Why we tell stories

A couple nights ago, I discovered this, courtesy of StoryCorps...



... after which I watched every other animated short they've created. There is something so special about stories and their retelling. Can you just imagine what we'd gain if we all listened to each other a little more? And if we were more willing to share our stories?

I recently read an incredible book. A very hard book. It was written based on the author's personal experience, making it even harder to read. It dealt with betrayal, abuse, loneliness. But it was also about hope and loyalty and strength. I imagine it was very difficult to write. But I admire the author for this gift she gave. Stories like this, like Danny and Annie's, like the ones my grandmother tells about her mother, these are stories that don't leave you. Because they change you. These are stories that deserve to be--need to be--told. Recorded or written down.

We all have stories to share.

Some stories are harder to share than others, but I hope you'll take a moment to share one with someone you love. Or that you'll take some time to listen to someone else's special memory. It will be a gift you're not likely to forget.

Cheapskates with refined taste rejoice

We looked into seeing an opera while we were in Rome, but the only show while we were there opened an hour after we arrived in Italy. Normally I'd be all for it, but somehow the 16+ hour commute from SLC didn't put us in the right frame of mind -- plus we were jet lagged and I can't think of a more expensive (and uncomfortable) place to take a nap than in an opera house.

So we decided to forgo the opera and enjoy the sites instead. In the next couple days we saw stuff like this around every corner:

On our way to the Spanish Steps, we noticed a small army of Italians and tourists gathering. Apparently some group was setting up for a performance in the square that night. An opera group to be precise. Setting up for a free performance. So, we secured ourselves some seats on a step and listened in on the rehearsal while they brought in a grand piano and the works.

That night, after a quick stop by Trevi Fountain, and, of course, a gelateria, we stopped by the square on the way home to catch the performance in their full gear.



Right place, right price, right time.

p.s. if you were wondering, Ryan did fly in for the weekend, and we had a great time. Three more days and he'll be back for another weekend!

Goodbye Earl

Ryan's scheduled to fly in tomorrow from Newark, but Earl's threatening to shut him out.

Since when do hurricanes hit New Jersey?

Think happy thoughts, everybody.

Nothing says I love you like graffiti

So sweet of Ryan to sneak out of our hotel room so he could leave me this note across the street.

Did you know graffiti was invented in Italy?! At least, that's where the word originated. (The areas surrounding train stations seem to corroborate this theory.)

The trouble with squares

st. peter's basilica -- our first night in italy

oh hello.

st. pete's square

One of my favorite things about Rome (and London and Paris and on) is how squares and plazas are so sociable. You could spend hours in one place, sitting and talking with never a shortage of people to watch as they sit and talk. Squares are civilization's campfire, the way they put you in a trance and make time stop, allowing you to think and listen despite all the people. It was in a square, seven years ago, that I first remember feeling like a real adult.

So I was all in love with squares up until I learned something very sad about them. Only one of them, really. The one that was right by our hotel and is pictured above.

It closes.

Which brings us to the scene of our first crime in Italy.

One particularly late night, before we knew the closing rule, we climbed over some barricades in order to cross the square and get home. Yeah, I know. Barricades don't require translation to = alert! back away! stop! but we were tired and had all sorts of reasons to ignore them, like how the fastest way through a circle (even one called a square) is right through the middle. And also how, you know, we're American and there's freedom and the mayflower compact and everything. But it was mostly cause our feet hurt and took over our will cause have you seen the size of that circle/square?

Anyway, we're about 1/3 of the way across when this police car comes out of nowhere and starts speeding right toward us. So either we've walked onto the set of the newest Dan Brown movie, or we've just done something very wrong. The car stops just short of hitting us and two angry police officers get out.

After playing a quick game of charades--Italians love that game!--we learn that the square closed at 11:30, and we'd best be backtracking before somebody gets hurt. Fine. The whole time we walked around, the car circled the perimeter, just in case we decided to make a break for it over another barricade.

Still love squares though.

My alma mater makes me smile

First motorized couches, then the old spice spoof, and now this?

There's really no end to what you can do for fun... when there's really nothing around to do.

The trip

The day Ryan and I got our first tax return as a couple, we had big plans for it. Before he started his life of servitude future career, I would quit my job and we'd live off that tax return in Europe for as long as it lasted. So when Turner called and said he had two weeks before his first day, we kinda wrote off all our plans. You can't plan a trip to Europe in two weeks. And even if you could, you certainly can't visit Europe for less than two weeks. Right?

Turns out, you can.

Really, you can do anything if you just stay up late enough.

It took us until two in the morning to realize that.

We were up looking at flights, cruises, any kind of deal that could take us out of town for a while before Ryan's start date. Right around 2 a.m., I shut my laptop, saying--as I had the night before that and the night before that--we'd find better deals tomorrow. Just as I was putting the laptop under the bed, I stopped. I opened it back up. I found a travel package to Rome, leaving in seven days. And I pulled out our credit card.

Are we crazy? I kept asking Ryan. I checked my calendar. He checked his. I checked my work calendar. Emailed my boss. Thought through a million reasons why we probably shouldn't go, but instead we entered our details, grabbed our passports, and clicked confirm.

The week leading up to it was, of course, crazy. We had work deadlines to meet, employment details to work out, and--oh yeah--a trip to Italy to pack and plan for, but it was exhilarating. Each night we went to bed with emotions teetering from crazed to excited then stressed, though usually settling on giddiness: Hey, wanna go on a date this weekend? To Italy, maybe? or I was thinking of stopping by the Colosseum in a couple days... wanna come?

To make things easier, we decided to pack one carry-on bag each and leave behind anything that needed to be charged or plugged in. After two long flights (and one very bad plastic-wrapped bbq chicken dinner), we arrived in Rome. We got lost for the first of many many times, saw some sites, some art, some statues, and then flew back home.

k, it wasn't quite that fast of a trip, but it felt like it. Stay tuned for photos and stories.