Happy belated thanksgiving to all American readers. I had a very stuffing celebration at the house seen above. It was a beautiful sunny day and a good time was had by all.
I only had a small sample of one of my pumpkin pies but it tasted alright. All three had something wrong with them.... speaking of which.... I just pulled an apple pie out of the oven, an apple pie that is missing a few ingredients and whose top is a bit burned. Blasted european oven! I can never get the timing right. It seems hotter than what I'm used to. I was planning on giving this pie to our Italian neighbors in a gesture of goodwill and please invite me over and teach me Italian, but I'm not sure its slightly burned condition will satisfy the "good" portion of "goodwill."
J had a four day weekend so we were able to get out quite a bit and do some relaxing. On Friday night we went out to a local pizzeria where both the pizza and breaded veal were excellent. Mmmm, baby cow. Hey! C'mon now, you can take the girl out of the prairies, but you can't take the prairie out of the girl. The most amazing thing about the restaurant was the service. They really went beyond the call of duty. They were quick to spot that the heel of my right market-purchased patent leather shoe was coming off. They jumped into action and got their best server on the case. This shoe has been nothing but trouble. J took it to a cobbler here and he said he couldn't fix it. So apparently if you want your shoe fixed, take it to a pizzeria. Does this mean that if you want a good pizza, you should go to a cobbler?
I also got a few more lessons from J's school-of-how-to-drive-stick. Alas, you may as well all know..... I don't know how to drive stick. Now not only do I have to learn how to drive in Europe, I have to learn how to drive stick and drive a Jeep ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Wish me luck. My progress is very slow.
Our gardener came for the second time this past weekend. Just when I thought I was getting better at understanding Italian, trying to communicate with him showed me just how much I can't understand. I think it may be because he speaks real Sicilian. The really heavy dialect doesn't sound like Italian to me.
We will have to speak with our liason so he can tell him we eventually want the whole lawn tilled and seeded with grass. In the meantime, at the least the weeds are trimmed and our roses keep blooming. Can't complain about that.