Let's Go Roma! and then Let's Go Homa!

Our whirlwind European tour was drawing to a close and our last stop was Roma.

We took a commuter train that lasted about 3 hours. Apparently, we passed through some beautiful Italian countryside, as in Under the Tuscan Sun, Italian vineyard beautiful, but we didn't get to see it. The windows for our seats were completely covered by an advertisement. Fail. So, I just had to occupy myself with the beverage cart that brought copious amounts of espresso and wine.

When we arrived into the city, we made our way to the hotel, checked in, and then set out to find, what else? Lunch! I love that eating in Europe is not rushed. Two hour meals are not unusual and could be considered on the shorter end of meal times. You get to sit, relax, and ENJOY the company and the food. After lunch, we wandered around the city for a bit and then went back to the hotel for a little siesta before dinner.

The next morning Ryan took me on the walking tour of Rome. We hit the Colosseum, Circo Massimo (Circus Maximus), Forum Boarium, Capitoline Hill, the Forum ruins, and Il Vittoriano. There are also several aquaduct ruins and just fascinating historical buildings that are amazing. We also happened along an apartment/dormitory complex that looked like it was going through some major excavations. What happened was that the complex was wanting to expand, but when they went to break ground, they found some more ancient ruins and now had to excavate instead of building. I joked to Ryan that Italians are probably so used to this happening that when it does, they get upset because there will be a delay in productivity. But if something like this were to happen in the States, we would be over the moon.

The walking tour didn't take very long so on the way back we stopped at a cute little restaurant that was decorated in Cracker Barrel style in that it was all kitschy. A great atmosphere with the wait staff breaking into song every now and then, and they gave us a free eggplant starter that was yummy! Another thing about eating in Europe, everything is so fresh. I noticed that the menus will indicate if an item is made from a frozen product. We could definitely tell that the pizza and pasta that we had that day was fresh dough and fresh pasta. After lunch, we trekked over to the Fontana di Trevi. I threw in the requisite coin and off we went to get away from the enormous crowd of tourists. We stopped for an afternoon gelato and wine. Once again, we stopped for a siesta before dinner. Our last dinner in Roma was stupendous. We were plied with several complimentary starters and my main course was a penne vodka dish that was made table side. Molto bene! Unfortunately, and I do mean unfortunately, with all the starters that were provided, I did not have it in me to indulge in the dessert cart.  Both Ryan and I settled for a cappuccino and caffé corretto. A very enjoyable end to our time in Roma and Europe.

So the trip home. On the plus side, we made all of our flights. The bad side, we had to do what I call the Home Alone sprint for each of our connections. We had a connection in NYC and Atlanta. The connection in NYC would have been fine had our flight from Roma not been over an hour late, nor had we had to wait 45 minutes for our luggage to come through just to recheck it again. Thankfully, both Ryan and I have global entry that allowed us to bypass the hours long line at customs. Thankfully, a Delta counter agent let us cut through the security line (where we saw Penn Jillette, of Penn and Teller fame, waiting in line just like the commoners). We knew the connection in Atlanta would be a little dicey as we only had 40 minutes between flights, and we were arriving in E terminal and departing from B terminal, but yet again, we were late leaving NYC, so again, we ran from the gate to the train and from the train to the gate. And then we were home.

What an amazing, amazing trip! I had a grand ol' time and can't wait to go back! Thanks to Ryan for taking me on this trip of a lifetime!

Milano- and not Alyssa or the cookie.

Our time in Paris had come to a close, and we were off to Milano. We decided to be adventurous and take an overnight train. After navigating through the train station, we finally made it into our private car and were pleasantly surprised when the train attendent came by and gave us some goodies (toiletries, slippers, bottles of water, etc).  

During our trip planning, we (and by we, I mean Ryan) read that the dining car can get pretty crazy, so we decided to not mess with it and stopped by a grocery store and stocked up on bread, cheese, and vino. When we were all settled in, and the train was on its way, we started a movie and broke into our grocery store goodies. At some point during the night, we passed through the Alps, but it was too dark to really see anything. We pulled into the Milano Centrale at 5:30. In. The. Morning. Let me just say, that 5:30 am in Milano in December, it's dark and it's cold. As in there was snow on the ground cold. Luckily, our hotel was only a few blocks away, so we trudged on. Did I mention that check-in time was 2:00 pm? The desk clerk let us leave our bags and advised us to check back around noon to see and maybe our room would be ready early, depending if the current occupants checked-out early. Back out into the darkness and cold we went.

Almost 7 hours to kill and absolutely nowhere to go. Nothing was open, and we had no idea of when things would start to open. We headed back to the train station and bought a day pass for the metro. We went down to the Duomo and Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II. The Christmas lights were still on and the piazza was completely deserted, so it did make for some great picture taking. We wandered down into the Galleria and saw all the high end shops that would have been fun to go into had it not been so early o' thirty. Finally, shops were starting to open, and we ducked into a small café for coffee and pastries, which perked us up a little bit. 

Fast forward a few hours of more aimless wandering and metro riding and window shopping, we decided to take a chance to see if our room was ready, even though it wasn't quite noon yet, and it was! Praise jeebus. And then we napped.

Roused and ready to go, our only plans for the night was to see Da Vinci's Last Supper painting. After meeting up with our tour group, we took a tour of Castello Sforzesco. Although not in use now, it is home to some great art, including some wall sketches from Da Vinci as he worked on another fresco, and antiquities.

The Last Supper was ah-may-zing(!) and in pretty good shape for not being a fresco, but simply a wall mural and for being nearly destroyed by bombers during WWII. Of course no pictures were allowed, pretty much nothing was allowed outside of breathing, and that probably would have been restricted if it were possible. It was neat to find out that the painting is in the dining hall of the monastery, so way back when, the monks got to be in its presence for meals. Only groups of 20-25 people are allowed in at a time and only for 15 minutes at a time. It was truly a humbling experience to be in the presence of something that I have known about for almost my entire life. Of course, I went all Dan Brown and examined it for the hidden clues listed in the book.

After the tour, we made our way back to the hotel to wash up and then headed out for pre-dinner drinks and then found a small restaurant for dinner. The one thing that I really liked about eating in Europe was that the tax and tip is already built into the price. So for our dinner: 2 waters, a bottle of wine, a pizza, a pasta dish, 2 gelatos, 1 cappuccino, 1 caffé corretto (espresso with grappa) was 37 euro flat. 

 And that was our Milano adventure. Lesson learned? Book the hotel for the night before so that we have somewhere to sleep when we get in at 5:30 in the morning. Next stop- Roma!

 

Le Tour de Europa 2012- Intro and Paris

This amazing trip came about when Hubs was trying to get on at a conference in Paris. He promised me, however, that no matter what, we would be going. It was just a matter of who would be paying for said trip. He also sweetened the deal by asking if there was anywhere else that I would be interested in going. Well, duh. I think the question was more where do I not want to go. Taking into consideration that it would be dead winter when we traveled, we decided to head for Italy. This is what our trip would look like: TUS-ATL-CDG. Overnight train to Milano. Commuter train to Roma. And then FCO-JFK-ATL-TUS.

TUS-ATL:

•  Nothing out of the ordinary, just left at the butt-crack of dawn.

ATL-CDG:

•  Short layover in ATL- thank goodness for status that let us into the Delta Skylounge
• Was it terrible of me to answer a lady who asked if I spoke Spanish, that no hablo español?
• No joke- I was excited to be on a plane for the next 7 hours.  

Finally, Paris:

• We actually landed an hour earlier than anticipated, again at the butt-crack of dawn. (Sidenote: CDG is a seriously weird airport. Nothing about the layout makes sense, and I will take my cue from Hubs and be thankful that we did not have to fly out of there). We made our way to the metro station and arrived very early to Ryan's friends' apartment and promptly woke them up out of bed. Apologies to Pierre-Arnaud and Constance. They were very gracious and plied us with coffee and fresh croissants and chocolate pastries. 
• Weather was dicey; we had to carry an umbrella with us everywhere.
• Got acquainted with vin chaud (mulled spiced wine) and just vin in general with every meal.
• Food, food, food. Incredible, amazing, would move there just for the food itself.
• Experienced Avenue des Champs-Élysées and Avenue Montaigne. Avenue Montaigne seemed to be a little bit higher end, and I was informed that had the shopkeepers actually seen us coming out of the metro station, we probably would not have been allowed inside. I did enjoy being offered champagne when we went inside Dior. Both husband and I came home with little souvenirs from this delightful little avenue.
• Got my fill of my favorite Impressionist artist, Monet, and many others.
• Introduced to the Raclette- which I expound on here.
• Introduced to Parisian dining in general- which goes long and late, but very enjoyable.
• Finally got to meet all of Ryan's Parisian friends. I had met a couple already, but had yet to meet everyone. It's a very good thing that they were wanting to practice their English.
• Visited all the touristy must-sees: Arc de Triomphe,
  Place de la Bastille, La Basilique du Sacré Coeur de Montmartre, Moulin Rouge, and Notre Dame. We saw the Eiffel Tower, but did not take a special trip to it.
• I was proud of myself that I could figure out the metro system. It actually makes sense and runs on time. Who knew that a subway system could run efficiently after growing up on MARTA. We never waited more than 5 minutes for a train. Although, it was weird to me that at each stop, if you wanted on or off, you had to open the doors yourself on the older trains.
• I definitely busted out the Asian photographer by taking pictures of everything on the camera AND the iPhone.
• Extremely grateful that Hubs has a pretty advanced working knowledge of French. It allowed us and will allow us to not be trapped into the tourist areas when we go back.  

We had a grand old time here, and I know it will not be the last time we visit. 

  
  Next stop: Milano.

The Raclette

I am currently trying to put together a post for the amazing trip to France and Italy that Hubs and I took last month. In the meantime, I will share one of the things that I absolutely fell in love with: the Raclette. 

Hubs and I were invited to two dinner parties by his Parisian friends and both dinners involved this magnificent device. My reputation must have preceded me because everyone was so excited that they had planned a dinner party for us that centered around cheese. So, basically each person has their own little dish, and they put any combination of cheese inside and the slide it inside the heated plates. On top is a grill that you can use for the meats, veggies, or whatever that is accompanying the cheese. So when the cheese is melted to your desire, you take your little dish out and pour it or scrape it out (the word raclette is derived from the French term racler-to scrape) over your food. If one was to do it properly, you would actually heat the cheese itself and then scrape the melted portion from the non-melted portion. It's very similar to fondue, but I liked it better because not everyone is forced to eat the same cheese as everyone else. You get to be creative. Also, it's simple to do with just two people.

I loved it so much that I bought one when I got home. Thanks to Amazon for pricematching with Wal-Mart.com. 

 

REFLECTIONS – 40 YEARS & WE’VE ONLY JUST BEGUN

**Please welcome my first guest blogger, my dad! A very happy 40th anniversary to him and my mom!**

Ahh! 40 years! To some it would seem a very long time. But for me, having married to this crown jewel of a partner, forty years seems to have passed with little more than a blink of my eyes. I can still remember vividly standing in front of the County Magistrate nervously uttering the words “I Do”. At that moment, deep down “Something Tell Me I’m Into Something Good” (Herman’s Hermit ’65). Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that I have actually lucked myself upon the mother lode of love, care, trust, understanding and support. 

Actually, this bull run of good fortune started a little bit more than 40 years ago when she went against her family’s wishes (such courage, almost unheard of in a first generation immigrant family back in the 70’s), left New York and joined this “punk named Leung”, according to my future brother-in-law, in Columbia, Mo. With her support, within a very short time, we were able to prove them wrong. 

Over the better part of the next forty years, while I was out trying to conquer the world of civil engineering with a new venture in KHAFRA: “when you flush, think of us” (thanks to Val Bates), she was home holding down the fort and raising two wonderful children and hardly needing me to worry about them. AND THEY BOTH TURNED OUT TO BE QUITE ALRIGHT. 

Through all the career and physical location moves to new and unfamiliar places, she never once asked questions like “what about my friends, my neighbors, my bridge club meetings, etc, etc. More than that, her trust, understanding, and support have made it so much easier for me to maintain my sanity during stressful times. And there were plenty. When KHAFRA was young and struggling, several times I had to ask for her consent to put our resources, including our own house, at risk to help KHAFRA get over a few humps. She said yes without giving me a nano-ounce of grief. She didn’t even ask if I was making the right decision. Such trust, such understanding and such support, it don’t get no better than that!! 

No less important, during these forty years, she has afforded me the peace and tranquility of a home life that many men can only dream of while they are sleeping. We seldom fought, a fact that Kevin claimed to be not normal. I can count the number of times that we had real serious disagreements with both hands and still have quite a few fingers to spare. On the rare occasion that we do “disagree”, the most amazing thing about her is that by the next morning she has already forgiven and forgotten. 

Nobody is perfect. Neither she nor I are perfect. That she is not perfect is a blessing for me, if she were perfect, would anyone believe that I’ll be the one to have deserved these 40 years of such good fortune? I suspect NOT! Separately, we are two very imperfect people, but we are perfectly matched together. Her stubbornness (after all she is an ox by her birth sign) and lack of mechanical inclinations have perfectly complemented my “go with the flow” attitude and lack of culinary skills for the past 40 years. She Is Perfect For Me. 

So, on this 40th Anniversary, TO LILLIAN: A Toast to say I LOVE YOU!! A Great Big Hug and Kiss to thank you for the wonderful forty years past, and all I wish for is you telling me “WE’VE ONLY JUST BEGUN” (The Carpenters or, strictly speaking, Paul Williams ’70). 

 And one final thought, people have often asked me what our secret is: two words: Yes, ma’am. 

A Year of Five

This year has been a year of fives. Hubs completed his PhD after five long years of blood, sweat, and tears; and a bit of hard work and determination on his part. This month has marked the fifth month that we have had to live apart because of his new job and the hassles of selling a house in this horrendous market and waiting for benefits to become available after a 90 day waiting period. It took us 5 months to sell our house. But, most importantly, today marks our 5th wedding anniversary. It is so hard to believe that 5 years has gone by since our wedding and 12 years since our first date. When I look back on our day, it’s almost sort of a blur because it went by so fast, but there are moments that will stay with me forever. So, in honor of our year of five, I give to hubs, my 5 best memories of our wedding. 

I remember just feeling so excited to finally be getting married and taking that next step. Even after being together for so long before getting married, it was still exciting to know that we were finally getting our forever. 

There hasn’t really been another time that I have been so emotional that I would risk crying in public. I remember that when my dad was walking me down the aisle, and I was looking at hubs smiling at me, that I was just so overcome with happiness that I had to take a few deep breaths so that my professionally applied makeup would not be ruined. 

I remember being nervous. Not nervous, as in cold feet nervous, just nervous in being in front of everyone and the fear of tripping or messing up my vows. As soon as I got to hubs and took his hand, all the nervousness melted away. We were in this together.

I remember many of our guests telling me how big hubs’s smile was when the doors first opened, and I started my processional. I remember our first dance and how hubs sacrificed his sense of self-preservation to endure a 4 minute song because I loved it and wanted it to be our song. 

Finally, I remember just looking at him and thinking how lucky am I that this man is mine? A man, who was smart enough, to not only earn a PhD in Finance, but to know to acknowledge my birthday (Feb 13) and Valentine’s Day as two separate occasions, even though he didn’t have to. This man who takes care of me, indulges my outrageous hypotheticals, makes me laugh whether I want to or not, and just plain loves me. 

Happy Anniversary to my hubs. 5 years married, 12 years together. I love you, and look forward to the rest of our forever. 

Thank you, Mr. Peter.

**I have struggled to find the right words to truly express just how devastating this loss is to our dance family at the Duluth School of Ballet, so apologies for the extreme stream-of-conciousness rambling.

I have been very fortunate in my life that I have not had to deal extensively with the pain and loss that is associated with the death of a loved one. I only know what I have seen close friends experience. That all changed earlier this month when I came home from work, and my mom said that she had something to share with me. Never in my wildest imagination did I expect to hear the words that came out of her mouth: “Mr. Peter passed away.” 

I was in disbelief. Peter was the character in your life that you thought would outlive everyone and be there for years and years so that he would be there to teach our kids. He teased me when he did the photography for my wedding that I would need to get started on the next generation of DSB dancers right away so that studio could stay in business. 

Peter was my very first ballet teacher, and to be frank, he scared the bejesus out of me. He was very no nonsense and didn’t take any crap that tends to come out of adolescent girls. I understand now that what was once seen as plain ol’ mean was really a lesson in self-discipline, not only in the studio but in all aspects of our lives. 

When my mom started working at the studio, and before I could drive myself home, I would be there after everyone had left and was fortunate enough to have those few moments to just hang out with him. He challenged me one year to a chopstick contest, as he was going to a Chinese New Year banquet with my family, to see who could move the smallest item from their plate to the other person’s plate. Unfortunately, we didn’t get the chance to play, but I’m pretty sure that he would have beaten me as my skills are adequate at best. But it’s the little memories like those that are unique and special to each of his students that demonstrate why everyone loved him so. 

Over the years, I always heard parents ask him why he never formed a company through the school, and his answer was always the same. He understood that not every little girl or little boy that walked through those doors wanted to be a ballerina or professional dancer, and that 99% of those students probably would never get anywhere near the professional level, but he guaranteed that 100% of those students would learn to love the art of dance. I always appreciated that he just wanted us to love dancing wherever it took us in life. 

Pliés, pirouettes, and grande battements weren’t the only things that I learned in that studio. The life lessons that I didn’t understand how important they were as a teenager, I will always have with me as an adult. Trying to control a room full of girls, I think he groaned out, “don’t be an aural nuisance,” more than he cared to. He would always say it with a sly grin because he thought he was being so clever with saying “aural” and instead of “oral”. He would always quiz us on the difference just to drive his point home. I can hear his voice in my head sitting in my meetings when someone just can’t seem to be quiet. 

He was fiercely adamant that his students not be “sheep”- if you’re going to make a mistake, make your own mistake and not someone else’s. Lord, I learned that one quickly. One time, when I wasn’t sure of a combination, I started to move one way, and noticed that someone else was doing something differently, so I adjusted and started following them, and boy did he call me out. He made me finish my initial movement and then promptly announced that had I not been acting like a sheep, I would have been correct. Message received, Mr. Peter. Loud and clear. 

Always finish. He was forever on us to never slop out of a turn, combination, whatever. You always finish no matter how behind you are or how badly you think you did it. Always finish.

Peter’s dedication to his students went far beyond weekly classes. When I asked him to help me for a summer program that I was interested in, he not only picked out a dance for me to do, he arranged it so that it would suit my strengths. And then he worked with me for several weeks after class to set it and perfect it. He also coached me on the interview portion in which he gave me the best life lesson I could have ever gotten from him, “Don’t tell them what you think they want to hear. Just be honest, and be yourself.”  
I believe that what endeared Peter to me and all of his students was that he saw in each us, what we couldn’t see for ourselves. There was no such thing as “I can’t” in his studio. You had better duck for cover if those words were ever spoken in his presence. He taught us, he encouraged us, he laughed with us, he teased us, he worried for us, and just in general, he loved us like we were all his own children. He was always saying that he didn’t need any more children because he had all of us. 

I know that for the rest of my life I will always cringe at the word “recital”. Peter Garick did not put on recitals, they were performances, and how dare anyone suggest otherwise. They were some of the best times of my life. There is a reason why all the seniors are sobbing uncontrollably at the end of the last show. 

I credit this man for my love of the musicals Yankee Doodle Dandy and Singin’ In the Rain, which he introduced at the Summer Movie Nights along with all sorts of useless trivia facts about them that has earned many points on the occasional trivia night. 

He is the sole reason for life-long love (read: obsession) of dance and anything involving tutus and pointe shoes. 

He is the link for not just mine, but many decades old friendships. 

And while he may not have a child to carry on his name, his legacy is the hundreds of students who lovingly called him Mr. Peter even years after they have since graduated and continued to love dance. 

So, thank you, Mr. Peter, for allowing me the privilege to share in your dream and to be a part of your dance family. You are greatly missed, but not forgotten.