tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88016817794643709642024-03-19T11:34:08.981+01:00mojoErzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-45856306456498577162012-09-30T15:30:00.002+02:002012-09-30T16:07:25.350+02:00Rome for the day.It's been a hectic several weeks, and there isn't much relief in sight. I needed a refresh, and the opportunity presented itself with a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call. Quinn had to get on the bus for a cross country meet at 5:45 a.m. which meant Lily and I would be up and operational to catch an early train to Rome. <br />
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So we did, arriving in the Eternal City just in time to catch a morning protest. Here is Lily before the remnants of a rally in a piazza. Please don't ask me what it was about. I suppose most European protests have to do with the current economic crisis, the austerity measures being taken, and the fact it seems the average folks are paying far more than those at the top for the profligacy that got everyone in this state. That seemed to fit with the signage I saw, but it's against the Status of Forces Agreement for us to have any involvement in politics here and I am happy to comply.<br />
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The plan was to do some fabric shopping based upon this <a href="http://selfishseamstress.wordpress.com/2012/03/12/simplicity-2473-again-and-a-mini-roman-fabric-tour/">blog post</a>. Enjoy a nice lunch. And savor the treasures in the Galleria Doria Pamphilj. Then wander back to the train station. We did that and a little more.<br />
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It's about a three kilometer walk to the Fratelli Bassetti fabric shop. So we got in a coffee moment and window shopping along Via Nazionale. Then we arrived at what appeared to be a ho-hum linen shop around the corner from the Gesu Jesuit church. Fortunately I knew that Fratelli Bassetti was a fabric shop or mercato di tessuti or I would have walked right by without a second glance.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know they say the '80s are BACK! My scarf knows it.</td></tr>
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The meat of the matter was on the second floor and, oh, what delights were inside for fabric accumulators -- but at far less than delightful prices. YIKES. Stacks upon stacks of 75-100 euro/meter silks. I spent some fantasy moments looking at the Etro silks, the Versace silks, the Dolce & Gabbana silks, and many other names I've never heard of. The set up is not customer friendly in the least. The bolt ends face out and you have only the slimmest of indications of what the fabric might look like. Though I imagine it minimizes grubby finger marks on precious silk yardage, one is not enticed to continue after three or four "meh" withdrawals from the stacks by an impatient gentleman -- a brother Bassetti perhaps?.<br />
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My sole aim was to get a piece of fine Italian wool, a bouclé, in particular. I want a Chanel jacket, v-neck, patch pockets, and trimmed with the type of lovely fringy braid cording made by the 70+-year-old lady in this fantastic <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Signe-Chanel-Haute-Couture-Collection/dp/B000A6M9YY">Chanel documentary</a> (which used to be available in its entirety on youtube . . . but, alas, is no longer). After much sorting through the stacks of wool (less stringently guarded than the silks), I came across the one for me -- a light heathery purple and chocolate brown bouclé, oh my.<br />
I kept sorting through the stacks and returning to it several times. Some negotiating brought the price down about 25%, but still it's the most I've paid per meter before. No buyer's remorse, though: it's wool and silk and wonderful:<br />
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Next, I followed the Selfish Seamstress's itinerary to Fatucci Tessuti for some fabric acquisitions more in my normal price range. A wonderful violet wool twill (with a healthy dollop of Lycra) and a contemporary floral silk voile which had the look of plant cell structures that I was assured was Dolce & Gabbana . . . not that it mattered. After Bassetti's prices, these were complete bargains. And another silk, this time a charmeuse, with contemporary floral design with a kind of protozoa look.</div>
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Are all you nonsewists saying, "BASTA!" Yeah, that's what Lily was saying, too. So we found a little place around the corner from the Pantheon and ate a lovely lunch. Lily had roast chicken with artichokes, and I had cannolini with ricotta and spinach. I didn't take any pictures -- so sue me.</div>
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Next we beelined for the Doria Pamphilj (the "j' is pronounced like a y -- go figure). A treasure trove to be sure -- and with many of its masterpieces generously provided online at this <a href="http://www.dopart.it/roma/en/i-capolavori-doria-pamphilj/">link</a>. </div>
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Lily and I loved the <a href="http://www.dopart.it/roma/en/i-capolavori-doria-pamphilj/jan-brueghel-il-vecchio/">Jan Brueghels</a> -- packed full with beautifully rendered detail. The three <a href="http://www.dopart.it/roma/en/i-capolavori-doria-pamphilj/michelangelo-merisi-detto-il-caravaggio/">Caravaggios</a> were lined up so you could see that the moving portrait of Mary Magdalene was based upon the same model used for the Virgin Mary in the Flight to Egypt. A scandalous act of economy -- me likey. </div>
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I'm not usually a big fan of audio guides which often are simply patronizing drones, but the Doria Pamphilj guide is provided by the Doria Pamphilj heir whose fluent, aristocratic cadences suit the setting and his insider asides are a fun accompaniment to the paintings.</div>
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We find out that all their good fortune dates back to this ancestor: Pope Innocent X. Really. And we also learn that he exclaimed, "It's too real!" when Velasquez unveiled the portrait for him. Hmmm, now where have I seen that expression before . . . ah, yes, this is the look the blind piano player's girlfriend gives to Larry David when she is introduced as a fashion model (and clearly is not) in Season 4 of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Yes, I am innocent of everything, care to make something of it?</div>
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But all good did flow from that Papa for the Doria Pamphiljs as this lovely view and many others attest. Apparently rollerskating occurred in these hallways within the last generation!</div>
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Lily has amazing art museum endurance for age 9. She even outlasted me in some rooms. But then we deserved a treat and the Doria Pamphilj has its own tea room. We were happy to top off our visit there. </div>
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There were some further wanderings, a long wait in the station in which several books were purchased in the large English section of the bookshop, and then the train trip home. What? You were expecting lots of photos of Roman street scenes and landmarks? I'm sure the web will offer them up to you elsewhere. . . this is Lily's and my day-in-the-life. But we will try to be more photo-illustrative of our next destination: Istanbul!</div>
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Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-86310696441218625232011-12-11T23:06:00.000+01:002011-12-11T23:06:48.148+01:00Barcelona<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>This time we were reasonable. No 7 a.m. departures for us. It wasn't an Italian holiday, it was American Thanksgiving. We slept until 8 a.m. and then got ourselves to the Naples airport with 90 minutes to spare for our 10:40 a.m. flight . . . only to discover that the Neapolitans were celebrating November 24th with travel plans of their own -- the lines at security were the worst I'd seen them. We made our flight via a mad dash. <br />
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A few hours later, we found our apartment on Gran Via de las Cortes Catalunyas . . . and settled in for a bit, before heading out for a walk toward Las Ramblas -- which we never reached since it seemed appropriate to celebrate our arrival with some late afternoon tapas and wine. After which, we sauntered back to the apartment to put our feet up.<br />
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About 7:30 p.m., Lily, the 8-year-old traditionalist, was nonplussed. "Where is our Thanksgiving dinner?" she asked, in the midst of our early evening torpor. I did a google map search and realized that we were but a short walk from the restaurant an old friend had recommended called Taverna Can Margarit. His evocation of the conejo a la jumillana . . . well it sounded like it would make a swell stand-in for turkey and the rest.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my happy snails</td></tr>
</tbody></table>At Lily's urging, we all rallied and set off. After a few wrong turns plus a helpful Spaniard with her iphone GPS, we arrived at Taverna Can Margarit: a barn-like establishment with huge barrels of wine along one wall, big farm tables and chairs, even farm implements on the wall. Minus the drink, an almost pilgrim-like ambience.<br />
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The wine was immediately forthcoming (no pilgrim, I). Then the Happy Snails. And the resulting "happy" daze (pictured right) was not unlike many a Thanksgiving "fellowship feeling" I had experienced before.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ahem, don't tell Lily. Conejo = Rabbit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Then the conejo and the lamb arrived . . . then another lovely ceramic pitcher of wine . . . then the desserts . . . delicious puddings and cakes. Blissful indulgence.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After some requisite holiday table silliness, we floated back to the apartment and counted it an excellent Thanksgiving.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYFjNiyEH2pa5_VApu-paoYldoImJZpUlhpLws-JulmYbZG476Y-eJjFUMGC37bWb5X3QiGv7UMSEf_UWmsfJlCU9fbXMb-8Jfg4aXc8L7rRAFMZOpVTvCBpt1sSXjWGTbwSi9IiAGeg/s1600/IMG_1556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYFjNiyEH2pa5_VApu-paoYldoImJZpUlhpLws-JulmYbZG476Y-eJjFUMGC37bWb5X3QiGv7UMSEf_UWmsfJlCU9fbXMb-8Jfg4aXc8L7rRAFMZOpVTvCBpt1sSXjWGTbwSi9IiAGeg/s320/IMG_1556.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lily and the lion</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhby0YhCUvWZTvemkyFnYqfFEsAC4yVp9kGDzSpgXQ_e_bv2gChxLHZTQV3RoOE7zVhEnBQP8Ov4FuihocIwtISHEO8h1vPbdMmtab1jF_4vJY8jggPpUGVFtWXc6z1oC37_rUpUlaZQt4/s1600/IMG_1558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhby0YhCUvWZTvemkyFnYqfFEsAC4yVp9kGDzSpgXQ_e_bv2gChxLHZTQV3RoOE7zVhEnBQP8Ov4FuihocIwtISHEO8h1vPbdMmtab1jF_4vJY8jggPpUGVFtWXc6z1oC37_rUpUlaZQt4/s640/IMG_1558.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quinn points the way.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Look at that BLUE sky. Day 2 began with a photo op at the Colom monument to Columbus at the foot of Las Ramblas. There is much revisionist history to enjoy on the monument, and it's across from the walkway over the harbor to the famous Barcelona Aquarium. We thought the Aquarium would be a good start for the day, remembering what a hit it had been for Emily many years ago. And it was. Nothing like sharks sailing overhead to warm up kids for a day of siteseeing.</div><div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5aq3-HvBmJzohWP0vYEOYzfYpsfaNO-90o6JYOSBJc637paVAll4mK20XkEPkNJap317WjNO0o_2M0q5l8luQSPs3r9u30ksWQjHK2NV9TozHpMCuExCtQ6KXVORv7F7AQkH2mfb8_gU/s1600/IMG_1578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_bcqJjs-rg985JF1MQkSiPyvvHrQ-N5Uq9JdCH0HamczoY7YyAm05FBXQMaTpTXSaHaCQPMuadxdj_Rbz1zKgJFtavzoJS14V2n2QBg3PrGnSTnt6PAzt41ixZ8tyP6PZ8D22fNtirA/s1600/IMG_1560.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_bcqJjs-rg985JF1MQkSiPyvvHrQ-N5Uq9JdCH0HamczoY7YyAm05FBXQMaTpTXSaHaCQPMuadxdj_Rbz1zKgJFtavzoJS14V2n2QBg3PrGnSTnt6PAzt41ixZ8tyP6PZ8D22fNtirA/s640/IMG_1560.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>But then there was lunch to be had, whereupon Quinn started feeling less than optimal. So we headed back to the apartment for reposo or siesta, take your pick. After a good rest, we headed over to the old bull ring, cum new shopping mall and enjoyed some browsing and a lovely dinner with a view from the top floor.<br />
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SATURDAY we tackled La Sagrada Familia early in the a.m., arriving just a few minutes before the tour buses started rolling up. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghR7A1R_3zPx6qc7R9HPLkAmCsrlCQU724C_EPPCEnBqiMbv9lNhujkqFZ6qfQ1EIYuhs3S2-zMRLGVXP8NdcSheexXR0SZYR8Fyj5EBYXzzyLQVZ5WjZOASM_CKA7iEe5CB3WPsJGB84/s1600/Barcelona-spain-attractions-Sagrada-Familia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghR7A1R_3zPx6qc7R9HPLkAmCsrlCQU724C_EPPCEnBqiMbv9lNhujkqFZ6qfQ1EIYuhs3S2-zMRLGVXP8NdcSheexXR0SZYR8Fyj5EBYXzzyLQVZ5WjZOASM_CKA7iEe5CB3WPsJGB84/s320/Barcelona-spain-attractions-Sagrada-Familia.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
We had a short wait for the elevator up to the top of a tower, and then a long vertiginous walk down. I hate heights. Don't ask me why I said yes when buying entry tickets to the tower elevator add-on. After putting on a good show for a family photo at the top, I was queasy the whole way down. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFymSiHudLcGId_nDq4-rdw5epwlZg6AOAzpeId4eVVhkMgZVWOi2WkBnk25-OlfHDR46rnuTwQXjwHyYV1QoPb4XgkXkafZNH-zYjuUenO2QfhddKVxhGQYGvuK6serWTPV0LPmz9cq4/s1600/IMG_1572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFymSiHudLcGId_nDq4-rdw5epwlZg6AOAzpeId4eVVhkMgZVWOi2WkBnk25-OlfHDR46rnuTwQXjwHyYV1QoPb4XgkXkafZNH-zYjuUenO2QfhddKVxhGQYGvuK6serWTPV0LPmz9cq4/s320/IMG_1572.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lily didn't enjoy it much either.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_EH0ESt6A5uqHoKR70geU2pvvytcb8_P6Q77aUKYNxSgNYGuvMvPK0t_t1SsGHY1zbmA0fgCh0gbB-mrcyfz70GCuHVlbhIu1Gmi6zXRqCb-t9wy9S4hL18-KCYyawSc-bs9tFiEh6OE/s1600/IMG_1582.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_EH0ESt6A5uqHoKR70geU2pvvytcb8_P6Q77aUKYNxSgNYGuvMvPK0t_t1SsGHY1zbmA0fgCh0gbB-mrcyfz70GCuHVlbhIu1Gmi6zXRqCb-t9wy9S4hL18-KCYyawSc-bs9tFiEh6OE/s640/IMG_1582.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I was much happier on the ground floor, looking up. And with this vaulted wonder to contemplate, the trauma of five minutes prior was forgotten. We jumped on the fabulous Barcelona metro again to get back to the thick of things. Grabbed a great lunch and then took in Barcelona's Contemporary Art museum (or MACBA). It had a kind of Guggenheim logic to it: i.e. start at the top and work your way down. Lots to see and talk about . . . and have a little fun with. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUP7C8-_8s_9Qi3jI9j1arQHnQ52dqIJvXyGtYQjsUq8lMatK4EfCbidQOWmz0SK-EQv4F916AZRJOHZx0mdQn1M_1rtu86s5xs2rPWeOjmU59SPFEHE_oQXiAAqVJD-8VQ3yO8Hltss/s1600/IMG_1590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfUP7C8-_8s_9Qi3jI9j1arQHnQ52dqIJvXyGtYQjsUq8lMatK4EfCbidQOWmz0SK-EQv4F916AZRJOHZx0mdQn1M_1rtu86s5xs2rPWeOjmU59SPFEHE_oQXiAAqVJD-8VQ3yO8Hltss/s640/IMG_1590.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkXvJWQ0hxXUV8llpoPMpysSpWwkl3O37WFU84-bp-_32gbRW3KGka15Pu8cm2Ap72JnTS7g7KynDU0IV4KfCk_6MXQ6UjlGr4PmrnARGUpYuenGFNKkVx1GKIQAErvKqlLvqlqdUOZuU/s1600/IMG_1591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkXvJWQ0hxXUV8llpoPMpysSpWwkl3O37WFU84-bp-_32gbRW3KGka15Pu8cm2Ap72JnTS7g7KynDU0IV4KfCk_6MXQ6UjlGr4PmrnARGUpYuenGFNKkVx1GKIQAErvKqlLvqlqdUOZuU/s320/IMG_1591.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lily disguised as installation</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next day was race day for Jon and Quinn. They had been training for a 10K and found that one was happening in Barcelona while we were there a few weeks ago. Serendipity.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFiMuxwnd1gAfxxDsTaFf0ryCCdLQjPCoP3Od0hvpRU_vylKMHpqrSSQyH1ntYpeFWsKuaQtAwGeJMr6B5tg0TtW8aPF66W7f7I8N1R9bhILhPWtsTqqV8fn2uSIsknEqbPbc7FXo_9ME/s1600/IMG_1592.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFiMuxwnd1gAfxxDsTaFf0ryCCdLQjPCoP3Od0hvpRU_vylKMHpqrSSQyH1ntYpeFWsKuaQtAwGeJMr6B5tg0TtW8aPF66W7f7I8N1R9bhILhPWtsTqqV8fn2uSIsknEqbPbc7FXo_9ME/s400/IMG_1592.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's Jon's shot of them at the start of the race</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7p0NIq33sJPlZ5r4mTz411UAImD-YNnb1pbgyRs6njsSVckglNvzQOtnyrQ-M2grjF6lTzKbbFN9sgqcdZSDRvMu4Ml0RwQ1QyL3MPe31kKcUIYW16ButigCQsHxnhCuDHf95OrKI68/s1600/IMG_1597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7p0NIq33sJPlZ5r4mTz411UAImD-YNnb1pbgyRs6njsSVckglNvzQOtnyrQ-M2grjF6lTzKbbFN9sgqcdZSDRvMu4Ml0RwQ1QyL3MPe31kKcUIYW16ButigCQsHxnhCuDHf95OrKI68/s400/IMG_1597.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's the cafe celebration afterwards with Jon's friend Pete who was in town for the race, too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After congratulating the boys, I set off for the Museo Nacional de Arte Catalunya to see the Romanesque frescos (another excellent recommendation from my friend) and some of the Gothic and Renaissance collection. The Romanesque frescos were astonishing -- all the more so for the fact these 11th century painted walls were transported undamaged from the mountain villages to Barcelona . . . large apses and alcoves of clerestory windows were painstakingly reestablished within the museums ample galleries. Worth a go . . . the Gothic and Renaissance works were worth seeing, too. Though I was glad that I went on my own, for all the bloody and gruesome depictions of martyred saints on view.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH0onlseP0OzKhMAzjl-SUPaOl5r-2edukDdPGWwtuh8dt9XnJ-n-8NqrAjPzZyHuz9i685xHDsaIp8AXo9-NN_z94VynvDzOzYxKFCBj_YFbXykhVdCVzZLA1bz55_UufVDVyU-XP2F4/s1600/IMG_1598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH0onlseP0OzKhMAzjl-SUPaOl5r-2edukDdPGWwtuh8dt9XnJ-n-8NqrAjPzZyHuz9i685xHDsaIp8AXo9-NN_z94VynvDzOzYxKFCBj_YFbXykhVdCVzZLA1bz55_UufVDVyU-XP2F4/s320/IMG_1598.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jon took the kids to see the Maritime Museum: wouldn't you know.<br />
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</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We reconvened to walk around the Barri Gothic, had some nibbles and wine, sat for a while in Sta. Maria del Mar. The remaining highlight was a fine Mexican dinner in our little neighborhood.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQbRQhik6Q2J3RY-eKUEHVYUQISs8kGlllmWDkeqGiMFb8rTzPYNPQ9AMrUl4tQPY9FGDeitvLQZ4jikt_KeVdfoSPADaQdJasQQKYLOW3y1A8yZ3Myf1HTZEs2sFTpiWwZ8Mna4rGPs/s1600/IMG_1607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQbRQhik6Q2J3RY-eKUEHVYUQISs8kGlllmWDkeqGiMFb8rTzPYNPQ9AMrUl4tQPY9FGDeitvLQZ4jikt_KeVdfoSPADaQdJasQQKYLOW3y1A8yZ3Myf1HTZEs2sFTpiWwZ8Mna4rGPs/s320/IMG_1607.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hasta luego Barcelona. We will be back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-85344216108167739612011-11-17T22:03:00.000+01:002011-11-17T22:03:14.562+01:00Almost a year . . .Yes, my last post was November 20, 2010. I should probably just toss in the towel on this one and start afresh on some new, more aptly named blog . . . but, for chrissake, I'm no blogger. Just an intermittent poster of a scrapbook moment now and then. I accept it and, reader, I hope you do, too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkiMsU6BKuc28hghcrVrL6TTgPB34Pu5IEcKLx_3lGQ9KbxQziWQelRPcCDXnzM6fOUnASmdPjFqKb3YYi9rj2qSu4yPsoXBcjsIPkDVpGE-qakYSjjfeCoPAS-O8maVvcBsJRqsnr6Y/s1600/IMG_1489.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkiMsU6BKuc28hghcrVrL6TTgPB34Pu5IEcKLx_3lGQ9KbxQziWQelRPcCDXnzM6fOUnASmdPjFqKb3YYi9rj2qSu4yPsoXBcjsIPkDVpGE-qakYSjjfeCoPAS-O8maVvcBsJRqsnr6Y/s320/IMG_1489.jpg" width="240" /></a>So today, Jon and I took the comp time due us for working two weeks straight with late nights, leaving two very tolerant and resourceful kids to fend for themselves. I do have to work tomorrow -- but taking this midweek day for no other reason than hanging out with just us (minus the Em :( ) felt great. I wanted to go to Rome for the day, but then Jon reminded me that sleeping in would be a blissful change from our routine. So we decided to stay home and enjoy our favorite Italian city: Bella Napoli. Oh, she is a quite difficult mistress with questionable hygiene habits, but beguiling nonetheless.<br />
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Today we set off for Book Alley, a (thwarted) visit to <i>Santa Chiara</i> and a wonderful, wonderful lunch at Starita, Napoli pizza of recent <a href="http://frugaltraveler.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/06/07/naples-must-sees-and-see-what-happens/">NYT Frugal Traveler fame</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjik3EuZoiXxTqI7zcf6JmPHzaNODLtOEs9KPS4BKIX2L0QiICFQ6DYc31vmjm89tQUUU51Likyv2UQl8Z5Xz4dz1bqeQzrxp7jEqQKSfycmbnCAUXuUsqkKQO5fKzXl68Yr7XP8pz-MhA/s1600/IMG_1472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjik3EuZoiXxTqI7zcf6JmPHzaNODLtOEs9KPS4BKIX2L0QiICFQ6DYc31vmjm89tQUUU51Likyv2UQl8Z5Xz4dz1bqeQzrxp7jEqQKSfycmbnCAUXuUsqkKQO5fKzXl68Yr7XP8pz-MhA/s400/IMG_1472.jpg" width="223" /></a>We left for the metro station about 11 a.m. (the sleeping in until 10 a.m. was wonderful), stopping for barside cappuccinos. Here's Lily onboard . . . self-curated, as usual. All I can say is "WATCH OUT TAVI GEVINSON!". This girl's nipping at your heels.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvR7m51Sum52sGkPJXHWsSuALe4zE_OqxgZssjDNci3BRPBpuBmkkm2bvaSO_KzxHyw6zvmBIJ2QE5njaQ4v2V9iuWpqwZ9dztOmkuLnEQYT_ycCYbYyDbS-AKccvgfusBYj2hxIBBJYw/s1600/IMG_1475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvR7m51Sum52sGkPJXHWsSuALe4zE_OqxgZssjDNci3BRPBpuBmkkm2bvaSO_KzxHyw6zvmBIJ2QE5njaQ4v2V9iuWpqwZ9dztOmkuLnEQYT_ycCYbYyDbS-AKccvgfusBYj2hxIBBJYw/s640/IMG_1475.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Quinn, a reluctant participant in our outing, did ultimately enjoy our wanderings, book seeking (. . but mostly our dining). <br />
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My plunder -- there's one vendor with whole rolling box of English books -- who'd believe you could pick up <i>The Santaland Diaries</i> in a cramped alley in Napoli? And how appropos heading into the "season" The Diana Wynne Jones is for Lily . . . Emily, any remarks?<br />
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Starita -- a revelation. We had their wonderful angelo diti (angel fingers -- fritters with fresh tomatoes and rucola) and stuffed fiori di zucca to start. How could I believe that my favorite pizza in the whole wide world would be without sauce (red or white) or cheese. Here it is, the Pizza Stock. Lovely shavings of baccala, olives, capers, fresh tomatoes, and parsley.<br />
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Lily varied her standard margarita (plain cheese pizza) with some funghi, Quinn had a quattro stagioni, and Jon did something that fed his current hankering for zucchini. <br />
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Afterward, we strolled over to see Santa Chiara which my Napoli Tourist Board and La Mattina published guidebook said was open at 2:30 p.m. AHEM. It wasn't opening until 5 p.m. Really? As I was saying about Napoli . . . but you have no choice but tolerance when this kind of gorgeousness awaits you. I've been hankering to go here for, um, years now. Two thwarted attempts, but I will continue my suit.<br />
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So we wandered back through a new route that took us past an excellent gelateria (we know this from sampling) and a cheap makeup emporium where Lily induced me to by her clear lipgloss because her lips were chapped . . . and NOT because the application wand lights up when you are applying it. Yup. Back to the metro station and Pozzuoli. <br />
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Well, I don't want to overdo it. Best not to set too many expectations, but we are heading to Barcelona for the Thanksgiving weekend. My second Thanksgiving without turkey, and I am not complaining. <br />
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While I will not promise, but I hope to post something about it next week some time.Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-85759982052435840632010-11-20T12:00:00.000+01:002010-11-20T12:00:29.787+01:00Saturday Redux<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnkuXer7NY_GpiwVDtcb3o2bVZAy-e4BbFpUYXBoL4ISoIPxxbHH8omMCizCPFjxvTVekNFeFVVRN5-Uu9d-4qihgLf1BHSIg2gKtH_sLKjNI_jRwLwhwTD4IV5eTw9BSAtoQNS4NviM/s1600/IMG_0533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnkuXer7NY_GpiwVDtcb3o2bVZAy-e4BbFpUYXBoL4ISoIPxxbHH8omMCizCPFjxvTVekNFeFVVRN5-Uu9d-4qihgLf1BHSIg2gKtH_sLKjNI_jRwLwhwTD4IV5eTw9BSAtoQNS4NviM/s400/IMG_0533.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>After long week of rain that ranged from drizzle to downpour, Saturday arrived with a reprieve of pink tinged tufts instead of thunder . . . we hoofed it down to the market (all downhill to the port) to gather the following:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HnQqLRmGX5hyphenhyphenVY8SkvfQe4d20_PNw6vX4JC_CaKGn_PBXNirs2nRNpASfNNqq5UtA6o-bLly2ZtGN4kKRxy8YvIW-d1VdVGr1YIwZ7ob9KfQ4vELzUGApfAWPZFa0XO5G1hZ5CWHFOM/s1600/IMG_0535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HnQqLRmGX5hyphenhyphenVY8SkvfQe4d20_PNw6vX4JC_CaKGn_PBXNirs2nRNpASfNNqq5UtA6o-bLly2ZtGN4kKRxy8YvIW-d1VdVGr1YIwZ7ob9KfQ4vELzUGApfAWPZFa0XO5G1hZ5CWHFOM/s400/IMG_0535.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pears and apples are what still remain from last week's haul. The salted baccala is already soaking for cooking on Monday (or maybe Tuesday, depending). I wish I had a shot of the signora of Pozzuoli who gave me that wonderful twist of the wrist with finger in her cheek that means "It's really delicious." Hope to post a shot of the baccala when cooked. Ciao and happy Saturday to all. </div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-69140535993671762592010-11-13T12:06:00.002+01:002010-11-13T12:08:23.607+01:00How to start a Saturday!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuODna9DoZpHAO4tG8rGrZ_qmXwd-Mrl9oN2jyRVH3SV24SYu7d9PfDT5ajr8fOQ4XLLbv2WPrdeS5vHCfKi2q11PqQsehA9cgQd2SKAG9B60vxy8aBqf8M_qZTxOmVaZA5ndXy6kWSv4/s1600/IMG_2887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuODna9DoZpHAO4tG8rGrZ_qmXwd-Mrl9oN2jyRVH3SV24SYu7d9PfDT5ajr8fOQ4XLLbv2WPrdeS5vHCfKi2q11PqQsehA9cgQd2SKAG9B60vxy8aBqf8M_qZTxOmVaZA5ndXy6kWSv4/s400/IMG_2887.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>An early morning walk to the port market, a quick cappuccino at a cafe, and home again, home again, jiggedy jig, with this lovely array. Have a great weekend everyone!Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-55321864044528382732010-11-07T09:56:00.002+01:002010-11-07T11:44:37.207+01:00From Homecoming to Party Frock<div style="text-align: left;">Emily asked me to make her a dress for Homecoming last month. Though I got within a couple hours' work of completing it, we decided to not rush it that day and go with Plan B. She looked smashing in her black wrap dress that night. </div><div style="text-align: left;">But with the invitation to a fancy birthday party at a restaurant, interest was renewed in getting this Asian style dress completed. We had bought the pattern, McCalls 5002 three years back, so I think it's OOP. The fabric we used was a rich brown crepe-back satin with a Chinese medallion design embellished with vines, flowers, and, if you can believe it, tiny little bats flying about. What a perfect combination for my girl who loves a touch of goth in her look. Emily found it in my stash, and I have no recall how it got there. (Not a good sign.) But there is probably enough left for a skirt, which I'm sure I'll sew up in my copious free time.*</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZyqnieqyWHb4OI0lAAcJfgrluNBIz_NpDOg2eUGEZgtzf5UKFs0B9CmZE8QruaC5LcwDQEy7m5D11Mv-fSuMIt8N4L6sLS281LhNp6yo8bKcye-bCeS9CJXuLZlq2bCeHg64PWCKhAc/s1600/IMG_2860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZyqnieqyWHb4OI0lAAcJfgrluNBIz_NpDOg2eUGEZgtzf5UKFs0B9CmZE8QruaC5LcwDQEy7m5D11Mv-fSuMIt8N4L6sLS281LhNp6yo8bKcye-bCeS9CJXuLZlq2bCeHg64PWCKhAc/s320/IMG_2860.JPG" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The short version, View A, which Emily chose, has piping around the mandarin collar and keyhole opening and around the vented hem, and a side zipper. I added the cap sleeves, too, from View C. After inserting the hemline piping and twiddling with getting the lining to fall correctly and not sag beyond the piping, I gave up, ripped out the piping, and settled for a regular hem and tacking the lining at each hem corner. I made the piping with a silver crepe back satin scrap I got in a Freecycle acquisition back in Virginia. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_AER9SIiSzYCFvVJ3z4-pV8HR4giGGCz767XOL3HMyPUbmmrghA8P8NRlrgtEsYNbF286x3sJd2yqIAyyARp6qgBfH3o_j2wUA9raWC5id9q3dglPpjixAh66XEmtlqA2klqT4Yp1Kwg/s1600/IMG_2854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_AER9SIiSzYCFvVJ3z4-pV8HR4giGGCz767XOL3HMyPUbmmrghA8P8NRlrgtEsYNbF286x3sJd2yqIAyyARp6qgBfH3o_j2wUA9raWC5id9q3dglPpjixAh66XEmtlqA2klqT4Yp1Kwg/s400/IMG_2854.JPG" width="248" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">She got many compliments on it, and I think the color really suits her. And it stood up to a night of dancing and running about at a very frolicsome event.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xgyISyLja9ohAuIFTj-DQl9Scf5MU9ZTsgxPd4HMW4NGsPfjw7ZHTjBUWlmXES4t29CWbipfNkWCXd0UeCGWPZgEQ29s_rRWiEBw9IfP_LvskiwlbWlhqCBTKg6qz6kaP1xl3nN1ZSE/s1600/IMG_2855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xgyISyLja9ohAuIFTj-DQl9Scf5MU9ZTsgxPd4HMW4NGsPfjw7ZHTjBUWlmXES4t29CWbipfNkWCXd0UeCGWPZgEQ29s_rRWiEBw9IfP_LvskiwlbWlhqCBTKg6qz6kaP1xl3nN1ZSE/s320/IMG_2855.JPG" width="170" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I suggested wearing her hair up with this and was vetoed, but I think the collar/keyhole (with vintage pearl and rhinestone button closure) would be more dramatic without hair tumbling about. . . maybe next wearing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKhwP7xcTwUwRSG-B-9gnRDY4l-Ahgbnv5856uwrWDpBI8WJvXRaUjzT_dpZ3OOWCEEiKve4QPgNYD6sab1jVfKY2zR6pfU8e8FIEdTbvee1IRvHDLnmKKwbzqlVCRnfh_OQQOOzMN4U/s1600/IMG_2859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKhwP7xcTwUwRSG-B-9gnRDY4l-Ahgbnv5856uwrWDpBI8WJvXRaUjzT_dpZ3OOWCEEiKve4QPgNYD6sab1jVfKY2zR6pfU8e8FIEdTbvee1IRvHDLnmKKwbzqlVCRnfh_OQQOOzMN4U/s320/IMG_2859.JPG" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These pictures were taken after there had been much sitting about in the dress -- so it's slightly rumpled, but I think the fit turned out pretty well, though I should probably shorten the fisheye darts on the back next time to remove a little creasing at the waist. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">*As to copious free time, I start my first full-time job in 7 years tomorrow. So sewing, beading, etc. will be intermittent at best in the coming months, but I'm hoping that once I get in the swing of things, I'll have the energy and focus to be creative again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-16018049359371499202010-09-13T09:31:00.011+02:002010-09-16T12:38:40.075+02:00Why and how I make (so much) limoncello<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXcpFCpOrOZGdxnuSjBFjFxu8wnWFe2tbJUjFB0LugnWH8Hbi3fwFF_juGUhgm9m7yYj9eSKUgCyfBvvP2gc0Z70LW7hYg4T-O77-zCAZpPxc0fYcwAu7fk_gBkki4A9KndSckLUWbZg/s1600/IMG_0646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXcpFCpOrOZGdxnuSjBFjFxu8wnWFe2tbJUjFB0LugnWH8Hbi3fwFF_juGUhgm9m7yYj9eSKUgCyfBvvP2gc0Z70LW7hYg4T-O77-zCAZpPxc0fYcwAu7fk_gBkki4A9KndSckLUWbZg/s400/IMG_0646.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Why? Surfeit of lemons . . . and I love it! Of course, this photo was taken a few months back. This time of year we only have lime impersonators on the tree. Neapolitans love their lemons -- there are trees everywhere . . . along the streets, in the parks, and, of course, backyards. We have five lemon trees in ours along with two tangerine and two orange trees. It's citrus overload February through April. I do make all kinds of other things . . . marmalade, lemon cakes, citrus salad dressings . . . to reap the bounty. But limoncello makes the sunshine last a long, long time (unless, of course, you are Danny Devito). I didn't post this in a timely way for yard-picked lemons, but it's good timing if you want to give limoncello for the holidays. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's how I make it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxoVbNHh3hxh65_yN5_At9L0OvLs61q-xKQjtkBYO6kcDndDIAAdBNAEmhkUV0bkp9imls7v0ApwlneTwTnlC_C5_sfg3Wwr4noSDSFVK-5dbhtEh9eCYqeJdIvvRp8opktXT2VpZeuI/s1600/IMG_1016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxoVbNHh3hxh65_yN5_At9L0OvLs61q-xKQjtkBYO6kcDndDIAAdBNAEmhkUV0bkp9imls7v0ApwlneTwTnlC_C5_sfg3Wwr4noSDSFVK-5dbhtEh9eCYqeJdIvvRp8opktXT2VpZeuI/s320/IMG_1016.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Pam's Limoncello</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>ingredients</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 liter bottle vodka (inexpensive is okay)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 liter of grain alcohol or everclear*</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">12-15 organic Meyer lemons or Sorrento lemons as the case may be</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">5 cups sugar</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">4 cups filtered water</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><u>supplies</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><u></u>1 3-liter glass container (I found mine at World Market)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">potato peeler (sharp one!) or sharp small knife</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">funnel(s)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">coffee filters</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">soup ladle</div>4-5 resealable bottles (Ikea has great ones)<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First, pour both types of alcohol into the 3-liter glass container. <i>Wheeeeew! Don't get intoxicated from the fumes, especially since you will be using a sharp object now.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Use a sharp potato peeler or a small sharp knife to remove the zest or yellow skin of your lemons. Minimize as much as possible the pith or the white underskin on your peels because the pith will cause the brew to be bitter. Place peels in the alcohol as you work. NOTE: <i>Above you see the peeling was done after these lemons were juiced. NO juice is used to make limoncello, just the zest. I peeled for this batch post lemonade juicing -- usually we do it the other way around: zesting for limoncello first; juicing for lemonade next. I recommend that order for maximum peel and less pith. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After depositing all the peel in the alcohol, seal the glass container and put it in a dark cabinet. Forget about it for two weeks, four weeks, six weeks -- I've never gone longer than that. Of course, you may want to unseal it after two weeks and take a whiff. It should smell very lemony and have a wonderful clear yellow hue -- liquid sunshine! <i>One of the ways to see if your distillation is ready is to fish out a peel with a fork and snap it in half with your fingers. If it breaks like a slightly soggy potato chip, the peel has given up its essence. </i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3v8iuw8rxYuhDF1wxgg8IaPMtJ4GTyAboqVKmTR1f0ZBwZw1avco5TMX9lnrbyDm5qZ3_sUQSDHkMZk3Y9hF3P1sWN8_N48JgnC4Q_-hG3Cc4V5Rvr5SuBfK9LVCL1-0s-Jh9cuxIGS8/s1600/IMG_0497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3v8iuw8rxYuhDF1wxgg8IaPMtJ4GTyAboqVKmTR1f0ZBwZw1avco5TMX9lnrbyDm5qZ3_sUQSDHkMZk3Y9hF3P1sWN8_N48JgnC4Q_-hG3Cc4V5Rvr5SuBfK9LVCL1-0s-Jh9cuxIGS8/s320/IMG_0497.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Put the 5 cups of sugar and 4 cups of water in a large pot and bring to a boil. Stir to make sure the syrup is clear and turn off the heat. Allow the syrup to cool to room temperature. Place a colander over your pot and pour the alcohol into the colandar so that all the peels are collected in the colander and the alcohol mixes with the syrup. Stir to ensure the two are completely mixed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLm_UnM15TyLWkGS1rg656etflYNBS7hFN6UWAtF4mRRMK0yYSZhM_5pQWUnPkOM8TzlLyLhW3CORotciEpcLqFZq7pdkOi-DMqXnY871cbqd9vzN6n51q_FY0I82FfGGF4S2M1nbmhVo/s1600/IMG_2580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLm_UnM15TyLWkGS1rg656etflYNBS7hFN6UWAtF4mRRMK0yYSZhM_5pQWUnPkOM8TzlLyLhW3CORotciEpcLqFZq7pdkOi-DMqXnY871cbqd9vzN6n51q_FY0I82FfGGF4S2M1nbmhVo/s400/IMG_2580.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now it's time to filter the brew into bottles. It's important to filter to create a clear brew. I was given a bottle that wasn't filtered, and there's a tendency for browning if you don't get out the sediment. Ick! Because it takes time for the limoncello to pass through the filter, I like to do two bottles at once (and change the filter at least twice for each bottle). Place a funnel spout into a bottle and line the funnel with wet unbleached coffee filter (<i>wetting the filter first decreases loss of precious liquid sunshine!</i>). Begin ladling the limoncello into the funnel. When the liquid starts to slow or stop passing through, change the filter. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After every precious drop has found its way into a bottle, it's time to stand back and admire your work. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoh7dD_QCxV6xaH9tuusa6MG-LI2_5LxBML9UQEDlAkKfC6gLJafdga-A9PtKxmplZmb9qjIm5eNlf_MqlrHssDkgFDBsuuwzGW5h9IByZ7L4ortHe2FIRdJoZmH7J0VyuYHZ7a5E1UZ8/s1600/IMG_0500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoh7dD_QCxV6xaH9tuusa6MG-LI2_5LxBML9UQEDlAkKfC6gLJafdga-A9PtKxmplZmb9qjIm5eNlf_MqlrHssDkgFDBsuuwzGW5h9IByZ7L4ortHe2FIRdJoZmH7J0VyuYHZ7a5E1UZ8/s400/IMG_0500.JPG" width="308" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxoVbNHh3hxh65_yN5_At9L0OvLs61q-xKQjtkBYO6kcDndDIAAdBNAEmhkUV0bkp9imls7v0ApwlneTwTnlC_C5_sfg3Wwr4noSDSFVK-5dbhtEh9eCYqeJdIvvRp8opktXT2VpZeuI/s1600/IMG_1016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
But you are not finished yet! Proper brewing requires more setting time. Place your bottles in a cool, dark place and let them rest for at least two weeks. Then it's time to put one in the freezer . . . and have at the ready for all kinds of special events, like watching Project Runway, getting the kids to bed, and, my favorite, a nice sunset. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguEefk1Vp6s4vupv9vZ5idxQqTqiEMa9RShL2eo04l5BuuH3JA1cyi-ikt-xbEsK1UmKhhsemrKuBhTDKEiHPbc-Sn7nYlKvdoPJJ0DOQ0v6hKian8X740-kIUJ_Pdco-JPp9qsD8k4U/s1600/IMG_5438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguEefk1Vp6s4vupv9vZ5idxQqTqiEMa9RShL2eo04l5BuuH3JA1cyi-ikt-xbEsK1UmKhhsemrKuBhTDKEiHPbc-Sn7nYlKvdoPJJ0DOQ0v6hKian8X740-kIUJ_Pdco-JPp9qsD8k4U/s400/IMG_5438.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div><i>Salute!</i><br />
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* I understand there are some puritanical places (usually where moonshine is made) that don't sell grain alcohol, use 2 liters of vodka in this case. The Neapolitans use ALL grain alcohol (which is twice the proof of vodka). I found this voltage a bit too high for me. Of course, when using the pure vodka concoction, you should pour yourself a double. ; )</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-44129435406581255132010-09-07T13:19:00.015+02:002010-09-16T12:36:20.446+02:00Paestum<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjVyojjBoKt0tQ-0YUKnP3zfTZ9wgOEXGGTvi-Y9Zd7HXpgDGkqUIgXKY3dB-fDi3SqRyUjs-BK3pOt34boo6BEc-qshtuAcrDvZt6dZLd7FCH-VZ_1Au2fwUnmoBUCa6os-rpeehyphenhyphenbA/s1600/IMG_0055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjVyojjBoKt0tQ-0YUKnP3zfTZ9wgOEXGGTvi-Y9Zd7HXpgDGkqUIgXKY3dB-fDi3SqRyUjs-BK3pOt34boo6BEc-qshtuAcrDvZt6dZLd7FCH-VZ_1Au2fwUnmoBUCa6os-rpeehyphenhyphenbA/s640/IMG_0055.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Our family spent the long weekend in Paestum . . . visiting the beach, a winery, and the awe-inspiring Greek ruins from 6th century B.C. We spent a whole morning exploring the extensive site which holds the remains of a town and three amazing temples, all three are now thought to be dedicated to female divines (always love that), specifically Athena and Hera. We were early enough to have the site almost to ourselves . . . such a treat.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfo6blUuIT38V8vrV76U3z-dqc_YBzi_dGY5otTMzRxb0gTfWYz8cft91eUIyV0eQVFhY9nHctyYjNclbZ86-I_ss3IaZ7g1E887YUP0337XkpJO3gFdS_kzjTRmtGwabY7PjRnAO1FKo/s1600/IMG_0061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfo6blUuIT38V8vrV76U3z-dqc_YBzi_dGY5otTMzRxb0gTfWYz8cft91eUIyV0eQVFhY9nHctyYjNclbZ86-I_ss3IaZ7g1E887YUP0337XkpJO3gFdS_kzjTRmtGwabY7PjRnAO1FKo/s400/IMG_0061.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><br />
Just like the ruins of the Mayan, these amazing structures were abandoned and left untouched for centuries in marshland, until they were rediscovered and the site became an archeological attraction in the 1600s. It is believed the city had waned and eventually was abandoned because of the encroachment of marshland and malaria as well as attacks by Saracen pirates during the 12th century A.D. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8QGBiGcydUWqeXijFbZ1KI2cvKaJSXpJS9YCPG8I0vAxXeQNtRcw7S-N-e_2zHNWy_oxugFtOjEvJIREhKZEvnx8QR19JD4QXEdevW5_3y-oFhgW5VAi5OAWFxj0OlyY9yCUkUPiMKBU/s1600/IMG_0057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8QGBiGcydUWqeXijFbZ1KI2cvKaJSXpJS9YCPG8I0vAxXeQNtRcw7S-N-e_2zHNWy_oxugFtOjEvJIREhKZEvnx8QR19JD4QXEdevW5_3y-oFhgW5VAi5OAWFxj0OlyY9yCUkUPiMKBU/s400/IMG_0057.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwPf8WQdbJoV0U4gc6cLrjHCv7v8jXEgrEmwQ5e1g30YP0axJGI5AQ0LygYBQ86o3iXCsm6yD5UDzRprHSbQU0lu_6OF43QLqSHYaCuie61_1UTjWQg2HyFqyjhjhBy-wKIIIqLOuHF4/s1600/IMG_0079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEwPf8WQdbJoV0U4gc6cLrjHCv7v8jXEgrEmwQ5e1g30YP0axJGI5AQ0LygYBQ86o3iXCsm6yD5UDzRprHSbQU0lu_6OF43QLqSHYaCuie61_1UTjWQg2HyFqyjhjhBy-wKIIIqLOuHF4/s640/IMG_0079.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
We spent a long time walking around the ruins that showed the further development of the Greek settlement as a Roman town, with such features as an amphitheater, a bouleuterion, and public baths.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbl8TcoAGe8mGrfZ9enszcAlISgWO2-OTvcqIxVmrJz5JJao4wJnX3eKujb6lECbphbP-Hw2x7LJFvUNsZ9fAWmxa-PcH2_lEG5cUsvyTlmacF7T4GR9cbvrKfSyn39Q5KeEk-PpDvb0/s1600/IMG_0097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbl8TcoAGe8mGrfZ9enszcAlISgWO2-OTvcqIxVmrJz5JJao4wJnX3eKujb6lECbphbP-Hw2x7LJFvUNsZ9fAWmxa-PcH2_lEG5cUsvyTlmacF7T4GR9cbvrKfSyn39Q5KeEk-PpDvb0/s400/IMG_0097.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the museum, we saw that some parts of one of the temples friezes included the exploits of Hercules . . . <br />
so Quinn gave a little of the hero flavor to the site.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uNZoSAms2JST91rA4TZPIAcvnkVKVMygfu1CME1YbIJRx4vRZGNxUD8OHoBhheabLnsQ6Uwv-Wlbwmb9BYHZQnqmdNXu5mm0iBDEnzvx5o3IDAgM5NDVEpHh8fKbV2fooj5QQwdNV4A/s1600/IMG_0077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uNZoSAms2JST91rA4TZPIAcvnkVKVMygfu1CME1YbIJRx4vRZGNxUD8OHoBhheabLnsQ6Uwv-Wlbwmb9BYHZQnqmdNXu5mm0iBDEnzvx5o3IDAgM5NDVEpHh8fKbV2fooj5QQwdNV4A/s320/IMG_0077.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">Of course, these notable features were easier to imagine because we had seen the well preserved examples at Pompeii and Herculaneum. In Paestum, other than the temples, most of the remains exist only as stone outlines.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRKQdv20eIuoVcIBIOUVsXYF1tGF53U_WI9iK6qlY4Wxghc142Ppc8zBXjtt8-Hwyw2njCmE222BO5h_A0Ab5SD0zvsvK3KU6i3KnD0p_3EFZ09VcVU1mXFGzisSQx7uXIbR6uDnIZUUs/s1600/IMG_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRKQdv20eIuoVcIBIOUVsXYF1tGF53U_WI9iK6qlY4Wxghc142Ppc8zBXjtt8-Hwyw2njCmE222BO5h_A0Ab5SD0zvsvK3KU6i3KnD0p_3EFZ09VcVU1mXFGzisSQx7uXIbR6uDnIZUUs/s400/IMG_0088.JPG" width="400" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Felicity, a well-travelled American Girl Doll, joined us that morning.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">But the temples are astonishing, unbelievably majestic survivors. Inevitably, we spent much time just circling these massive testimonies to the divine industry of the Greeks -- Athena and Hera were well heralded here!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMZRnLryMWd3z6NlazwLGSCk8cOH3GsYmHGbK5bKdFCHb_L6Y8c8F4cDwcHcX4bc_j1ZOa_1ghBhKF5fvoNYvqBwqJe68bp6ziGg1MVjVgazhhG_dGro6tZIiQz1H_FxYSflbrk98Ls8/s1600/IMG_0094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFMZRnLryMWd3z6NlazwLGSCk8cOH3GsYmHGbK5bKdFCHb_L6Y8c8F4cDwcHcX4bc_j1ZOa_1ghBhKF5fvoNYvqBwqJe68bp6ziGg1MVjVgazhhG_dGro6tZIiQz1H_FxYSflbrk98Ls8/s640/IMG_0094.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">There is also a museum that houses many artifacts from the temples and the nearby necropoli, including the frescoed interior of a tomb with a diver, supposedly symbolizing the plunge from this world to the afterlife. The metaphor was evocatively rendered.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-75CLJg90sB5bzb3Y3bDkvpr_gx9zCrlh38fiIY1OsW6Gq2ooTG4zCTjDAShkPjKRa10Zkzof5DF1pLmOQuEytMPyz9Rf5ZlI_JJPl1HBVmf7TT5yRONmAPX40BKoPgYMzmbfijF98cY/s1600/IMG_0103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-75CLJg90sB5bzb3Y3bDkvpr_gx9zCrlh38fiIY1OsW6Gq2ooTG4zCTjDAShkPjKRa10Zkzof5DF1pLmOQuEytMPyz9Rf5ZlI_JJPl1HBVmf7TT5yRONmAPX40BKoPgYMzmbfijF98cY/s400/IMG_0103.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-70176457727737585912010-08-25T12:45:00.001+02:002010-09-16T12:37:07.255+02:00Inspirations . . . serendipity . . . synergy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZG_h8kMk_WIN1TPWDYfO0hrPjxu0IoDpiAxhbgUyn7cfp1u2uDewX4ezN9yPl_g5lClvHp5_2Okth8mnIknj9Lw7x12EgFRhzSjdTPbgHTBkoTu2yQw5jGVqxEXYzHa3RX6HfaPFW2c/s1600/IMG_2734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZG_h8kMk_WIN1TPWDYfO0hrPjxu0IoDpiAxhbgUyn7cfp1u2uDewX4ezN9yPl_g5lClvHp5_2Okth8mnIknj9Lw7x12EgFRhzSjdTPbgHTBkoTu2yQw5jGVqxEXYzHa3RX6HfaPFW2c/s400/IMG_2734.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I just thought I'd share what's been going on this morning . . . it's hot here in Naples, so if you want to turn on the oven, you better do it early. I've been smelling wafts of ripe banana and ripe peach in the kitchen since Sunday when we loaded up on fruit at the market. The peaches were a mix of ripe and ripening, but the bananas had been around for a week and were on the cusp. So before 7 a.m., I got a banana bread in the oven, using my current favorite recipe from the <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Apples-Jam-Colorful-Tessa-Kiros/dp/0740769715">Apples for Jam</a></i> cookbook. <br />
I love the two Tessa Kiros cookbooks that I have -- they are full of great recipes presented in the most charming and visually appealing manner. The other one I have is <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0740781529/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_1?pf_rd_p=486539851&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=0740769715&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=0SABQ6002GBF55QBQ6WX">Falling Cloudberries</a></i>. She doesn't order her recipes in a conventional manner -- <i>Apples for Jam</i> is divided by color and <i>Falling Cloudberries</i> has a section devoted to the countries of her family's heritage and those she has lived in, ranging from Finland to South Africa. The format of both books make them fun to peruse and find inspiration . . . inverting the usual order for me when deciding what to cook. It's usually ingredients first -- what can I make with them? In the case of Kiros' cookbooks, it's engaging recipe first, let me get what I need for that. I've had such success and been so intrigued by her recipes that they are worth a special trip to the store.<br />
A few weeks back, I had come upon her banana bread recipe when thumbing through to the oil spattered page with her fabulous vegetable risotto recipe. At the time, more fragrant bananas were importuning upon me, and the resulting loaf was a hit. One great thing about the recipe is that it calls for a 12-inch bread pan . . . so you get a nice long loaf that lasts through many between-meal slicings by family members. This particular loaf made its welcome appearance by 8 a.m. for Quinn and Lily's breakfast, tweaking little noses awake with a marvelous cinnamon fragrance. One of the best alarm clocks around.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zOXV4-T-KO0kJ5SSilnehIcBjHPrNCMvMyuazjvrHZoeKO50geHJwdZLAFH40NSR1mtDRDZ97Zdhk5wzeJiORB8NTOqe9Rsj1hIGKMfP6NbFfAGc9DvKjTvBXjM6KBqymrhfq2MXVKc/s1600/IMG_2737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zOXV4-T-KO0kJ5SSilnehIcBjHPrNCMvMyuazjvrHZoeKO50geHJwdZLAFH40NSR1mtDRDZ97Zdhk5wzeJiORB8NTOqe9Rsj1hIGKMfP6NbFfAGc9DvKjTvBXjM6KBqymrhfq2MXVKc/s400/IMG_2737.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
After breakfast, I enlisted Lily in helping me make a peach pie with this very easy <a href="http://allrecipes.com//Recipe/peach-pie-the-old-fashioned-two-crust-way/Detail.aspx">recipe</a>. I do use Pillsbury pie dough rather frequently. It's great to have in the freezer for just such exigencies as peaches in danger of succumbing to severe brown spots. We sorted through the crate of 24, placing the still unblemished ones in a bowl, and then got to work. Lily was especially keen because I've been reading <i>James and the Giant Peach</i> to her at night. So conversation rattled on about singing centipedes, kind spiders and ladybugs, and seagulls. We made a lattice top for the pie with my little pinking cutter -- Lily loves to cut and weave the dough. Once the pie was in the oven, we had to carry on with James' adventures. A few more chapters and -- <i>voila! </i> Two home-baked goodies and the oven turned off before 10 a.m. That's a successful start to the day!<br />
Yesterday, I was reading one of my favorite blogs: <a href="http://www.soulemama.com/soulemama/2010/08/twirly-transformations.html">Soulemama</a>. Amanda, the author of two books on family creativity, wrote about transforming cast-off skirts into new attire for her young daughter. And this is just exactly what I do! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8XN530aLU-BaT-FwopoC0xwHBDYnv0B5TFJSUb8lJMrFsMpOGYYf30YtELOLEDx691RjCwZZm1IZ5nyb8i9hvPKFQS7ZK_7Q5S7Xy3QpyKA932nBzTFA3EZ797IvMz82Afr3jDmeelNA/s1600/IMG_2738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8XN530aLU-BaT-FwopoC0xwHBDYnv0B5TFJSUb8lJMrFsMpOGYYf30YtELOLEDx691RjCwZZm1IZ5nyb8i9hvPKFQS7ZK_7Q5S7Xy3QpyKA932nBzTFA3EZ797IvMz82Afr3jDmeelNA/s320/IMG_2738.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Amanda had repurposed her own skirts for this, but this spring I used two stockpiled vintage finds to make new skirts for Lil. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4U4_sZOqAa05g7QNBI_LvnxKA89DWRm0ViHG07Q-qb1SjqwmWOdk-6jWQMmwncFCmqBn8TdsaAUgUO9pqfmjLD-HqCYBMqXig5G_1Md6P5Zf1szQndmYM8lKxnyruue2RA9OvUYD8It0/s1600/IMG_0503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4U4_sZOqAa05g7QNBI_LvnxKA89DWRm0ViHG07Q-qb1SjqwmWOdk-6jWQMmwncFCmqBn8TdsaAUgUO9pqfmjLD-HqCYBMqXig5G_1Md6P5Zf1szQndmYM8lKxnyruue2RA9OvUYD8It0/s320/IMG_0503.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Notice the 25-cent sticker still on the gored skirt made from a lovely vintage floral linen! I picked it up at a garage sale in Wisconsin (so about 10 years ago!). The Indian border print (complete with beading and sequins) was sent by my MIL for Emily, but was a tad too tight. I use the same method Amanda uses . . . so check out her blog if you have a little girl in need of new duds for school (or for twirling as Amanda notes). These recycled skirts have been in frequent "rotation" on Lily this summer as she loves pull-on clothes (who doesn't!) As you can see, they are perfect for splashing and spinning around in unexpected downpours in the summer heat!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFoVfeW0xjJ8xoIlF2WethE0vPOMb_8tE6yL4VIZKRa5_jiohq-6LfP86MUeOUMcT0Quuzch5BdTlvpJ36QbTXzE32jzPweUgKf0fvuWf2yaxQfcaoDvhxFAFDkCPjSDDJZf7fISfcqo/s1600/IMG_2547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFoVfeW0xjJ8xoIlF2WethE0vPOMb_8tE6yL4VIZKRa5_jiohq-6LfP86MUeOUMcT0Quuzch5BdTlvpJ36QbTXzE32jzPweUgKf0fvuWf2yaxQfcaoDvhxFAFDkCPjSDDJZf7fISfcqo/s400/IMG_2547.JPG" width="353" /></a></div><br />
Next entry -- how a 12-year-old boy customizes some thrift store shirts for his back-to-school wardrobe, using outgrown t-shirts and spray paint!Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-16314794219696270192010-08-22T14:16:00.002+02:002010-09-16T12:38:13.958+02:00Market Bounty and a Bag<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMXBqrfi5pH_0SDUPTip1tDLMpBzB49kGi1rkdoQYiW46domVKi_Nrg-Wk216OqjEC6b8aV70L6KG4Q5eU-JmJNPP7yUd0jD2gIbIBOeBdA1hYmlkBZ-SLfZeu-BL-ERIPx7lYRKwifw/s1600/IMG_2700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMXBqrfi5pH_0SDUPTip1tDLMpBzB49kGi1rkdoQYiW46domVKi_Nrg-Wk216OqjEC6b8aV70L6KG4Q5eU-JmJNPP7yUd0jD2gIbIBOeBdA1hYmlkBZ-SLfZeu-BL-ERIPx7lYRKwifw/s320/IMG_2700.JPG" /></a></div>Sunday morning usually means off to the flea market, but even the flea market vendors celebrate Ferragosto -- or the month-long, languorous holiday Italians celebrate in August. But the fish and produce market at the port is open everyday but Monday -- even in August. There is no <i>dolce vita</i> without the bounty of the garden. So off we went this morning to stock up veggies, bread, and lots of fruit. <br />
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I took my new "market bag" I just finished with leavings from my latest spate of pillow sewing. I didn't use a pattern, just eyeballed the shape, cut a matching lining in lavender-colored oxford cloth. I put some elastic in the side edges to make it more secure. It's roomy enough to be a pool/beach bag. The drawback on its size is that I need to dig for stuff, but I did add two interior pockets so I can keep cellphone and wallet at beck and call. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfIB97tvi7coVaCVQKxa2KnTnerWSTRCtreEZvPqxZ-fVAKJ6_zYzz7duVQQnnw2ZseBgnNKD6PvQDcQ0I1r_TjDqSnb38nJUWgdjat-cC55xvDNKmJQ2lZXMVfbzdUcZepsxks1DtR4/s1600/IMG_2701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfIB97tvi7coVaCVQKxa2KnTnerWSTRCtreEZvPqxZ-fVAKJ6_zYzz7duVQQnnw2ZseBgnNKD6PvQDcQ0I1r_TjDqSnb38nJUWgdjat-cC55xvDNKmJQ2lZXMVfbzdUcZepsxks1DtR4/s320/IMG_2701.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The shoulder straps are recycled from an old parachute harness Jon gave me years ago -- I think before we had kids (!) and the buckle is vintage bakelite (probably an eBay purchase, can't remember). The fabric was given to me by my mother-in-law when she was clearing out her stash many moons ago, and I immediately loved how tropical yet modern it is. I think she picked it up when she lived in Greenwich Village in the 1960s. It came in two half-yard pieces that were plenty for creating two pillows and my "market" bag. Here are those little numbers and their fellows:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGhO_bUCbssvoABB74kqv255wRUCG_sTXhXDO3hWlEUF2q4v241oHRdnNXRPDnbNPb4sMGc3Rmrng6-JeB2l8jzFmetwgPyzju8Gqn0qxjwRJghLpVWddbrqt5H-Em2o3NAcqTOFJjLc/s1600/IMG_2716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGhO_bUCbssvoABB74kqv255wRUCG_sTXhXDO3hWlEUF2q4v241oHRdnNXRPDnbNPb4sMGc3Rmrng6-JeB2l8jzFmetwgPyzju8Gqn0qxjwRJghLpVWddbrqt5H-Em2o3NAcqTOFJjLc/s320/IMG_2716.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At the market (sorry no pictures, left the camera home), I picked up squash blossoms (along with peaches, plums, tomatoes, parsley, bread, cookies, and cheese). I had been meaning to give <i>fiori di zucchini </i>a try since last summer. Since these were already a bit wilted when I bought them, I didn't want to wait for dinner. So squash blossoms for lunch it was (made with this <a href="http://italianfood.about.com/od/illustratedrecipesmore/ss/aa082507.htm">recipe</a>). I don't think using Heineken in the batter is traditional, but nobody commented. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpHp75YP6GDA07T9UKdaOLlHOg6Xj225goK9jqFy2AOrtEdOCgxtRuvffYG_qxYSSoHfKw1L0f97US86bCrdibkpwekVNEjf59KmQxHzi9QCtEXq850Z-noyUnz0luvUXk_chJ26ceskM/s1600/IMG_2704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpHp75YP6GDA07T9UKdaOLlHOg6Xj225goK9jqFy2AOrtEdOCgxtRuvffYG_qxYSSoHfKw1L0f97US86bCrdibkpwekVNEjf59KmQxHzi9QCtEXq850Z-noyUnz0luvUXk_chJ26ceskM/s400/IMG_2704.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I made some bruschetta and cut up a pineapple to round out the meal and we had <i>pranzo al fresco</i> on our patio. I love having a proper lunch with the whole family at the table. It makes the day feel so much more like a vacation. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYE4Hcl535Az05Pkfu2bKo5B9lDmckZcd7HQQO92KuCnzBte3GwofU_S6cVl1baMAHdalnKM92YJlLdb94CoQId2vBoTV1pYC_klSFYlAxkP-1YgImg5euqUfC32KuNk9ul-k96J8622c/s1600/IMG_2703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYE4Hcl535Az05Pkfu2bKo5B9lDmckZcd7HQQO92KuCnzBte3GwofU_S6cVl1baMAHdalnKM92YJlLdb94CoQId2vBoTV1pYC_klSFYlAxkP-1YgImg5euqUfC32KuNk9ul-k96J8622c/s320/IMG_2703.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Buona giornata!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-65440564645438595172010-08-21T12:24:00.004+02:002010-09-16T12:39:16.779+02:00Drink Coffee * Eat * Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0S8OkmmqbFlM6Pwj2ALxJMU3ajNE58x-tL6RCKRPo6Byj4nR4We4onAxaRtLKdQFfjWdfqoFOGP7A0q1m5LBEPBwpGf8XcUDMkMfPya-M1bkim-WMCtGRxncR8kcAE1kT4gsAqNsofY/s1600/IMG_2689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0S8OkmmqbFlM6Pwj2ALxJMU3ajNE58x-tL6RCKRPo6Byj4nR4We4onAxaRtLKdQFfjWdfqoFOGP7A0q1m5LBEPBwpGf8XcUDMkMfPya-M1bkim-WMCtGRxncR8kcAE1kT4gsAqNsofY/s400/IMG_2689.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>I saw <i>Eat Pray Love</i> last night in a theater full of women from the Naples Overseas Spouses Club. Now, I confess, I couldn't wade farther than thirty pages into this book, but I'll let it go at that. The movie was a sensuous travel feast much like an old issue of <i>Gourmet</i> magazine (oh Lillian Langseth-Christensen, how you beguiled me with distant places in my teens). As to chick-flick requirements, I'm not really susceptible to Javier Bardem's charms, but James Franco certainly compensated.<br />
There were many moments of hilarity during the Italian episode that might almost qualify as insider jokes for this particular audience. Perhaps the greatest outburst of laughter occurred at the opening of the Napoli sequence when a little girl on a fire escape accurately portrayed a certain less-than-welcoming attitude one comes across in this town. <br />
I thought I'd give a little promo, though, to the Roman coffee bar where Julia meets her Swedish sidekick for her Italian adventures. The Neapolitan pizza place, Antica Pizzeria da Michele (I'm going off recall), gets full credit in the movie with long camera sweep of its front awning, but the coffee bar is only recognizable to those who discern the telltale sunflower yellow packages. They reveal that it must be Sant 'Eustachio's. My friend Lea Giovanniello brought me there twice, and I thank her heartily. I've just gotten down to my last grind from the bag I bought on my last visit to Rome -- which, looking on the bright side, means I have to go to Rome again soon. The coffee is so rich and lacking bitterness that even a froth devotee like me will take a few restorative sips before I pour in my milk.<br />
Here's my morning cup in the polka-dot mug that's stood me well each morning for 15 years . . .Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-91554249097120104942010-08-19T14:13:00.006+02:002010-09-16T12:40:08.532+02:00Summer sewing and brief Roman holiday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Taking a little break from beads and jewelry to go back to my first love -- sewing. I've never really stopped , but it got crowded out for about a decade with, oh, parenting, work, and a hobby that didn't require machine maintenance. Home dec sewing always stayed in the mix, but now I'm back to making clothes. Though not for me (yet). I've got a few things piled up to tackle, but first were two projects for the girls -- a dress for Lil and an Anna Sui top for Em. The Lily dress turned out well -- the Anna Sui top less so, though Emily likes it. Let's focus on Lily's dress for this small entry. It's McCalls 2880 -- which may be out of print -- it's a surplice bodice and gathered skirt. I used a combination of Heather Ross prints -- a mermaid one on top and an aquatic octopus one on the bottom in apricot tones with a little orange rickrack to snazz up the top. Lily wore it the day after it was finished to go pick up Quinn from his visit with friends in Rome -- so we'll have a little Roman holiday sewing expo here with some brother shots included.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4G4eiI7f9F0guE4xzhsz1DMCTJp5smbd1FVwpNhOXDO2s3PgPg3BGB2chkfmCyorA85TrUeATLZ73QtOWzdEyOjk_EJ2D1lmeBZ0yuywgTi2o75FNhrDoymROIxMjp83i4WvApUM1Ow/s1600/IMG_2555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4G4eiI7f9F0guE4xzhsz1DMCTJp5smbd1FVwpNhOXDO2s3PgPg3BGB2chkfmCyorA85TrUeATLZ73QtOWzdEyOjk_EJ2D1lmeBZ0yuywgTi2o75FNhrDoymROIxMjp83i4WvApUM1Ow/s320/IMG_2555.JPG" /></a></div>This was taken on the train ride up to Rome. We took the local which is a bit longer but much more to see (and cheaper) than the Eurostar.<br />
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We met Quinn with our friends the Giovaniellos who were preparing to return to Virginia after 20 months at the embassy -- it was a bittersweet day since their departure was imminent.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We walked through much of central Rome, eating gelato, people watching, seeing a few churches, and making a stop in Piazza Navona -- mostly killing time until the "Bone Church" reopened. Both my kids wanted to see the Cappuchin monks' meditation on mortality -- which paradoxically is called the Church of the Immaculate Conception. <br />
It is seven ghastly rooms festooned with human bones -- trust me, it gets redundant. It has become quite popular on the German Christian youth group circuit . . . long lines of them both morning and afternoon in matching hats, scarves, or t-shirts (one group singing what sounded like "My knapsack on my back" -- seriously!). When I first visited in my early twenties, there was only me, my trusty travel companion, and a cantankerous monk in cassock glaring at us. But I have to admit these monks were quite creative with spinal columns. No photography is allowed, so you'll have to trust me on that . . . or wait, I found a <a href="http://www3.sympatico.ca/tapholov/pages/bones.html">Bone Church</a> posting by someone who ignored all the signs.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_LnMq42subFfJoa8rJwH2tRlruhha4X0LKk4yQl1KkMdZ_-TzUeFtXIn6vp4VOANbCeEk4Maxp_ChRgd151btICcuTa1zMKDw0oyXcFqfFtUcO6p4XNzD2oE7NEM4MavHmQm-RygDIo/s1600/IMG_2558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_LnMq42subFfJoa8rJwH2tRlruhha4X0LKk4yQl1KkMdZ_-TzUeFtXIn6vp4VOANbCeEk4Maxp_ChRgd151btICcuTa1zMKDw0oyXcFqfFtUcO6p4XNzD2oE7NEM4MavHmQm-RygDIo/s400/IMG_2558.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Then we had a little time in Villa Borghese park where the kids enjoyed a little amusement ride.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsl0pRDymSEivJtmWP5AUmZBbxfnGQir2rEm_Sts5UPnbDv609V4Elr7ieoNnM_18tq0g23llcY9jWiD_N6ELPthdq3nqafFf9Gu9vOU02a2CZTQ1_QLgDVgOb_cGFytz4iz-zFr3xCY/s1600/IMG_2559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsl0pRDymSEivJtmWP5AUmZBbxfnGQir2rEm_Sts5UPnbDv609V4Elr7ieoNnM_18tq0g23llcY9jWiD_N6ELPthdq3nqafFf9Gu9vOU02a2CZTQ1_QLgDVgOb_cGFytz4iz-zFr3xCY/s320/IMG_2559.JPG" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQgfrBQEsSc6qjODatY7H7weLdMbT66HW2ip07esrMKuTISHCvKWR9NR1_4N7UoaN5XUSYk_aV7qlQMfj_5Zmu_VsPTmYSGAxVA-PgSV-I8f3oxiYFljiqHBPgdQJl9Rik4TIE4yenWE/s1600/IMG_2564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQgfrBQEsSc6qjODatY7H7weLdMbT66HW2ip07esrMKuTISHCvKWR9NR1_4N7UoaN5XUSYk_aV7qlQMfj_5Zmu_VsPTmYSGAxVA-PgSV-I8f3oxiYFljiqHBPgdQJl9Rik4TIE4yenWE/s320/IMG_2564.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1FfvKNeG3qKwlgNBwFyxjk8nNIzNLVqYLWdtBNtCpO3yoVhznURwnO42RGS660SLcsow7mteJKQzw9VlEVbBNv7OnffxgFDbNbgV8DNWMR5HlPBemtWnZybHlRFTWoYD9vIiYTrB7ek/s1600/IMG_2565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1FfvKNeG3qKwlgNBwFyxjk8nNIzNLVqYLWdtBNtCpO3yoVhznURwnO42RGS660SLcsow7mteJKQzw9VlEVbBNv7OnffxgFDbNbgV8DNWMR5HlPBemtWnZybHlRFTWoYD9vIiYTrB7ek/s400/IMG_2565.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A posed shot with bougainvillea in the park.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Quinn's has an almost-teen's reluctance to pose for photos)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0hWYL4vwKASILEz1AAmwqLJQe8VwhaoiZLX1Z7WpWO__RkDS_dqUg08u1jrylnFcFClefsry2TU2BsliFUyuCS2RRORxI5O4ovhJu8B2beayZBWKxq45fzfMfHoRxKQTqGW2qFnA8aI/s1600/IMG_2567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0hWYL4vwKASILEz1AAmwqLJQe8VwhaoiZLX1Z7WpWO__RkDS_dqUg08u1jrylnFcFClefsry2TU2BsliFUyuCS2RRORxI5O4ovhJu8B2beayZBWKxq45fzfMfHoRxKQTqGW2qFnA8aI/s400/IMG_2567.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lily, on the other hand, loves to strike a pose!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tomorrow, okay, soon, some posts on the 7 pillows, Anna Sui top, and shoulder bag (oh yeah, I did sew something for myself), and my limoncello recipe and our grilled pizza adventures. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ciao-ciao amici!</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-5467507303548397812010-07-28T14:36:00.000+02:002010-07-28T14:36:03.324+02:00Back in the (reupholstered) saddle!Yes, I've neglected my blog FOR MONTHS, and I have no good reason other than . . . laziness? reticence? diffidence? Maybe the first with the other two liberally sprinkled in. But as I've become more and more invested as a blog follower . . . I've decided to get hopping here again. With two kids home all summer (and one working!), I've been pretty consumed with parenting, but as it is, I also have been getting our family room out of the doldrums and kitted out a bit. I sewed some new pillows and have a few more planned. But my big transformation is the "found-on-the-side-of-the-road" chair brought over from Virginia. If you can believe it, it was pristine when I found it set out for the taking on the sidewalk of a recently sold house. It had practically new beige ticking upholstery underneath a brocade slipcover from fancy schmancy and defunct furniture store Domain. But after four years of hard usage this is what it looked like:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkwCWZCo4UK1QLKyG9OZU-Za6R-cIE_YLAuo7F8ahc7sumpASn4WaRniZoOwG3njbQhChyuVP6i5zJ6EVOrDwNcBbrRRCtDaegH6LSnjNA5inKARV4cqQZmJikJkX3NobFsv61p8u1AU/s1600/IMG_2531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkwCWZCo4UK1QLKyG9OZU-Za6R-cIE_YLAuo7F8ahc7sumpASn4WaRniZoOwG3njbQhChyuVP6i5zJ6EVOrDwNcBbrRRCtDaegH6LSnjNA5inKARV4cqQZmJikJkX3NobFsv61p8u1AU/s320/IMG_2531.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't think this picture even does the grime justice! Of course, I've already taken a hammer to it in this photo. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What I wanted was something more like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Y5QtDwtVe4aMsvPgmF9uaGSGjPu8oUYJ6joR_xF5oRhUiMfHoh9QMYbV1JPwTOO-eQcH6C9piEaL6DJBfJpLXL8aVcMmtgKCNmlupjmLodD_ZfHh9H8JEzjfIYtWCIJ8jEPe6YD0Y1U/s1600/squint+chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Y5QtDwtVe4aMsvPgmF9uaGSGjPu8oUYJ6joR_xF5oRhUiMfHoh9QMYbV1JPwTOO-eQcH6C9piEaL6DJBfJpLXL8aVcMmtgKCNmlupjmLodD_ZfHh9H8JEzjfIYtWCIJ8jEPe6YD0Y1U/s320/squint+chair.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wow! Right?! It's from the London shop <a href="http://www.squintlimited.com/">Squint Limited</a>. I can't tell you how many times I've gone there to oggle the sofas, chairs, chaises, etc. But, the shop is in London and, well, chair prices start in the neighborhood of 3000 British pounds. So I'm not in the geographic or the financial neighborhood of Squint. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had never done a proper reupholstery job -- a few chair seat recovers, some slipcover action, but nothing that required an electric staple gun. And then I purchased an electric staple gun. Now nothing stood in the way of the Squintification of above chair -- no power tool and certainly not a lack of fabric!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyone who knows me, I mean really knows me, knows about my large and ever-growing fabric stash. Stash is really not the right word for it. This cannot be stashed . . . it has to be stored in dedicated bins and closets -- occasional pruning has to occur. It's more like an inventory than a stash. It includes fabrics that belonged to my grandmother, a couple of bins of upholstery (!) samples from the decorator shop my mother's friends shut down in the '90s, freecycle acquisitions, garage sale acquisitions, proper fabric shop purchases, mail order, ebay, thoughtful parcels from my mother-in-law. What can I say? I'm a fabric magnet (don't use the word addict). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This surfeit of fabric, of course, makes this project even more apropos for a peripatetic creative type like me. I took as my starting point this Heather Ross "Far, Far, Away" unicorn print (I interfaced it to give it upholstery heft since it's a soft cotton woven):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSdllEyjaIMPITnpQg0RYy-EJ0sN5__19_ij0teJuTCQzrN-fboIrBdQ0IPeUNDtiz_FY2yz4fUaAsyqPJnhK7WjXiU190CqJ5DruchNXjB3NjDv1mMzjynxokqPo6gJ1c_TDuQ-buj8/s1600/heather+ross+unicorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSdllEyjaIMPITnpQg0RYy-EJ0sN5__19_ij0teJuTCQzrN-fboIrBdQ0IPeUNDtiz_FY2yz4fUaAsyqPJnhK7WjXiU190CqJ5DruchNXjB3NjDv1mMzjynxokqPo6gJ1c_TDuQ-buj8/s320/heather+ross+unicorn.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then I kept loosely to a palette of green, yellow, orange, and pink (with a little blue, too). I stacked up the fabric bits, mixing and matching as bins were dumped out all over the living room (to my husband's dismay). Then I painstakingly removed the old fabric from the chair, disassembled the pieces to use as a pattern, then pieced each section. I was impatient, so each section went on as it was pieced, and bit by bit, the chair came together . . . but no photos were taken of the process. I'm a hapless blogger. Until the end! VOILA! Here she is, my <i>Squintified</i> chair in her many sided glory:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-7gaXeFi9f4_2P_a7wqNL2trPO7RyIauWqAQqYyJTdSCvfeq3IDxiZoojra7egFryCC3dxRCWNjWZaPVTRUJNj4dXTbJ4bYV7n-mEl6U6Pxfqv4U-stXAUM9qqdrbQmDFerQnB4zR4Q/s1600/IMG_2543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-7gaXeFi9f4_2P_a7wqNL2trPO7RyIauWqAQqYyJTdSCvfeq3IDxiZoojra7egFryCC3dxRCWNjWZaPVTRUJNj4dXTbJ4bYV7n-mEl6U6Pxfqv4U-stXAUM9qqdrbQmDFerQnB4zR4Q/s640/IMG_2543.JPG" width="480" /></a> front</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_y1a4k0ElAjJsvz05KFcguBcPuq4Vff2WMpDInlh4XjPSyStIBZ-d2bWzZPeMxjZTByi8bcMknq-gyn7mHAvxnZF_LnRgPYNbo9RTxgtczfe52fEPyeS_vwBwDivoBOIDmprv21XPqQ/s1600/IMG_2544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_y1a4k0ElAjJsvz05KFcguBcPuq4Vff2WMpDInlh4XjPSyStIBZ-d2bWzZPeMxjZTByi8bcMknq-gyn7mHAvxnZF_LnRgPYNbo9RTxgtczfe52fEPyeS_vwBwDivoBOIDmprv21XPqQ/s640/IMG_2544.JPG" width="480" /></a> back</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8-Gg7fu-o5e00_kSHRuvbVs2CwL-gbbUbHwURv9NvSiG6KR7jaMsUfKdpPIMMkJQtc77krDegxPs6eCtMFslcxCPPcbSTct-va3y4IJ_zskYVMrOY-Oz18-ihblK5n352MZJ3OuIpl4/s1600/IMG_2545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8-Gg7fu-o5e00_kSHRuvbVs2CwL-gbbUbHwURv9NvSiG6KR7jaMsUfKdpPIMMkJQtc77krDegxPs6eCtMFslcxCPPcbSTct-va3y4IJ_zskYVMrOY-Oz18-ihblK5n352MZJ3OuIpl4/s640/IMG_2545.JPG" width="480" /></a>side</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A little wonky in some parts and then the use of pom-pom trim -- not something you'll find on a real Squint chair. But, it certainly neatens up first-time upholstery glitches. All in all, what a chair revival! And now I have my sight set on this little piece. My trusty power stapler is ready . . . but it's button upholstery . . . am I?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHn89I7ZrXbLcewJz8SCia0rcva2sNFdEie4y7-QoLbMVDsAuVafkzA-uQuhZ0tSJ9JfpGQtHIA3yYcsvDuMzhmhdjLsLFVdOo-Ob6n3R7KS-FQeAaV7gW2sowzdwaVkx6OG9PMI_zHVk/s1600/IMG_5732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHn89I7ZrXbLcewJz8SCia0rcva2sNFdEie4y7-QoLbMVDsAuVafkzA-uQuhZ0tSJ9JfpGQtHIA3yYcsvDuMzhmhdjLsLFVdOo-Ob6n3R7KS-FQeAaV7gW2sowzdwaVkx6OG9PMI_zHVk/s320/IMG_5732.JPG" /></a></div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-82166541275092615462010-03-28T13:15:00.007+02:002010-07-18T14:30:46.703+02:00Hiking the volcano's rim<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgNi6WNEtlQammyvSJ3Yffti78OfCHLZExoJQ_TAh1JR_YuWcYz4Ws1QJvLZL3W-Cxp5983C24hvq2kVRyAPQaEtqMWxuJ3Lfz8DypkKvOy1C2EJmqMixJXDZKOgeN6C79HNIruxl2p_s/s1600/IMG_0427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgNi6WNEtlQammyvSJ3Yffti78OfCHLZExoJQ_TAh1JR_YuWcYz4Ws1QJvLZL3W-Cxp5983C24hvq2kVRyAPQaEtqMWxuJ3Lfz8DypkKvOy1C2EJmqMixJXDZKOgeN6C79HNIruxl2p_s/s400/IMG_0427.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Vesuvius is the long-surviving representative of a Neapolitan family. Dormant but still viable, it belonged to a<a href="http://www.nationsonline.org/oneworld/map/google_map_Naples.htm"> daisy chain of volcanoes</a> that arced around the Bay of Naples (long before Naples existed). I live close to several craters here in Pozzuoli, including one that dependably belches sulfurous steam for the tourist trade. The <i><a href="http://www.solfatara.it/vulcano/en/index.php">Solfatara</a></i> infuses our mornings with its potent breath . . . but I've grown accustomed, if not fond, of its redolant a.m. greeting.</div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Another large crater was transformed by the Americans into a recreation facility for those stationed here after World War II. It is named for <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1990/06/27/obituaries/adm-robert-b-carney-95-dies-former-chief-of-naval-operations.html?pagewanted=1">Admiral Robert Carney</a>. Still operating, and now also open to Italian membership, the private park offers an impressive array of recreational facilities. Carney Park crater is large enough to accommodate a complex of sports fields, tennis courts, playgrounds, rustic cabins, a pool, and a golf course all nestled in its bowl. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcHMwmxEiMYHbhnoCngYEFa_ObeqHfZnUHo7qYAp8MPzRj0GEJEkf_rr9nMcDXxIWNHx3Z_W_WJgy7kbHcScjmUTXG20GyaBxXbyg7Z8SjyzP5SsaLADz4noZ2KJ3wkpKeX45nO_5Vxw/s1600/IMG_0419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcHMwmxEiMYHbhnoCngYEFa_ObeqHfZnUHo7qYAp8MPzRj0GEJEkf_rr9nMcDXxIWNHx3Z_W_WJgy7kbHcScjmUTXG20GyaBxXbyg7Z8SjyzP5SsaLADz4noZ2KJ3wkpKeX45nO_5Vxw/s640/IMG_0419.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div>The wooded interior sides of the crater are crisscrossed with paths that lead up to the rim. It's a steep ascent, steeper if you try to go straight up a rain gully (as we did last year when we didn't know about the trails). But the effort is rewarded with a breathtaking panorama at the summit. Spring weather inspired us to make a second ascent yesterday. Though we took the more sedate trail route this time, it was still almost one and a half hours to the summit.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWNBDRBpBD7cUDAPnF0JulMV493NYvUdw7wg-8QWi_jq3FBJIIROekFilJKUUUWOA9NLfaYtfA0el5R9jHD-LcCWGW7y5xIMtk-DIQ8100kUTPZlRJeFYq8Fv2jFJMYTms5GCgfTsngw/s1600/IMG_0416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWNBDRBpBD7cUDAPnF0JulMV493NYvUdw7wg-8QWi_jq3FBJIIROekFilJKUUUWOA9NLfaYtfA0el5R9jHD-LcCWGW7y5xIMtk-DIQ8100kUTPZlRJeFYq8Fv2jFJMYTms5GCgfTsngw/s400/IMG_0416.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> Once you reach the crest, you can't help but draw a breath of awe. The vista encompasses the islands of <a href="http://www.ischia.it/portaleischia_uk/ischia/html/home.php">Ischia</a> and <a href="http://www.seeitalia.com/articles/a-crumbling-beauty-procida.htm">Procida</a> (on a clear day, Capri, too); <a href="http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/45592/Lake-of-Averno">Lago d'Averno</a> (on the bottom of which Virgil believed was the mouth of Hades); the bay surrounded by the towns of Pozzuoli, Bacoli, and Baia; <a href="http://www.solfatara.it/vulcano/en/text.php?id=itibaia&m=vulcano&sm=itinerari">Baia Castle</a>; and blue, blue Mediterranean to the horizon line.<br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGd5WLUk5XmztqwDmpyAKwvaoX30RTtQUh6MC3s8PxtrmRJ6zxFNj82LybCLb-i72QmL4-HqCTSImJyt7QNe3uwCeab08_AabwgQAgKiBSMj6PvndlEhpZN8qBMP_iCSSL5gHZ1Oh-ceU/s1600/IMG_0423.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGd5WLUk5XmztqwDmpyAKwvaoX30RTtQUh6MC3s8PxtrmRJ6zxFNj82LybCLb-i72QmL4-HqCTSImJyt7QNe3uwCeab08_AabwgQAgKiBSMj6PvndlEhpZN8qBMP_iCSSL5gHZ1Oh-ceU/s640/IMG_0423.JPG" width="480" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We were lucky enough to surface at the site of a ruin. Quinn and Lily spent quite a while exploring it. A monastery, a hermit's retreat, a nobleman's scenic keep . . . we couldn't discern. But the kids' imaginations were definitely in overdrive.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5y-TIRB7qvdLR5r13JOYIoa9oJXLfLjjWRZFCP1hyunjCtIzBbPqkGjRzI7kONEUambDFj34ILyVnAIZba4IWJh8wAujoEMV3V0C3WVFNmA7wqIngI3nsA3tToOLbJSXF-CmP88Z4EtI/s1600/IMG_0440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5y-TIRB7qvdLR5r13JOYIoa9oJXLfLjjWRZFCP1hyunjCtIzBbPqkGjRzI7kONEUambDFj34ILyVnAIZba4IWJh8wAujoEMV3V0C3WVFNmA7wqIngI3nsA3tToOLbJSXF-CmP88Z4EtI/s400/IMG_0440.JPG" width="300" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There were many chestnut shells along the path, wild cyclamen and ferns unfurling. I thought I spotted wild fennel, but a nibble proved me wrong. Oh well. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNWHAxWuOlKxklldrRaYvu024NFatBVUxZZX685QXhEJZVV3zeRO5yrpYQ1NWpKLreLFsLu3AcyEToX4F9OA5sutXWnfW1sUnPstL79YLTiSi14qX2zjEF-a_UBm7LiIqJ8aPtQ-GpvHU/s1600/IMG_0384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNWHAxWuOlKxklldrRaYvu024NFatBVUxZZX685QXhEJZVV3zeRO5yrpYQ1NWpKLreLFsLu3AcyEToX4F9OA5sutXWnfW1sUnPstL79YLTiSi14qX2zjEF-a_UBm7LiIqJ8aPtQ-GpvHU/s320/IMG_0384.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebdZ8yxhbCDeZB2JFDa1f39rhDMVkyGiMoRq7kMmHwGn8fUsJmEL_7fvY4sB1CC1lasmoZUaU8EfoViruL-28MppgE157SpXSSOS-A9FfhlVta00p-zPxk4pt2_9hc1ThbW0hNI09G5k/s1600/IMG_0393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebdZ8yxhbCDeZB2JFDa1f39rhDMVkyGiMoRq7kMmHwGn8fUsJmEL_7fvY4sB1CC1lasmoZUaU8EfoViruL-28MppgE157SpXSSOS-A9FfhlVta00p-zPxk4pt2_9hc1ThbW0hNI09G5k/s320/IMG_0393.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqFOWfZtFS7_6LeM97984XW9PQZFJqIx6G9IOv83N3GB5wDLyVb_taoz38EJXavrrWJRWXT9-de45uDjYKUkhUm-N6OIU1BTiW4PyffpySdj25LProcKiTNpXGxBp2rVnzceluvPqnf-s/s1600/IMG_0458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqFOWfZtFS7_6LeM97984XW9PQZFJqIx6G9IOv83N3GB5wDLyVb_taoz38EJXavrrWJRWXT9-de45uDjYKUkhUm-N6OIU1BTiW4PyffpySdj25LProcKiTNpXGxBp2rVnzceluvPqnf-s/s320/IMG_0458.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNWHAxWuOlKxklldrRaYvu024NFatBVUxZZX685QXhEJZVV3zeRO5yrpYQ1NWpKLreLFsLu3AcyEToX4F9OA5sutXWnfW1sUnPstL79YLTiSi14qX2zjEF-a_UBm7LiIqJ8aPtQ-GpvHU/s1600/IMG_0384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>But we rewarded ourselves amply after our descent with a big pizza lunch at one of our favorite places here in Pozzuoli: Zona A Pizzeria. Jon swears the special "Zona A" pizza, featuring prosciutto, large shavings of Asiago cheese, and a healthy, post-bake sprinkling of the green rugola, is his favorite in Italy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Needless to say, the potent combination of volcano hike and pizza feast led to lovely afternoon snoozes when we returned home. A perfect way to spend a sunny <i>primavera</i> Saturday!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJCH9VGcCLQpbG0O2o-4YxwWmVsl9-8qlZRjCqxBnFSnI5G5sQLnSk9E4lYBMBeIZjjjJrP7yn-dRfnmlqSqxNJRhBuFbDJLrYo-eLASnj240-Dvn19pkb2qjvQsb2LA3G9EsQUXDOshM/s1600/IMG_0399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJCH9VGcCLQpbG0O2o-4YxwWmVsl9-8qlZRjCqxBnFSnI5G5sQLnSk9E4lYBMBeIZjjjJrP7yn-dRfnmlqSqxNJRhBuFbDJLrYo-eLASnj240-Dvn19pkb2qjvQsb2LA3G9EsQUXDOshM/s400/IMG_0399.JPG" width="300" /></a><br />
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</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-10539689800125775352010-03-15T17:04:00.001+01:002010-03-15T17:05:18.526+01:00Just another Magnetic Monday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NMYADHczy7QfTe0vW59vX8EcH_rm75QKW2CeJD1I4sC-eeigOCiqmOJRdXIVoAmwkwdGpAmXvCrWBQGiArc080MD_m3ox3U3mJEhjsobEWdjweu9fQzZqwWSYrHt3GusK-uqzDFVY5U/s1600-h/IMG_0350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NMYADHczy7QfTe0vW59vX8EcH_rm75QKW2CeJD1I4sC-eeigOCiqmOJRdXIVoAmwkwdGpAmXvCrWBQGiArc080MD_m3ox3U3mJEhjsobEWdjweu9fQzZqwWSYrHt3GusK-uqzDFVY5U/s640/IMG_0350.JPG" width="460" /></a></div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-38238806087089532682010-03-14T14:30:00.003+01:002010-03-14T16:16:31.698+01:00What followed me home today.This morning I coaxed Jon into accompanying me to the flea market. My usual companion was off flitting around Paris for her 10th wedding anniversary. That hussy was probably at the Paris flea market without me! So I wasn't being unfaithful.* <br />
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We got there about 9:30 which many of you will know is mid afternoon in flea market time. It was a beautiful day so the place was packed with vendors and customers. We went down our favorite aisle which has little garage-like interiors that established vendors have staked out. I bought a very few trinkets at my favorite trinket booth -- pickings were slim today, and I didn't feel like digging through his big boxes of leavings. These were all in one little box. I love the cherry charm, and I've already embellished the oak leaf broach with a faceted yellow jade briolette (though not permanently as I might want to replace it with a green stone). The ornamented coin item has a bezel for a dangle. How could I resist?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wBtjrqSMFcqWEy-Qf94Xezg4J8yloEJd6CQs7a59CA38p3ZB2D9wHYBG8uwIC_W12HIOvUdgHc1A1kFtAlG8pqwho453x9LG9DoXrfLmkpDU7duHRb7sInGwaTB_UHs5iS27Acyvuyc/s1600-h/IMG_0340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wBtjrqSMFcqWEy-Qf94Xezg4J8yloEJd6CQs7a59CA38p3ZB2D9wHYBG8uwIC_W12HIOvUdgHc1A1kFtAlG8pqwho453x9LG9DoXrfLmkpDU7duHRb7sInGwaTB_UHs5iS27Acyvuyc/s320/IMG_0340.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Then we happened upon a very brusque character selling a stack of matted etchings for 1 euro each. We chose three of them, including a Venetian canal scene, a street scene, and what looks like the Plaza Populare in Naples -- but I wouldn't swear to it.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5YCZdcMFrIlIQXUZs_Z4Ts3hl0SY2cAg3FFxXt5UApcNMfNHpZNmI1oa5ww8xp8WAXXh08vHkAPruFHBBNajQlkw_rSqHruNASz4JotBv_ZMipGvyEC65CbwORHVMoIR5ig59sMBudhQ/s1600-h/IMG_0334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5YCZdcMFrIlIQXUZs_Z4Ts3hl0SY2cAg3FFxXt5UApcNMfNHpZNmI1oa5ww8xp8WAXXh08vHkAPruFHBBNajQlkw_rSqHruNASz4JotBv_ZMipGvyEC65CbwORHVMoIR5ig59sMBudhQ/s320/IMG_0334.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EQwI9SkS17efnLoZ1hkLezV9hPVrGZG-FPWatquM1PY_2qBYDjMd2A017ncxV-Snv5rjXgmE3cQODkiwIy5oa5_EnNopc1vLT5YiO8thSfJsutDXaPDl-zZTwtpfyeq-06Ul2lVn7T4/s1600-h/IMG_0333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5EQwI9SkS17efnLoZ1hkLezV9hPVrGZG-FPWatquM1PY_2qBYDjMd2A017ncxV-Snv5rjXgmE3cQODkiwIy5oa5_EnNopc1vLT5YiO8thSfJsutDXaPDl-zZTwtpfyeq-06Ul2lVn7T4/s320/IMG_0333.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyvN6-PIZcGX7VK0ZELhQXs2fMo551mJt3FhOFKlCp4yQrit9qkBSsXSjs4nORIX-Vn5bd4gsDnxM2pNC80KzIulBOdOE42PQsJd3-g0F6UAw5H2vnz838bxdlfwxgw3yvDg6zXkkZ7M/s1600-h/IMG_0335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyvN6-PIZcGX7VK0ZELhQXs2fMo551mJt3FhOFKlCp4yQrit9qkBSsXSjs4nORIX-Vn5bd4gsDnxM2pNC80KzIulBOdOE42PQsJd3-g0F6UAw5H2vnz838bxdlfwxgw3yvDg6zXkkZ7M/s320/IMG_0335.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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My purchase of the day was this English footed bowl. It's marked J.H.W. & Sons Royal Falcon Ware. I believe it's Staffordshire china. I had almost bought it a few weeks back, but had already gone over my (very small) limit. But there it was, sitting cheerfully in front as if it had been waiting for me these many weeks. I almost kissed it -- but had to pretend that we had never met before so as not to ruin my bartering stance. I sweet talked the chatty gentleman down to one third the first asking price. Huzzah! It's very 1920s . . . maybe out of a scene from Carrington. <br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigR8OqVLQvw5d701eocwGL4OuPwLtD1juQnLvGC__Sv4Sl7Copq1sQlpT-aHqPhm6PfPB6yri75rBKwiM8n0Xe1OU1puL3Zaz1qv_QJwxDbbzWcb4YMoymreRR4S2T3KkErA5sRRSwr24/s1600-h/IMG_0344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigR8OqVLQvw5d701eocwGL4OuPwLtD1juQnLvGC__Sv4Sl7Copq1sQlpT-aHqPhm6PfPB6yri75rBKwiM8n0Xe1OU1puL3Zaz1qv_QJwxDbbzWcb4YMoymreRR4S2T3KkErA5sRRSwr24/s400/IMG_0344.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The last item to climb aboard was a faux bois pitcher. I don't have any other faux bois, but the colors sang out to me . . . I love a green earthy palette. And I knew it would match these Bulgarian pottery plates that Jon brought back from Sofia several months ago. I think I did pretty well on the color recall, don't you?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegK_Xudz3BKo0ZUvPQzq_ASGsZTkXSRhquNsMCxo78mjsxWn5mV2LD1GoedFEGsUxGqvGi_O7YZYOZw3RGlmXcyKcK0U4AEAV3I1z09tqTJ82uE0HQQ0lw67GwUiksrWAYXG4XdwCkMg/s1600-h/IMG_0345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegK_Xudz3BKo0ZUvPQzq_ASGsZTkXSRhquNsMCxo78mjsxWn5mV2LD1GoedFEGsUxGqvGi_O7YZYOZw3RGlmXcyKcK0U4AEAV3I1z09tqTJ82uE0HQQ0lw67GwUiksrWAYXG4XdwCkMg/s400/IMG_0345.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>* Please come home, M! You never ask me what I spent or hurry me.Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-11960033876302598172010-03-11T12:38:00.001+01:002010-03-11T13:39:51.074+01:00Impromptu Cornell Box<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbjk7kNy4JhSet3TIVeSXq0cimgbwqmxecEbf7Q8dyhloqAW9zz4vK-ikGPPuuJxtimDc72TbDSb9fnY0wwoxL6GifhKe3ms-UXSeoOg-1dQHjsZ8SxUwTmoDk4F-6FtAE6sBffkinQM/s1600-h/IMG_0254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbjk7kNy4JhSet3TIVeSXq0cimgbwqmxecEbf7Q8dyhloqAW9zz4vK-ikGPPuuJxtimDc72TbDSb9fnY0wwoxL6GifhKe3ms-UXSeoOg-1dQHjsZ8SxUwTmoDk4F-6FtAE6sBffkinQM/s640/IMG_0254.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This Italian ex-voto or milagro came home with me a couple of weeks ago . . . barefoot. I think she is a nurse. When I saw these paper wings in the gift shop at Hohenzollern Castle, I thought of her, angel of mercy that she is. The knight with the winged helmet also dwells at Hohenzollern Castle. Just a few things added -- a Highlights search for the Cornell set. Feel free to I.D. some of the other things in the comments! I challenge you to guess what lies below her feet.</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-77335999346401676992010-03-11T12:29:00.005+01:002010-03-12T08:46:58.689+01:00Cooking up a snow storm!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">In returning to Naples, we went from this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6upEqEIndwPpHrXzJOruoOFnQPPGKzi8RtNyAWhdcov2Us8TfbGT4DN2yuVgKq1SpIM3EVSJho_Rb0dbXKn2HPTmvc9-uTHxXw1ayt0ABNZWs3egXuQ2eRYOvq_Uw-Vjz7B3XZbDDHA/s1600-h/IMG_0187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6upEqEIndwPpHrXzJOruoOFnQPPGKzi8RtNyAWhdcov2Us8TfbGT4DN2yuVgKq1SpIM3EVSJho_Rb0dbXKn2HPTmvc9-uTHxXw1ayt0ABNZWs3egXuQ2eRYOvq_Uw-Vjz7B3XZbDDHA/s640/IMG_0187.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">To this:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2QuVTkblEKolOf6KlyYA4e9ar11lbs1Zipd5Fk1U9sJdbdK6X2bG2GQuR9HupMHRtBoMJFOSoy1oF8tUokJ5Nwz8TzZ8siYsrT-CTG8GV_QKK0m9xu4CKJocfi5NOrp6GGWPk-XwdVo/s1600-h/IMG_0256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2QuVTkblEKolOf6KlyYA4e9ar11lbs1Zipd5Fk1U9sJdbdK6X2bG2GQuR9HupMHRtBoMJFOSoy1oF8tUokJ5Nwz8TzZ8siYsrT-CTG8GV_QKK0m9xu4CKJocfi5NOrp6GGWPk-XwdVo/s400/IMG_0256.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I was still in an Alsatian/Schwabian mood . . . and needed to make do with what was already in the freezer/fridge. So here's what I came up with for dinner on Monday night without nipping out to the corner shop (though Jon did bring home some milk). And I know not everyone has heavy cream sitting in the fridge (unopened) all week . . . but that stuff really lasts with all that butterfat in it!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWmm2Xby_EWoolTUhqL87nYE09YIuMX72XKbs_F4Q20cKWEZxWnU-QhXyhtPWe04Obp1jhDPORpuww7iTvLWlJQcIYKuXj7AI4W8OSFiD2AttQz72f55jkd5mkMBeau4Wec_1nc-XUb4/s1600-h/IMG_0241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWmm2Xby_EWoolTUhqL87nYE09YIuMX72XKbs_F4Q20cKWEZxWnU-QhXyhtPWe04Obp1jhDPORpuww7iTvLWlJQcIYKuXj7AI4W8OSFiD2AttQz72f55jkd5mkMBeau4Wec_1nc-XUb4/s640/IMG_0241.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pork and Potato Gratin</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 lb boneless pork loin chops, cut into cubes</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3 slices of bacon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 tbsns oil</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 medium onions diced</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 cloves garlic</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1/2 tspn salt</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ground pepper to taste</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1/2 cup white wine</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1/2 cup heavy cream </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">5 large potatoes sliced into 1/4 in. thick rounds</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Munster cheese, slices or grated</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Fry the bacon with oil in large frying pan. Remove and cut or crumble into small pieces return to pan with onions, garlic and pork. Sauté until until onion is transparent and pork is beginning to brown. Add salt and pepper to taste. Turn off heat. Put a little of the meat mixture into one end of a buttered casserole dish, layer potatoes on a diagonal over it. Continue adding layers across the casserole, gauging amounts so that you cover the entire bottom of the casserole. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2eREuXkySiE6Aicz4uxMy6JdTBICWsWoWJFR9JxOtQeMfVBlezvY0hczeEr0iv7txg9EOgmJd7rxalL-bD-3fl3rKN5O-EACTo0PVmrkS1txzqiaKc2zewJAod2m9Kc5Yh2x2BJhbams/s1600-h/IMG_0239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2eREuXkySiE6Aicz4uxMy6JdTBICWsWoWJFR9JxOtQeMfVBlezvY0hczeEr0iv7txg9EOgmJd7rxalL-bD-3fl3rKN5O-EACTo0PVmrkS1txzqiaKc2zewJAod2m9Kc5Yh2x2BJhbams/s320/IMG_0239.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Put the pan over heat again and deglaze it with the white wine. Turn off the heat and add the cream, stirring. Pour the cream mixture over the potatoes and pork. Layer Munster slices or sprinkle grated cheese over the casserole. Bake at 350 degrees F for approximately 45 minutes until potatoes are tender and cheese is bubbly and browned.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCx3ytR0AH3UmkD2V5fyHG3HdSAHcwpledJEJtgSs07sz-ToVzIQ0jeO_If-Eqo5madA48orE_N4w9UQMQPWtGSa0pyMWIuSv9YBOOPJnZCGK9mr39oHGfJVbjLGFCcGIVqLaYTQxmHgg/s1600-h/IMG_0245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCx3ytR0AH3UmkD2V5fyHG3HdSAHcwpledJEJtgSs07sz-ToVzIQ0jeO_If-Eqo5madA48orE_N4w9UQMQPWtGSa0pyMWIuSv9YBOOPJnZCGK9mr39oHGfJVbjLGFCcGIVqLaYTQxmHgg/s320/IMG_0245.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Red Cabbage with secret ingredient</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 medium head red cabbage, chopped</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 diced onion</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 stalks celery chopped</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 granny smith apple peeled and chopped</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3 tbspn butter</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 cup apple cider vinegar</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 cup water</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 tspn salt</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 tbspn brown sugar</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 large lebkuchen cookies crumbled (or 5 gingersnap cookies)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Melt butter in large frying pan. Sauté red cabbage, onion, celery, and granny smith apple in butter until softened (about 5 minutes). Add cider vinegar, water, brown sugar, cookie crumbs, and salt and pepper. Cover and simmer for about 40 minutes to an hour. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was happy to debut my new Soufflenheim bowl with an appropriate dish. Please let me know if you give these a try. There weren't leftovers of the gratin in my house . . . but Jon happily took some red cabbage with him for lunch the next day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-41951528866450359992010-03-08T11:39:00.002+01:002010-03-11T12:39:47.769+01:00Monday's Magnetic Poetry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6xk-bNm6JRtpWN5wnTIP0nWv_IqoQsERLu-LRZ70auxGX9PXbQpFkugRZykI3lr_kLsioAqepA3g9tn08YcHU4ZwkE_AJuTmF_yuENo-KAxQDOvXPfc7iVsULAZiHipqYsyt8kGVonQ/s1600-h/IMG_8050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6xk-bNm6JRtpWN5wnTIP0nWv_IqoQsERLu-LRZ70auxGX9PXbQpFkugRZykI3lr_kLsioAqepA3g9tn08YcHU4ZwkE_AJuTmF_yuENo-KAxQDOvXPfc7iVsULAZiHipqYsyt8kGVonQ/s320/IMG_8050.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This has been hanging around for a while on the fridge, but felt apropos of my language disorientation returning to Italy . . . Spanish, sí, hablo más que un poco (pero doce años lo han erosionado). German, Ja, Ich spreche und Ich verstehe aber ich bernötige Praxis. But Italian stumps me<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue'; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">: this old brain just resists doing this new trick.</span></span></div><br />
<span id="goog_1268043209656"></span><span id="goog_1268043209657"></span>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-52455497060200103452010-03-06T15:39:00.003+01:002010-03-11T12:40:35.186+01:00Spielzeugsladen!Tübingen's town center teems with great shops, but this seemingly endless <a href="http://www.spielwaren-dauth.de/">toy store</a> with room after room of toys epitomized how Germans KNOW HOW TO DO TOYS.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7LY_MbnJGwHjzikixmdVsS3-1KHcVFlA787LDjvMZo1eVNcgKmsayQsXS7RU0E_nJJs01-CHSzQzsya_pIP3zHVnIKdq1l9b5pl5GuuhnfjiiTOTKjOGkNdLUqLPcSK-I0fGFAqK5_u4/s1600-h/IMG_0160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7LY_MbnJGwHjzikixmdVsS3-1KHcVFlA787LDjvMZo1eVNcgKmsayQsXS7RU0E_nJJs01-CHSzQzsya_pIP3zHVnIKdq1l9b5pl5GuuhnfjiiTOTKjOGkNdLUqLPcSK-I0fGFAqK5_u4/s640/IMG_0160.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Seasonal tchotchkes in a felicitous presentation!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2Mh6f3kvOFkD8lUzBXWV52yI3Nl13SuoMEn1nO1rEISxOi_R_lgDs14SgmIw21rsGy8_EVSbxeAZTuvGROM1PlYcPq6C-IIUT58MbX-AEkt-Qqw9ubbMhZmwcpo5QqEfRodr4t-lQ1w/s1600-h/IMG_0161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX2Mh6f3kvOFkD8lUzBXWV52yI3Nl13SuoMEn1nO1rEISxOi_R_lgDs14SgmIw21rsGy8_EVSbxeAZTuvGROM1PlYcPq6C-IIUT58MbX-AEkt-Qqw9ubbMhZmwcpo5QqEfRodr4t-lQ1w/s320/IMG_0161.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Smurfs and more smurfs . . .</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyryBeHe3f_wRYFFmWj-L8aZ5iq6Gnpqx5EIfzzlPC5umEYmUdvx8c6e0FVkf3r-xQgV7ENaiHaeKqOks3-BJRej8MhYqb8qJawSswZbQqPQTLDMT7tCepsuyp36JpOmczLc1CwjXwKk/s1600-h/IMG_0162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyryBeHe3f_wRYFFmWj-L8aZ5iq6Gnpqx5EIfzzlPC5umEYmUdvx8c6e0FVkf3r-xQgV7ENaiHaeKqOks3-BJRej8MhYqb8qJawSswZbQqPQTLDMT7tCepsuyp36JpOmczLc1CwjXwKk/s400/IMG_0162.JPG" width="326" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Super soft stuffed toys in whimsical clothes . . . what's not to like?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhed2_r4QAqxOiet98T4qNLZ1AXBk-7M53wE3cRBbKWa5gq14bp4xoWPeX2sUR-QMa_JCX6SiwmDOQeZyjd12Dt0a7JzDIndkn27W6OyGcI9TpYnIR3XaKjkeEQDVdTu12AthkWL7ltkE/s1600-h/IMG_0167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhed2_r4QAqxOiet98T4qNLZ1AXBk-7M53wE3cRBbKWa5gq14bp4xoWPeX2sUR-QMa_JCX6SiwmDOQeZyjd12Dt0a7JzDIndkn27W6OyGcI9TpYnIR3XaKjkeEQDVdTu12AthkWL7ltkE/s400/IMG_0167.JPG" width="346" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Emily hams it up with a giraffe . . .</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZDw4Wqb-qUxvcZqT75wLzGTLC71cXf1qWPHSqIACf6F2VcUGb9f4v9Ff4PeIwCKWwenwrxhXBX1NxWCik0txtp7xekqthz5pKvHxlLyTvevaUaCLbn5aD82bhcnQesR3kSr3QcFLxXU/s1600-h/IMG_0168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZDw4Wqb-qUxvcZqT75wLzGTLC71cXf1qWPHSqIACf6F2VcUGb9f4v9Ff4PeIwCKWwenwrxhXBX1NxWCik0txtp7xekqthz5pKvHxlLyTvevaUaCLbn5aD82bhcnQesR3kSr3QcFLxXU/s640/IMG_0168.JPG" width="622" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Quinn's chagrin that the Lego lollapalooza behind him cannot yield Xmas or birthday presents today.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-WknnMnFI9_VDJtLNdGCHcD8rtgI7egT95WfHFnvfyVSyfG3ahFurz-fH3nUImOk4uaacyTboBnvzx5frJ4otvaS_02y_GJroDbdS4Gq7XCAyq-18l7VLnzFC-PZ9Pp2MOarcjA0D6Q/s1600-h/IMG_0169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-WknnMnFI9_VDJtLNdGCHcD8rtgI7egT95WfHFnvfyVSyfG3ahFurz-fH3nUImOk4uaacyTboBnvzx5frJ4otvaS_02y_GJroDbdS4Gq7XCAyq-18l7VLnzFC-PZ9Pp2MOarcjA0D6Q/s400/IMG_0169.JPG" width="327" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The wonderful dolly hutch</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXG9lTlppyGYj67TfPkL_DdHg6Ejtr310f8UGvPwwi63Gvo9_CqzZCu8UXLixwu36ReVx45Pf3Vxhxj4uxlySiE1c8DBbHuBqkoblFvgGTkBRqyXA9_fKs20zb7h9Mjq_L5ceWG2x3F5I/s1600-h/IMG_0164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXG9lTlppyGYj67TfPkL_DdHg6Ejtr310f8UGvPwwi63Gvo9_CqzZCu8UXLixwu36ReVx45Pf3Vxhxj4uxlySiE1c8DBbHuBqkoblFvgGTkBRqyXA9_fKs20zb7h9Mjq_L5ceWG2x3F5I/s320/IMG_0164.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Devilish fun!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01H79LAzCQGIGSg-D_xPOn1OP8huZhr5eoUvn-z53wf9eLbfeAwIIMv-9iXv7yvyEj2LwfUddI97GgbJKbrTLXCP46ephplKJqMQcvTEGEFJcr9bJPsvdrasUlsPzeQtt99hFeH__iKk/s1600-h/IMG_0170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg01H79LAzCQGIGSg-D_xPOn1OP8huZhr5eoUvn-z53wf9eLbfeAwIIMv-9iXv7yvyEj2LwfUddI97GgbJKbrTLXCP46ephplKJqMQcvTEGEFJcr9bJPsvdrasUlsPzeQtt99hFeH__iKk/s640/IMG_0170.JPG" width="480" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'm a complete sucker for wooden toys.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLmlDTxm86dXC4NvBwzhRSvmN68HlmSaWHoA6xFlcPMgVXHH_gWmDVIQdd2aM5UY0cAmB-pgW0o5cnFRj_EG7fyBGhM92f-Cvj_iXXoiILg_8xZoc1WRECdh3GG6yE1_h5RhnArUr4jnE/s1600-h/IMG_0171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLmlDTxm86dXC4NvBwzhRSvmN68HlmSaWHoA6xFlcPMgVXHH_gWmDVIQdd2aM5UY0cAmB-pgW0o5cnFRj_EG7fyBGhM92f-Cvj_iXXoiILg_8xZoc1WRECdh3GG6yE1_h5RhnArUr4jnE/s320/IMG_0171.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ballerinas to the left of me, Pippi Longstocking to the right . . .</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiuatDyVtZW5uyOaPmI2MmVvS8QdXFlG-Xu3MfpFBeqgjZ7MBpqzxhrkU8HoeQLsyh88iKDgNAK65_Q1andXKHMDS834eDK9W9DIR1QjvciprNa8ggRR_gRNuzkDnFDskTZPPhZAvRrI/s1600-h/IMG_0173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiuatDyVtZW5uyOaPmI2MmVvS8QdXFlG-Xu3MfpFBeqgjZ7MBpqzxhrkU8HoeQLsyh88iKDgNAK65_Q1andXKHMDS834eDK9W9DIR1QjvciprNa8ggRR_gRNuzkDnFDskTZPPhZAvRrI/s640/IMG_0173.JPG" width="480" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And this magnificent children's section in one of the local bookstores . . . and that was only the half of it!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqNcWcvIhlItGWh0jrY3IN-mS8-629R0gXkZP-_l-nM-7Erdrqog2-gxfZ2t-C2zJG4GhfVqkTT-Jyjkl1H170FKp4KBWD6zp8ik-Vn8tHqTXWSv_qNkn9ha5d02CuYkBhFb-96O7-N0/s1600-h/IMG_0163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqNcWcvIhlItGWh0jrY3IN-mS8-629R0gXkZP-_l-nM-7Erdrqog2-gxfZ2t-C2zJG4GhfVqkTT-Jyjkl1H170FKp4KBWD6zp8ik-Vn8tHqTXWSv_qNkn9ha5d02CuYkBhFb-96O7-N0/s640/IMG_0163.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Auf wiedersehen von Deutschland!</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-22812232600950466742010-03-06T13:53:00.015+01:002010-03-11T12:41:25.997+01:00Ich liebe Tübingen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVvxmV2wOx8CEqaBMOTCNZPrUQp8IKXTNuKBadW_4cQrBqpMVzQlzWabgIR-AiUME3IqM_VzLS-IMKXHIeXW9HwyKyLY8EQ1ydR79Jkgi-23kBa-w9VEI9PnUDiVybgg5OjrEesWwJwkw/s1600-h/IMG_0154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVvxmV2wOx8CEqaBMOTCNZPrUQp8IKXTNuKBadW_4cQrBqpMVzQlzWabgIR-AiUME3IqM_VzLS-IMKXHIeXW9HwyKyLY8EQ1ydR79Jkgi-23kBa-w9VEI9PnUDiVybgg5OjrEesWwJwkw/s400/IMG_0154.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Every time we come to Stuttgart, we fit in a visit to this wonderful university town. Somehow Tübingen is charming, bustling, cool, and romantic all at once. We had benefited from warm(ish) weather all week, especially an almost balmy day at the zoo on Thursday. Friday, though, presented a precipitous drop on the thermometer and steady wind gusts so stiff that my Neapolitan children were weeping from the freeze. Our first stop was to duck into H&M to procure some highly reduced hats and mitts (cold-weather gear that we had forgotten to bring along and almost got away without needing). </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA363WWjh1-GNOs76mgwHrVCVPi9E3WLcNRGsDMsFqwHzu75jLzh1LJ-4qLGyyk-4RzYKLwESSLiFRpMlKGa7r8Vnawj7Yzi0iN9PRykVwkG-toa_dy9KLgNBccIJ66st2NVUoW64yZnU/s1600-h/IMG_0039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA363WWjh1-GNOs76mgwHrVCVPi9E3WLcNRGsDMsFqwHzu75jLzh1LJ-4qLGyyk-4RzYKLwESSLiFRpMlKGa7r8Vnawj7Yzi0iN9PRykVwkG-toa_dy9KLgNBccIJ66st2NVUoW64yZnU/s640/IMG_0039.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Newly outfitted against the cold, we entered the Marktplatz serving its time-honored purpose: picturesque setting for the weekly market. At turns, we savored the smell of cheese and bread and then fragrant spring flowers from various stalls we passed. I loved seeing the big bushels of pussywillows and branches ready for forcing. The kids crowded together for warmth for this shot before the impressive Rathaus or town hall. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-B4SmptqD3qQ0ayeuDqWZQiTM9MgzjcI7X-QfOQLoUmCRTcYx0pJawSQqKaCCwYpQ6KV5mXdIkE1kRf_d91DmkJhsVk6YXvCBucTrPfvlSwmBovWhZWddQMJy34RlJDKf6prZAEE4k4/s1600-h/IMG_0050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-B4SmptqD3qQ0ayeuDqWZQiTM9MgzjcI7X-QfOQLoUmCRTcYx0pJawSQqKaCCwYpQ6KV5mXdIkE1kRf_d91DmkJhsVk6YXvCBucTrPfvlSwmBovWhZWddQMJy34RlJDKf6prZAEE4k4/s320/IMG_0050.JPG" width="245" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">All those delicious smells inspired plaintive cries of hunger from my brood. So we found a little stube close by with an extremely friendly waitress (one in an uninterrupted series here). Quinn decided on soup: lebenspåtzlesuppe, to be exact. We both thought that would mean a soup with spatzle dumplings in it. When the soup arrived, I remembered that leben means liver. The dumplings were little meat, um, liver dumplings. Motherly discretion meant I said nothing, and Quinn thoroughly enjoyed it, exclaiming over how delicious it was. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2A9v_t9uwIEeU29oQxA2fqwd3qNdR2IoITko0bIg-q_SZqF13FU7dT6Xgf4ynmksvO0qRIWBV2abMsGnyo11NzMXTLiPMToXU1LEgT48Nan5A_zzl6j-ESo5rmhQ-FoyuwEJ4veT2l7U/s1600-h/IMG_0054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2A9v_t9uwIEeU29oQxA2fqwd3qNdR2IoITko0bIg-q_SZqF13FU7dT6Xgf4ynmksvO0qRIWBV2abMsGnyo11NzMXTLiPMToXU1LEgT48Nan5A_zzl6j-ESo5rmhQ-FoyuwEJ4veT2l7U/s320/IMG_0054.JPG" width="268" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuElzWdSOlnDdy_O9TbTwYZdOhmTTy4-6a-jZ2JZ9_jX-I05dYsp0mSBaVORb9Gj8xmwnsFLNMSunvVGr1GeCr7uYrI0e7a3F3Nehk-IG2z4utlXPQRPFlK8wE45viDjVtAwL2LcoiUK8/s1600-h/IMG_0052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuElzWdSOlnDdy_O9TbTwYZdOhmTTy4-6a-jZ2JZ9_jX-I05dYsp0mSBaVORb9Gj8xmwnsFLNMSunvVGr1GeCr7uYrI0e7a3F3Nehk-IG2z4utlXPQRPFlK8wE45viDjVtAwL2LcoiUK8/s320/IMG_0052.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Lily and Emily ordered käsespatzle (miniature dumplings in a cheese sauce) and salad, and I chose maultaschen (large raviolis) in broth. Everyone savored the warm environment and the hearty food. I could have sat there for hours and had a beer or two more. But somehow I pushed against my contented inertia and got us chugging up hill to the castle. Fortunately, the waitress fortified my children with Chupa Chupas for the steep climb up the wooded trail to the back entrance of the castle.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTRPu7lUUU6w4H07YiGq4_cw1BmJrDlkI9zIjymryKualHXRxHQDy61dWmqhJeeDmWkBaIpBZBpoUscFkSLVvM_jjaza0MUIpLpZZH09Asq_hrVGu-L2nbdBiZSyk-Ai5ZnuH0JtbVMWM/s1600-h/IMG_0058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTRPu7lUUU6w4H07YiGq4_cw1BmJrDlkI9zIjymryKualHXRxHQDy61dWmqhJeeDmWkBaIpBZBpoUscFkSLVvM_jjaza0MUIpLpZZH09Asq_hrVGu-L2nbdBiZSyk-Ai5ZnuH0JtbVMWM/s320/IMG_0058.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Tübingen's castle belongs to the university's archeology and classics departments. It houses their extensive collection of antiquities, both genuine and reproduction. They had a few rooms of local prehistoric remnants but the majority of the collection contains Egyptian, Greek, and Roman artifacts. There are small statues, urns and amphora, coins, jewelry, and then a cavernous room crowded with plasters and even bronze reproductions of classic statuary from the great museums of the world. </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASvlbh0Z9pvCT2oYXnAo76Lc-Cb93eaAK0Iu-hu8sQaMoloQA_hyrf87DiWv-Hpoe3PFo2lqmSPfqOymOy5OpGk3Q0wpUkWse1oLrCooM3IpB0n9NHoFHeFeWUoh3Pirx_TWZZtlWzMY/s1600-h/IMG_0123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASvlbh0Z9pvCT2oYXnAo76Lc-Cb93eaAK0Iu-hu8sQaMoloQA_hyrf87DiWv-Hpoe3PFo2lqmSPfqOymOy5OpGk3Q0wpUkWse1oLrCooM3IpB0n9NHoFHeFeWUoh3Pirx_TWZZtlWzMY/s320/IMG_0123.JPG" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">You can see the Louvres's Nike, one of the Parthenon horse heads from the British Museum, a fantastic Hermes from the Naples Archeological Museum . . . it is an impressive treasure trove even if most of it is cast from plaster. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Emily plopped right down and started sketching, so I tried my best to keep Lily and Quinn interested for longer than I should have. My scheme of taking Quinn's picture with his finger in the nose of every bust . . . well, it got us into trouble. Though the guard was holding back a smile when she reprimanded us. </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQXlb_WgmTDFvnw5BWNyg3QDcp2_40TiG8FlUbEg0AA5to8nNuR9fjWvaPF7u5UU5anB-eZQmgAAerdLK8bmPjw-CYWF1HgmF8mY1gVdG9CMKhmzn2uqiMjxxEqZe1B6P8Ziqp3Agvdw/s1600-h/IMG_0140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQXlb_WgmTDFvnw5BWNyg3QDcp2_40TiG8FlUbEg0AA5to8nNuR9fjWvaPF7u5UU5anB-eZQmgAAerdLK8bmPjw-CYWF1HgmF8mY1gVdG9CMKhmzn2uqiMjxxEqZe1B6P8Ziqp3Agvdw/s640/IMG_0140.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBiJzXgXbArcNPbROq1ZK9yRbMDy4YdLAvxaXZL_xxtZeKldYsYnQk29jpsdVRQhNNkqBpygad-CEJTqyujvXNubfuo3rAxcYelfmAr7Gm6pJ-H-JXP8a0NSCJqdYPDVNKYtEVE4drps/s1600-h/IMG_0150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBiJzXgXbArcNPbROq1ZK9yRbMDy4YdLAvxaXZL_xxtZeKldYsYnQk29jpsdVRQhNNkqBpygad-CEJTqyujvXNubfuo3rAxcYelfmAr7Gm6pJ-H-JXP8a0NSCJqdYPDVNKYtEVE4drps/s400/IMG_0150.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">We found the "Ausgang" and stopped to enjoy the panorama of cheerful red roofs filling the valley. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Then we headed back to the town center through the main gate . . . and what a main gate it is!</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTlHwxyRYsYN1FU_cIdqn512ATTEjoOcZPR_eDez36_IMLM9PIPUlYp0dUAiJl52fNTHOuyWghs5Ex0aa8jaBd4cHEgWkqsUX3mpa3TG8prZdR4BWZxCg_6QA5wsLm1duyZLvrRDQ11JU/s1600-h/IMG_0155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTlHwxyRYsYN1FU_cIdqn512ATTEjoOcZPR_eDez36_IMLM9PIPUlYp0dUAiJl52fNTHOuyWghs5Ex0aa8jaBd4cHEgWkqsUX3mpa3TG8prZdR4BWZxCg_6QA5wsLm1duyZLvrRDQ11JU/s640/IMG_0155.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The kids were at their usual chatter and hopping from stone to stone, so I oggled the delightful half-timbered houses and surreptitiously glanced into uncurtained windows to see the interiors (statuary nosepicking, spying in windows -- what kind of mother am I?). Then we happened upon the first of two toy shops. Those visits and the bookstore that capped off our trip deserve a separate post. Read on!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhXx06NFv5gEFHKhwLJYyhxeuLTpqOgxrUR7BAoC_uNf97ZD9bPx4ycfULHT8M6Q5LzBwUwOI6hZ3BQDyM3oxqyO1Vlg4i9MACqz08sF9agpNs8eKVBhnqTemh7mo37Oi0cLSN2om5DYk/s1600-h/IMG_0156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhXx06NFv5gEFHKhwLJYyhxeuLTpqOgxrUR7BAoC_uNf97ZD9bPx4ycfULHT8M6Q5LzBwUwOI6hZ3BQDyM3oxqyO1Vlg4i9MACqz08sF9agpNs8eKVBhnqTemh7mo37Oi0cLSN2om5DYk/s400/IMG_0156.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-62747234936598591442010-03-05T08:18:00.002+01:002010-03-05T08:21:13.676+01:00If it's Thursday, this must be . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ2Le2grXkX8O_Aq7nxC-aW9JTpu3EvLzeY4q7UNkHLbBHdtQQPA5mnzxdA_B8CX93TVMO6Mnh01BkaNU8Doks4aPZK2NMHEash5P8SMb-WuJJ_8085ndNwelVVtLylrAStGPv9GFvxM4/s1600-h/IMG_0012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ2Le2grXkX8O_Aq7nxC-aW9JTpu3EvLzeY4q7UNkHLbBHdtQQPA5mnzxdA_B8CX93TVMO6Mnh01BkaNU8Doks4aPZK2NMHEash5P8SMb-WuJJ_8085ndNwelVVtLylrAStGPv9GFvxM4/s320/IMG_0012.JPG" /></a></div><br />
We had a grave photography mishap today, so this is about all I have to show from about 250 shots.<br />
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So for now, "brevity is the soul of wit" beats "a picture is worth a thousand words" . . . or as my previous posts might indicate "a picture deserves a thousand words"!<br />
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Yesterday, we went <a href="http://www.wilhelma.de/nc/en/home.html">here</a> and spent the evening <a href="http://www.mineraltherme-boeblingen.de/servlet/PB/menu/1248366/index.html">here</a>. Other than camera calamities, it was a great day.Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-25649366143524287522010-03-04T10:40:00.004+01:002010-03-08T18:52:51.356+01:00We stole away to France!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdSOGUA4siEqqi8r60PxAHfqkism8evYnzxHoFnFc_xn4R6RqTdLyZZlDbLAlMzBtxZVJbNJc8wXxaPjQNZHR7fcTHhlDAH90tkc5lg7xoVHUIA6ufjJJChdXKnlFaq_myr4x9qKOFLTo/s1600-h/strasbourg-cathedral.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdSOGUA4siEqqi8r60PxAHfqkism8evYnzxHoFnFc_xn4R6RqTdLyZZlDbLAlMzBtxZVJbNJc8wXxaPjQNZHR7fcTHhlDAH90tkc5lg7xoVHUIA6ufjJJChdXKnlFaq_myr4x9qKOFLTo/s640/strasbourg-cathedral.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As many of you know, I spent two years living in Stuttgart in the 1990s. Thus, revisiting my old favorites always factors into a trip here. That's why I had to truck the kids the 90 miles to Strasbourg, France yesterday. After the 13 hours in the car on Sunday, I had the decency to wait until Wednesday to attempt it!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We got a late start and relied on our TomTom to get there. It, in the guise of our favorite guide, Bulldog John, took us on an inconvenient route with felicitous results. But more on that later!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We arrived famished and navigated the ponderous minivan to an underground parking space in a garage. Three kids with roaring appetites didn't allow for much meandering to choose a restaurant . . . but the brasserie we happened into had a great menu and a debonair African waiter who spoke terrific English and was very solicitous of Lily and her doll Felicity (bringing her a separate plate, even). Quinn and Lily went for steak and pommes frittes from the Enfant Menu while Emily had her favorite Alsatian dish: onion soup. I chose the mussels (with a side of pommes frites to share with Em) which came in a very generous portion as you can see. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDoa-curlMFq9-5rW-QN03kawc4l_BVOV7_3pdwBAlJ_be9-xCpSzd9_VAD1wi6lgBsehB8Coun0ZSEU1gS2560Obw9ROthZjL4STlbistAcY8H7PEBaIgrj5yHSR9YMfR6mQMdsTghA/s1600-h/IMG_8987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVDoa-curlMFq9-5rW-QN03kawc4l_BVOV7_3pdwBAlJ_be9-xCpSzd9_VAD1wi6lgBsehB8Coun0ZSEU1gS2560Obw9ROthZjL4STlbistAcY8H7PEBaIgrj5yHSR9YMfR6mQMdsTghA/s400/IMG_8987.JPG" width="300" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then we set off through the pedestrian center of Strasbourg where I cast only a few longing looks into the windows of Printemps and Galleries Lafayette. Buffeted by some sharp March winds, we marched toward the cathedral spires. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRjxC22sa8INK5K0WlmYmOZloLPht1zpAe-KDk5D-_yfzpbDHJ-Y-udWkY4VClCpLb77KF5R_4zdrGWtVymjw0FyQUfhbJb5vEVUcn80X-3wgC8IpOwkib8K4QPKEx8kDBQ-UbIGlMQQ/s1600-h/IMG_8991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRjxC22sa8INK5K0WlmYmOZloLPht1zpAe-KDk5D-_yfzpbDHJ-Y-udWkY4VClCpLb77KF5R_4zdrGWtVymjw0FyQUfhbJb5vEVUcn80X-3wgC8IpOwkib8K4QPKEx8kDBQ-UbIGlMQQ/s320/IMG_8991.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRjxC22sa8INK5K0WlmYmOZloLPht1zpAe-KDk5D-_yfzpbDHJ-Y-udWkY4VClCpLb77KF5R_4zdrGWtVymjw0FyQUfhbJb5vEVUcn80X-3wgC8IpOwkib8K4QPKEx8kDBQ-UbIGlMQQ/s1600-h/IMG_8991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <a href="http://www.cathedrale-strasbourg.fr/english.aspx">Strasbourg Cathedral</a> is a Gothic masterpiece that overwhelms with both size and ornamentation. Indeed, it was the world's tallest building for a few centuries and can be spotted from quite a distance as you approach the city. But it's the sculpture and spires that make it such an engrossing sight, as this photo of just two of the many holy figures (perched on who knows what lesser entities) reveals. Because the cathedral is so tightly pocketed into the buildings of Strasbourg, it's hard to convey its mammoth dimensions.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDecgcwrSf5YVo_FCmbiObhg30i_B686VCMiupA1FVJ2Gil9vAGeGTYptvwf_UdP51oqniZGdh7OEvFm45HONZzFksVElGkAp-MJRg-hqsVs6A5hz5lL-_kHiC-mbNW94jirL1Kbnt8hw/s1600-h/IMG_8990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDecgcwrSf5YVo_FCmbiObhg30i_B686VCMiupA1FVJ2Gil9vAGeGTYptvwf_UdP51oqniZGdh7OEvFm45HONZzFksVElGkAp-MJRg-hqsVs6A5hz5lL-_kHiC-mbNW94jirL1Kbnt8hw/s320/IMG_8990.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1267nd3yZaQ3v0nRor43WRuXE4DJQMyljOa5rQn2fvCRjdUyuOQ4I1oyo7OrCaASrNvnTef1ECA_cmxkanbQpvxNIZfKe_EVBPU7SwrvjFPoC3Tavb_KYEoLho_lRd5jH1MR-6L43qY/s1600-h/IMG_8994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1267nd3yZaQ3v0nRor43WRuXE4DJQMyljOa5rQn2fvCRjdUyuOQ4I1oyo7OrCaASrNvnTef1ECA_cmxkanbQpvxNIZfKe_EVBPU7SwrvjFPoC3Tavb_KYEoLho_lRd5jH1MR-6L43qY/s320/IMG_8994.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once inside, the stained glass windows or illuminations transfix. The apse holds an illumination of the Virgin Mary that is the largest depiction of a single figure I've ever seen in stained glass. Unfortunately, all my photos were too dark to provide an image here. But here is one shot of the nave's two tiers of illuminations -- the best I got with my less-than-wonderful photographic skills. Apparently, all the windows were removed and stored in a salt mine in Germany during WWII. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1URgDHhQumZNYEcEVXq1pOv5HwUxql_LeUiWUenwYk68hxtFCQ91GTf3mgd-7g8leI7gB3Oa_Jjj4kLYaOqrCklsmmV3OFu_R9KMJxFlnIHmUOaQvRalyW4XW06O21QW91aNoluErtuc/s1600-h/IMG_9006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1URgDHhQumZNYEcEVXq1pOv5HwUxql_LeUiWUenwYk68hxtFCQ91GTf3mgd-7g8leI7gB3Oa_Jjj4kLYaOqrCklsmmV3OFu_R9KMJxFlnIHmUOaQvRalyW4XW06O21QW91aNoluErtuc/s640/IMG_9006.JPG" width="480" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After viewing the cathedral, we chose to explore the streets, happening upon a little antique street market with high priced tidbits, spending a little time in the Petite Bateaux shop to purchase some iconic stripy shirts, and wandering along the Ill river. We enjoyed comparing the many half-timbered buildings, some listing, some bulging, all picturesque, especially those ornamented with carved figures and decorative painting. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIMy7QQ4qVBYHnJ2SnS1FHH7ehGZ0j7GXtl4xnQN8mGk8AOvn-7GHviW7fKnhnKC6RuHCyTzWtLC-MAWfCya2Aki94AN9KXlooXB6tCIl6oXSV_BKL5rjw5QIVyiXJdMjH1mSaVHGkG4/s1600-h/IMG_9008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="592" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIMy7QQ4qVBYHnJ2SnS1FHH7ehGZ0j7GXtl4xnQN8mGk8AOvn-7GHviW7fKnhnKC6RuHCyTzWtLC-MAWfCya2Aki94AN9KXlooXB6tCIl6oXSV_BKL5rjw5QIVyiXJdMjH1mSaVHGkG4/s640/IMG_9008.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5v6ebnt_bJC6sSczJEYNKL0AUMzD-JO9i7Rc9xCQWHb96YXlPo6Ib-jBVsj6gB-0TtJy2U3wt2kVRrht90qffk68md-b0y1R52wHGUTNyHKLwzGi0VZxJDvSrjw_J27dns2fuKFyV5y8/s1600-h/IMG_8992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5v6ebnt_bJC6sSczJEYNKL0AUMzD-JO9i7Rc9xCQWHb96YXlPo6Ib-jBVsj6gB-0TtJy2U3wt2kVRrht90qffk68md-b0y1R52wHGUTNyHKLwzGi0VZxJDvSrjw_J27dns2fuKFyV5y8/s320/IMG_8992.JPG" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">A look at my watch meant there was time for an unplanned Alsatian treat: a visit to Soufflenheim! The circuitous route our Tomtom had set on the way to Strasbourg took us right past the Soufflenheim exit and all my fond memories (and ceramic greed) were flamed by that serendipity! For those who love ceramics, pottery, crockery . . . I encourage you to make a pilgrimage<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhAlOTR1jgV3Zu0tRL5cDUqC09XPhzpO9ZOkAO55TwWsfmsV2Ha5qqMRuwmhCsL3zbfD9aEsZo7fgXV1BSnWkyF49iRjwJ69s0saSJCF4xnU-dfqx9bryDRwSHnWKyT-fTHsAazjZmBY/s1600-h/IMG_9010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhAlOTR1jgV3Zu0tRL5cDUqC09XPhzpO9ZOkAO55TwWsfmsV2Ha5qqMRuwmhCsL3zbfD9aEsZo7fgXV1BSnWkyF49iRjwJ69s0saSJCF4xnU-dfqx9bryDRwSHnWKyT-fTHsAazjZmBY/s400/IMG_9010.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">A last shot with the sun in their eyes in Strasbourg.</div><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tYQBFVaaZW7TT1d8gicZKHmZXgfGp6880Z-bOPJUrShghlCihORjVodG2ff5er1MiEMOlFjdpcgziz3Ypcm0zHTDJWcj97w_fU6Xc_1KMwDhTYiqU2wpUUmIN2HgwguJRNbl-2F7AxA/s1600-h/IMG_9012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tYQBFVaaZW7TT1d8gicZKHmZXgfGp6880Z-bOPJUrShghlCihORjVodG2ff5er1MiEMOlFjdpcgziz3Ypcm0zHTDJWcj97w_fU6Xc_1KMwDhTYiqU2wpUUmIN2HgwguJRNbl-2F7AxA/s400/IMG_9012.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After we parked, we found ourselves before this delightful driveway mosaic. Unfortunately, the chow hound within the gate was not so happy to see us and nipped Quinn. Fortunately, no blood was drawn. Despite the less than auspicious welcome, the kids were willing to follow me into shop after repetitive shop to look at pottery -- up to a point. You may have noticed the storks in the mosaic. They return to Alsace every year to build their nests, often on chimney stacks. They are a local symbol of happiness and faithfulness. I felt like a stork returning!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I came away with a couple of samples to join the ones I have from the 1990s (that look amazingly similar). I bought a little loaf-shaped crock for making pate and a couple of bowls to replace the casualties of our unforgiving Neapolitan tile floors. I also picked up the recipe for <a href="http://www.theworldwidegourmet.com/recipes/kouglof/">kougelhopf</a> to make in the fluted pottery molds that are a regional specialty. Let's just say it's the original bundt cake. My 12-year-old mold hasn't had its kougelhopf moment yet. I'll be correcting that upon our return to Naples.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp3ByHQ7cB93ic9FH5XMHNudjmspsj0Z83AFU4mkC_g92MeuhcX2q04QDYPgnRI4OO3mzhktAfG2U7i6U6FaIoSBfamCGM3i6_5t7QO4g847NpnYUkGnBpbU8NkfOFYcRVOSDgAbYh6E/s1600-h/IMG_9015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp3ByHQ7cB93ic9FH5XMHNudjmspsj0Z83AFU4mkC_g92MeuhcX2q04QDYPgnRI4OO3mzhktAfG2U7i6U6FaIoSBfamCGM3i6_5t7QO4g847NpnYUkGnBpbU8NkfOFYcRVOSDgAbYh6E/s320/IMG_9015.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tYQBFVaaZW7TT1d8gicZKHmZXgfGp6880Z-bOPJUrShghlCihORjVodG2ff5er1MiEMOlFjdpcgziz3Ypcm0zHTDJWcj97w_fU6Xc_1KMwDhTYiqU2wpUUmIN2HgwguJRNbl-2F7AxA/s1600-h/IMG_9012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zyseHhVkxEFspNephXMcJJSqZroWCjDAuj22irahXsuMRR8fsnl1huW8mkrA2kyX53BXDve9I-8DCUVQDCqbykgAxv9pYzmovBralugtupfAJ9B1y5UC7YID4jk-Li1AEube_FU6xUQ/s1600-h/IMG_9016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zyseHhVkxEFspNephXMcJJSqZroWCjDAuj22irahXsuMRR8fsnl1huW8mkrA2kyX53BXDve9I-8DCUVQDCqbykgAxv9pYzmovBralugtupfAJ9B1y5UC7YID4jk-Li1AEube_FU6xUQ/s400/IMG_9016.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We tried to find a cafe for a treat before returning to Germany, but looking at the time decided to skidaddle for our digs in Stuttgart. Tired, hungry kids inspired us to pick up a doner kebab feast to eat in our rooms before the TV. Nothing satiates like a good doner kebab sandwich! Off to Stuttgart's Wilhelmina zoo and Esslingen today! </div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-89277734702801629882010-03-02T09:31:00.004+01:002010-03-02T10:06:53.099+01:00We are in GERMANY!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChbUT791pvpI3Ohn2FopI7HY_h2he6Dn7ewFjCZl43Kme4lfEFUKk0fOaF4Zlhjpn6ibTRdKciCbGpgLlRrMm4zSoV91gx-CajIk4USJi7kgC37UcRTUzoc8WerzpdsiRiTCjJYzIpsc/s1600-h/Burg_Luftbild.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChbUT791pvpI3Ohn2FopI7HY_h2he6Dn7ewFjCZl43Kme4lfEFUKk0fOaF4Zlhjpn6ibTRdKciCbGpgLlRrMm4zSoV91gx-CajIk4USJi7kgC37UcRTUzoc8WerzpdsiRiTCjJYzIpsc/s320/Burg_Luftbild.jpg" /></a></div>Seizing opportunities is what it's all about here . . . so we all piled into the car Sunday morning to join my husband on a week's business trip to Stuttgart. Yesterday was a fine afternoon at <a href="http://www.preussen.de/en/today/burg_hohenzollern.html">Hohenzollern Castle</a> in Baden-Wurttemberg. It is a romantic castle construction along the lines of <a href="http://www.neuschwanstein.de/">Neuschwanstein Castle</a>. Interestingly, both 19th century royals with romantic ideas never got to see their dreams realized. Though, at least Prince Friedrich was able to see Hohenzollern castle almost completed. Mad King Ludwig was another matter entirely. In fine German tradition, you must hoof it up the mountain; I'm guesstimating about 3/4 mile uphill to reach the castle. It is completely worth it! (Of course, there are shuttles during the tourist season -- but then you don't get the private English tour with Dieter that we enjoyed!)<br />
We were not allowed to take photos inside the castle, but I took many outside and also in the chapels. Here's a selection, including kid shots:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_okybfr4lWkMt3IPV3pJZJy003dwO6bq37x2NcbCbsvosRQ610ruZGJ03WVrnn5alDBR5mu8nQJy1tFN2DKuQ_IKZYxW2XpLUiaclgx4LvSM0yNLHqv-QchXESv83_rEjFQAEcZ1bAc/s1600-h/IMG_8903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_okybfr4lWkMt3IPV3pJZJy003dwO6bq37x2NcbCbsvosRQ610ruZGJ03WVrnn5alDBR5mu8nQJy1tFN2DKuQ_IKZYxW2XpLUiaclgx4LvSM0yNLHqv-QchXESv83_rEjFQAEcZ1bAc/s400/IMG_8903.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Here is a view up at the castle from the road of hairpin turns we trekked. Clearly, no skimping was allowed on castle architectural features when this was built!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMk7n4o2bKTNQksapnrK4q0A_Yyry0vKaWfAStvQVb4wGKOtFZOBWn-GKTOMYngpXwabS7f4bi56R5B2XrYJYHFA75SjsEDt-5vYVBEcFjSJ0Y43WxqRxHv29zKkRF-qz0_Ryb8Cb_Qf0/s1600-h/IMG_8920.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMk7n4o2bKTNQksapnrK4q0A_Yyry0vKaWfAStvQVb4wGKOtFZOBWn-GKTOMYngpXwabS7f4bi56R5B2XrYJYHFA75SjsEDt-5vYVBEcFjSJ0Y43WxqRxHv29zKkRF-qz0_Ryb8Cb_Qf0/s320/IMG_8920.JPG" width="301" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Indeed, no skimping was allowed with any feature -- including door hardware. This was the handle to the Lutheran church. I specify that because there was also a Catholic church across the courtyard. I didn't receive a satisfactory answer on how that happened.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QsUYkp_F-BXLo1d7TF5ZxyYYY8rNqlSyTDJiY-FtEeFCEDhcKHtWPdekMkIgZw94XMahFx9C5B5ObAiuUElJ8hg9mtcnU7j00RPlgVz_06oufm3fEUba9hMOIyu6mOozR3TAamEcCwA/s1600-h/IMG_8928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QsUYkp_F-BXLo1d7TF5ZxyYYY8rNqlSyTDJiY-FtEeFCEDhcKHtWPdekMkIgZw94XMahFx9C5B5ObAiuUElJ8hg9mtcnU7j00RPlgVz_06oufm3fEUba9hMOIyu6mOozR3TAamEcCwA/s400/IMG_8928.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Saint George killing a dragon -- a favorite icon -- stands in a small, entryway chapel of the Catholic church. But compared to the Lutheran church, the Catholic church was very plain. Not what I expected. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlMo2ddVj4bcE-qNnzD9E2EH4m4i-dY178UGFpWOLtlm1Pmv5n9cC4ShjWUvte_4Xr43o3ICoGOt67UmSPhy7yOhWpcf_Ya8zSeK85lvdjQAVZ6jW2MRReHcSO_1JZJ78kNuhI2Lr1Uw/s1600-h/IMG_8913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlMo2ddVj4bcE-qNnzD9E2EH4m4i-dY178UGFpWOLtlm1Pmv5n9cC4ShjWUvte_4Xr43o3ICoGOt67UmSPhy7yOhWpcf_Ya8zSeK85lvdjQAVZ6jW2MRReHcSO_1JZJ78kNuhI2Lr1Uw/s640/IMG_8913.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlMo2ddVj4bcE-qNnzD9E2EH4m4i-dY178UGFpWOLtlm1Pmv5n9cC4ShjWUvte_4Xr43o3ICoGOt67UmSPhy7yOhWpcf_Ya8zSeK85lvdjQAVZ6jW2MRReHcSO_1JZJ78kNuhI2Lr1Uw/s1600-h/IMG_8913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Check out the ceiling, for instance, in the Lutheran Church. I could have stretched out on the floor and spent the afternoon staring at it. For a small family chapel, the stained glass windows could have stood their own against Paris' St. Chapelle. It was an exquisite jewel-box of a place. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBiqCcjY7uZi4q3Q02pZIaGmX_WofXsd1fToGdmOy0CN9OgW4s-C8HPNcP2ZwJmC9TOqe481wyNNwDe34qGVnIW4_1x01BqzSf4EJxex_OKona9ZyDtQA9rH04nrjNZPxJX54ll9H-Xow/s1600-h/IMG_8923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBiqCcjY7uZi4q3Q02pZIaGmX_WofXsd1fToGdmOy0CN9OgW4s-C8HPNcP2ZwJmC9TOqe481wyNNwDe34qGVnIW4_1x01BqzSf4EJxex_OKona9ZyDtQA9rH04nrjNZPxJX54ll9H-Xow/s400/IMG_8923.JPG" width="300" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Another question . . . why were the impressive knockers on the <i>inside</i> of the doors of the Lutheran church?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAbPswQkvMrbsSqCVUjR3H2HmHenxLhMhENuEP4MukIsZt-K8cQZsYyz2u0tHTfie_6Rkcniqu7BluysrOfzVuR24sQCD-DhrHWAXZzdeDWqVxcdwLugSta6gfiGKeOKL2jYY76TrSrY/s1600-h/IMG_8935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAbPswQkvMrbsSqCVUjR3H2HmHenxLhMhENuEP4MukIsZt-K8cQZsYyz2u0tHTfie_6Rkcniqu7BluysrOfzVuR24sQCD-DhrHWAXZzdeDWqVxcdwLugSta6gfiGKeOKL2jYY76TrSrY/s640/IMG_8935.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">What "stands" for family photos for this crowd! Interestingly, the more recent the King/Kaiser, the older he looked. The one at the far end is Friedrich the Great (ruled 1740-1786) . . . and he looks about 30 and very dashing. Down at this end was a Kaiser Willhelm I (ruled 1861-86), and he looks more timeworn than the robust dude in the middle. Who was he again?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWIHwO19zikfY6FcqNNPNjT255s_BuHGoEFOvtfausPB9FwDP75l0SCexJtZWiQJvpTXZaQXQzRChxhGsnI1zYpYbg6peBp2_BoDZYGKoQSr1foXyBGZdKwxp5TNYQvM9lXzGtJt59nw/s1600-h/IMG_8945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWIHwO19zikfY6FcqNNPNjT255s_BuHGoEFOvtfausPB9FwDP75l0SCexJtZWiQJvpTXZaQXQzRChxhGsnI1zYpYbg6peBp2_BoDZYGKoQSr1foXyBGZdKwxp5TNYQvM9lXzGtJt59nw/s640/IMG_8945.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And here's how we do family portraits. This was after a trip to the gift shop . . . a wooden sword for Quinn. (What was I thinking?) Lily chose her own protection -- a magic wand. Emily selected two bottles of gold ink for an art project. Moi? Postcards and a Christmas ornament -- my usual. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhut9M-DmR67TCEevURmNTqVBvhZNJEnn7J-xzuEa0ejCKc-N5Mm3sSVaEVzTDIvMNN3pUvdikveBxdzFtF-Sdei4bU196B9KXFXhMT073QNM8YUkKxoHh6cfi1Xahc0upC5mDDrVWIe4w/s1600-h/IMG_8911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhut9M-DmR67TCEevURmNTqVBvhZNJEnn7J-xzuEa0ejCKc-N5Mm3sSVaEVzTDIvMNN3pUvdikveBxdzFtF-Sdei4bU196B9KXFXhMT073QNM8YUkKxoHh6cfi1Xahc0upC5mDDrVWIe4w/s400/IMG_8911.JPG" width="300" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stopping at the stone sentinels to take in the impressive view before we started back down the hill.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you feel a hankering for more things Hohenzollern, they have some great <a href="http://www.preussen.de/de/heute/burg_hohenzollern/panoramen.html">panoramas</a> of the interiors, including the ancestral room with all four walls painted with the entire family tree from the 1100s until now. Now = a 33-year-old prince who threw a three-day hoedown at the castle for his 30th b'day party -- why do we miss all the fun? There was a 24-hour disco in the des Grafensaales or the Grand Salon. Have a gander and imagine it with several spinning disco balls added. Are you smiling, too? I'm also very partial to the Queen's hangout: des Blauen Salons. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">More German destinations to follow.</div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8801681779464370964.post-38183936122656669562010-02-22T23:01:00.000+01:002010-02-22T23:01:01.737+01:00Magnetic Poetry MondayIt's a fine tradition in our house . . . so every Monday will now be Magnetic Poetry Monday at Erzulimojo. . . and it's good to start with the knowledge that spring is in the air.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVVclPnBwrEWYxplvzxj21gKYMHZT_IgLxkJVP_xATg93bptyXqm2w-yNoxCmqWG6-_FDczBADs_TfwDpodUxAoCmFFuyx85tbPfJwrp7pPx3l6XM_QhvHxKL7tM6RS2UP8wYsNs5Wqv8/s1600-h/IMG_8052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVVclPnBwrEWYxplvzxj21gKYMHZT_IgLxkJVP_xATg93bptyXqm2w-yNoxCmqWG6-_FDczBADs_TfwDpodUxAoCmFFuyx85tbPfJwrp7pPx3l6XM_QhvHxKL7tM6RS2UP8wYsNs5Wqv8/s320/IMG_8052.JPG" /></a></div>Erzulimojohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01475371609166418042noreply@blogger.com0