So. This will be long. I don't like not blogging. So I have some words built up in me. Apologies in advance.
Now that I'm out of the land of no-internet-exile…
Where to begin? Let's see.
The movers came.
They brought everything up into our apartment on this tiny lift. You see, it's about a zillion stairs just to get up to our apartment. And the stairs are NARROW.
Hence this contraption. I said a prayer and let it go. No time for worrying.
The Italian movers? Were amazing. There were seven of them. One was about 80 and his name was Gigi. He had an eye patch.
He knew I didn't speak Italian but he LOVED me and would go on long winded tirades in Italian. I would just smile and nod. He let me ride up and down on the lift on the back of his truck.
One looked like a German bearded Harley rider. One was the perfect cross of Jason Statham and Hugh Jackman.
One was ridiculously handsome and charming and drew me a map to the best wine store in Vicenza. They all treated our belongings the way they should be treated. Like treasures. Memories.
The results from America? Not so amazing.
All of the glass Christmas ornaments that I've lovingly collected since the beginning of our marriage? Smashed.
Tables, armoires, dressers, headboards and footboards, framed photos…broken.
I found my Mac Desktop and my John Derian trays shoved in boxes with other items. With no wrapping around them.
Gigi went on and on in Italian. All I caught were the words "American brutes!". German Harley rider and Hugh Jackman taught me curse words in Italian. It was very helpful.
Moving on. What else has happened?
We unpacked. Pretty much all of it in 2 days. I'm GOOD after so many moves. Not afraid to toot my own horn.
We explored our neigborhood:
(their birthday is 24 november)
and walked/explored our neighborhood some more:
I found out that Italian groceries sell liters of prosecco for less than 2 euro. That's what you get for living in the birth place (well, region) of prosecco!
We went grocery shopping dressed like this:
I discovered my new favorite drink is Prosecco Spritz with a dash of raspberry.
We attended our first Italian carnival.
I also got my debit card eaten by an Italian ATM machine.
I ate too many pasta dishes and too many clams. I had too much gelato. For the record? Nocciola is still my favorite.
I tried, and failed horribly, to speak Italian. Usually the Italians take pity on me and start speaking English. I don't like this. How will I learn?
I had my washer and dryer delivered and undelivered 3x because they kept bringing the wrong kind, then they forgot the lift, then they brought the wrong kind of lift that couldn't fit in my courtyard.
I had a long conversation with a nun on my street. I understood maybe 1/3 of it.
I drove. A lot. And stopped gripping the steering wheel so hard.
Lucy stuck her ciocallato gelato on Harper's bottom. The Italians laughed so hard.
I tripped the breaker. Lots. Still don't know why.
I navigated a Chinese buffet where everyone spoke Italian and I had NO idea what to do.
I filled up my car for the first time.
I tried to explain bidets to our girls.
I tried to bake 12 minute break and bake cookies in my oven. It took one hour. And they still weren't cooked.
Don't think I'll be cooking poultry anytime soon.