in tact, allow me to wish you all a Felice AnNo Nuovo and a prosperous , healthy 2008!

P.S. Here's another double-n greeting--this time for my mom. Happy Birthday!

Ye Olde Pig's Foot

Close your eyes. Now picture your holiday table laden with a scrumptious feast. What do you see? Turkey? Ham? Latkes? Your great aunt's marshmallow yam casserole? Okay, now feast your eyes on this:

Look closely. Yes, nestled on a bed of lentils is...a pig's foot. Complete with manicured toenails, it appears. Zampone is typical fare during the holiday season in Italy, and it's most common on New Year's Eve. The lentils are thought to bring luck. Not to the pig, apparently.

I've tasted this, and actually it's quite good. But it's only good if you're not staring at the actual pig's foot while you eat. I know, I'm a hypocritical carnivore--I love eating meat, I just don't want to be reminded what it looked like before it came to my plate. If you'd like to surprise your family this holiday season, click here for cooking instructions. Although you might want to have them taste it first before you reveal what it is.

Buon Appetito!

Holiday Wake-Up Call

Today is la festa di San Nicolo here in Italy--the festival of Saint Nicholas. Saint Nick is considered the patron saint of children, sailors, ships and the needy (proving that saints were multi-tasking as early as the 3rd century).

Last night, San Nicolo came to our home while we slept, and left gifts for our three children. This year, like most years, the holiday snuck up on my husband and me--er--San Nicolo. By the time San Nicolo got his act together and finally went out to buy gifts for my kids (at 7:00 last night), it was slim pickins in the toy shops. My youngest daughter wanted some battery-operated talking parrot. But last night there were none to be had. Of course, San Nicolo brought a talking parrot to two kids in her Kindergarten class, and these kids brought the parrots in today for show-and-tell. When my daughter pointed out the unfairness of this, I said that San Nicolo was obviously not on the ball this year, but he'd certainly pass her request on to his cousin, Santa Claus.

In other European countries, including Germany, children put out their boots, and Sinter Klaus fills them with oranges and candy. Lucky, lucky parents.

However, I choose to look at the failed talking parrot incident as a wake-up call. I vow to get my Christmas shopping done before December 24th this year. For once. Mark my words. And if I can get ahold of the coveted talking parrot, I will post a photo on my blog.

Until then, here's wishing you small crowds and ample parking near the front of the store. And if those things elude you...lots of online shopping with a high speed internet connection.

It's alive!

My blog, that is. After almost a month of neglect, I found it gasping for breath, eyes closed, pulse weak, begging for a glass of water.

I wanted to post about Halloween, and the fact that no one goes trick-or-treating, even though the shops are all festooned with Halloween decorations in October. And then I wanted to explain that we always have a Halloween party for our children and their friends, and take them trick-or-treating in our building, but we have to distribute bags of candy ahead of time to the neighbors so they'll have something to give when the kids come by. And how some of the neighbors had to be taught trick-or-treating basics 101, because the first year, some of them would dump the all the candy in one kid's bag, wave to the rest of the candyless kids, smile, then shut the door.

But no one wants to read a Halloween post on the eve of Thanksgiving, so I'm moving on to Turkey Day--a brief post today, then more tomorrow.

Every year I make Thanksgiving dinner for my husband's family, who are all Thanksgiving experts, of course, because they've seen American Thanksgiving dinners in movies.

A few years ago on Thanksgiving, my father-in-law gathered my daughters up onto his lap, and said in his let-me-tell-you-a-story voice:

"Girls, today is a very special day for Americans."

My girls looked at him expectantly.

He continued: "Today is the anniversary of the day the Americans won their independence from England."


In the end, it's all about food and family.

Happy 4th of--er, Thanksgiving, to all!

The most expensive treats I've ever made...

Today I made some treats for my daughter's class, per her request. She chose this recipe because it's quick, and my family loves these. However, one of the main ingredients is a rarity here in Italy.

And expensive.

No, I didn't make Caviar truffles. I made...Special K Crispy Bars. And that rare, expensive ingredient?

Peanut butter.

That's right--most Italians have never even tasted peanut butter. And for those who have....are you sitting down?.....most of them don't like the taste.

I know...how can they function as a society without peanut butter? It's a mystery.

If you can find peanut butter in Italy, it's often in the foreign foods section of the supermarket--right next to the soy sauce and taco shells. In one store, it was actually in the refrigerated foods section--Italians obviously don't know that peanut butter has (at least) a 57-year-shelf life.

When you do find peanut butter, it only comes in tiny jars, like this:

And since demand (and supply) is so low, p.b. prices are high. This miniscule jar my daughter is holding set me back 4 Euros and 4 cents. That equates to--count 'em--

.

FIVE.

.

DOLLARS.

.

AND.

.

SEVENTY-FIVE.

.

CENTS.

.

For anyone who's interested, here's the crispy bar recipe. (Note: Not recommended for denture-wearers. Highly recommended for anyone who has at least 2 or 3 pairs of pants with spandex/Lycra--anything that stretches. You'll need these pants immediately after polishing off half the pan.)

.

Ingredients:

2 cups sugar

2TBS. butter

2 cups Karo light corn syrup (If you live in Italy, get someone from the U.S. to send you a bottle. Not my mom, though--she's my American baking ingredients supplier, so she's got her hands full)

6 cups Special K cereal, crushed

1 1/2 cups peanut butter

1 package chocolate chips

.

Melt butter in a large pot and then add sugar and Karo syrup. Stir constantly. Bring to a full boil and let boil for one minute. Remove from heat. Add peanut butter and stir until creamy. Add Special K and stir until well-mixed. Press mixture onto cookie sheet. Melt chocolate chips in the microwave and spread over mixture. Let cool until top has hardened. Cut into squares. Eat. And if your Italian friends don't like them, this just means there's more for you.

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Buon appetito!

Water Fountain Drinking 101

During our visit to the States this past summer, I realized my daughters weren't up to speed on American kid culture--when their cousins talked about things like Hannah Montana and American Girl dolls, my girls had no idea what they were talking about. I could have predicted that--after all, we don't get American television stations and commercials here.

But there were other things they didn't know that I never would have predicted.

One day, my 8-year-old daughter stopped to get a drink from a water fountain while we were shopping at the mall. She finished, and I saw that her shirt was wet. Not just damp, mind you--she had water splashed all down the front.

Me: Honey, what happened to your shirt?
Daughter: Nothing. I was just getting a drink.
Me: Is the fountain broken? Did the water squirt out too fast?
Daugher, eyebrow raised: Noooo. Why?
Me (wondering how in the world she got her shirt that wet from a water fountain): Can you show me how you took that drink?

So my daughter pressed the button, and up came the stream of water. She stuck out her tongue and started lapping up the water, getting her shirt even wetter.

Me: Honey, what are you doing?
Daughter (now exasperated): Getting a drink! (The "What does it look like I'm doing??" was implied).

And then I remembered, and I had to laugh.

When Americans go to Italy, one of the things they notice is the lack of drinking fountains. But Italy has water fountains, they're just disguised. Here's one in the photo below:

It look more like a bird bath, or a place where the village washerwoman rinses out the clothes, doesn't it? Not many people drink from these fountains--mostly joggers and kids. When you do, the water comes rushing out in a turbo gush, and you have no choice but to try and lap it up as best you can. So that was my daughter's drinking fountain point of reference. When I did an American drinking fountain demo for her, she laughed, tried it again, and drank like a pro.

When in America...

Boats, boats, and more boats

Yesterday was the annual Barcolana, a regatta held just off the coast of Trieste. It attracts sailing enthusiasts from all over the world, transforming little 'ol Trieste into a bona fide tourist attraction.

The day was gorgeous but wildly windy, and many smaller sailboats had to bow out of the race. Here are a few shots:

The leaning sail on the left side of the photo is the Alpha Romeo, which won the race in a record 55 minutes. The speck in the sky is a helicopter carrying people who make sure everyone follows the rules. Not an easy task, if Italians drive their boats the way they drive their cars.


Here are some spectators on the boulders that line the coast, with the Castello Miramare off in the distance. Many of them were sipping wine. I don't know about you, but I'd say wine just doesn't mix with jagged boulders surrounded by a swirling, frigid sea. Go ahead--call me prudent.


Here's a view of the 1800 boats as seen over the terracotta rooftops of Trieste.


And here is my first attempt at embedding my own video. I wasn't actually tryng to capture the scenery as much as the sounds...the church bells tolling, the sea and the wind. As it turns out, the sun was so bright that I couldn't see a darn thing I was filming. If you take that into account, it's not that bad. But even if you do take the blinding sun into account, you'll see that I won't likely be nominated for any film awards this year. Enjoy!

A little Italian opera...

Listen to what this man does with a few Italian words. If this doesn't make your day, I don't know what will.



Thanks to children's author Mary Hershey for the link.

The best part about having a blog...

A woman named Barbara emailed me a few weeks ago saying she had found my blog when she googled laundromat and Trieste. Why would someone google those two words? Good question. Her husband had been invited to a conference at the Abdus Salam International Centre for Theoretical Physics here in Trieste, and she was coming along to see the sights (of Italy, not the Physics Centre). She wanted to know where she could get her laundry done. More specifically, she wondered if she would have access to a clothes dryer. Ah, Barbara.

So I said I'd check into the landromat situation for her, and if she'd like to meet for coffee, I'd be happy to treat her. When she arrived, she said that she'd passed the link to my blog along to some of the other wives, and wondered if they could come for coffee, too. Certo! I said, and that's just what we did.

Here's a photo of the group, from left to right: Pat, Bea, Barbara, Phyllis, and me*.

* Hair disclaimer: It rained off and on that day, so in this photo, my hair appears to be straight on one side, and then there's some sort of frizz action going on with the other side. My hair does not normally do this...only for photos that I want to post on the world wide web. Sigh.

Anyway, all four women are wives of physicists who were attending the conference on Accelerators Operations (thankfully, none of them really knew what this entailed, so I didn't feel left out). After leading them astray a few times, I finally found the historic Caffè Tommaseo, and we had one of the best cups of coffee I've had in Italy. Ever. Granted, coffee at the Caffè Tommaseo costs three times the normal price, but it was worth it.

We chatted about traveling and Trieste and their families and mine, and they were all lovely, warm people. I wished I could have spent the whole morning with them and show them around the city, but my babysitting fairy godmother (a.k.a. husband) had to go back to work, leaving me with our 21-month-old son and an illegally-parked car.

In the end, the ladies ended up treating me (Grazie!), and I realized I never did give Barbara the address of a laundromat, so I hope she made it to Venice in a freshly-laundered state.

The next time there's a conference on particle accelerators, Barbara, I'll have the laundromat address ready. And the coffee's on me!

To follow up my vendemia post, I wanted to share a few photos, courtesy of my daughter's teacher. This first shot shows the kids picking the grapes from the stems, and dropping them into the bucket.

And now the fun begins! Here's my daughter (that's her orange sleeve on the left) embracing two classmates as they stomp and squish and smush the grapes in their bucket.

Her teacher told me yesterday that the grape juice they mushed with their tootsies will be made into wine, and the kids will get to bring home a bottle at the end of the year. I love Italy.

Mommy, where does wine come from?

My 8-year-old daughter asked this question at dinner the other night. She wasn't satisfied with my answer (the grocery store), so my Italian husband filled her in on the wine-making process. He's not a wine expert, by any means. His wine I.Q. is average--for an Italian. Which is waaaaay above my wine I.Q.

The reason my daughter asked this question is because her 3rd grade teacher had planned a field trip to a local village where they'd be participating in a vendemia--a grape harvest. Our daughter informed us (with that What-kind-of-parents-are-you? look on her face) that every child in her class had attended a vendemia, except for her. I just hope no one calls Social Services.

So yesterday the class went and learned how wine is made. They cut the grapes from the vines, tossed them in big buckets, removed their shoes and socks, and started squishing. (My daughter reports that this was both icky and fun at the same time). After the last of the grape juice was washed off of their 8-year-old toes, they heaped the grape-y mess onto sieves, then tasted the grape juice that filtered through. My daughter isn't clear as to whether they actually drank the juice that their bare (and who knows how clean?) feet had touched. I kind of hope not.

The whole class filed off the field trip bus happy and tired, each child toting a bag of small, purple grapes that taste like sweet dessert wine. The teacher carried two bottles of wine (unopened) in her arms. After a day of wine-making with 25 third-graders, I suspect those bottles came in handy.