We got engaged! (Saw that one coming, didn’t you?)

We got married. We went on honeymoon. It was beautiful.

That really is the whole story – except that so much happened between sentences #2 and 3. Some highlights? We discovered: that French Onion Soup does taste better in France; that it is impossible to adequately see The Louvre in a day; that, unlike the airport, you don’t have to arrive early for overnight trains; the Italians know how to riot/protest in style (Hallelujah Chorus, anyone?); that you can get used to walking everywhere very quickly; that you should never let a street hawker give you anything as a gift because your wife is “so lovely”; that it can be dangerous to walk about in Florence after 11 p.m.; that strangers on a train can give the oddest of gifts; that older French men sometimes find trousers optional when sharing a sleeping compartment; that the Chicago ER is a very efficient place; and that “normal” life is just as sweet as vacation time, with its own wonderful flavor.

We arrived in Paris mid-morning on Monday, dropped our bags at the hotel, and took a walk until check-in. Our hotel was on the edge of the Montmartre area, and we wandered over the cemetery to see the sights. On our way up to see the Basilique du Sacre-Coeur, we popped into a cemetery. It was there that we first noticed the ability to be in the middle of raging bustle one moment, and within the space of two blocks be in almost absolute silence. It is pretty incredible in a city the size of Paris to find pockets of quiet, but there we were, unable to tell we were in the middle of a major metropolitan area. As we wound our way up the hill to SC, we rambled through an artists’ area, bustling with tourists, painters, caricature artists, and food merchants. It was cold and drizzly, so we bought a cup of vin chaud, basically hot sangria, and nursed that until the basilique. It was quite yummy.

Soooooo good!

As promised, the view from the Sacre-Coeur was amazing, despite being foggy. The view of the basilica was also impressive – check out the expressions of the guys at the bottom of the picture.

The view from Sacre-Coeur

Our hotel was cozy, and had a huge bathroom (as European hotel bathrooms go), and we were quite happy there, within walking distance of a snack place that sold crepes oozing Nutella. Our last night there we even had a chat with the guy who made our crepes, and he insisted on taking a picture of us kissing. Mmmmmmm…Nutella kiss!

Kiss your 'usband!

While in Paris, we visited the Musee d’Orsay, Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Eifel Tower (we opted not to ride to the top), and walked A LOT. We met some nice people, and some stereotypically snooty people, but we met more of the former. The Parisians were definitely not as amused by my attempts to speak French as Italians are when I speak Italian. It’s just a difference, as Eddie Izzard would say. No photography at the MO, but plenty of pictures of the bits of the Louvre we did have time to see.

Rome was much easier, mostly because at least there we could communicate more effectively. Our hotel was very lovely, and just outside the tourist area, so it was quiet. There was a pizza place around the block, so we started our Italian stay with a pizza before settling in and resting. We took the night walk recommended by Rick Steves, and ate our way through Andy’s first gelato, snacks, and some granita de caffe con panna, which was AMAZING. The walk ended at the Spanish Steps, and it was there that a street hawker tried to sell us a rose, and when we refused (I was trying to video a father/son violin duet of Canon in D that was heavenly), he laid it on my chest telling Andy it was free because I was so pretty. Pretty soon, one of the other “vendors” was hassling us to pay for the rose and not take advantage of his friend. I pulled out a 20 cent piece and told him that was all we had in change. He looked horrified, then took the rose back and handed Andy a white one since we were being so cheap.

Granita di caffe con panna - Heaven in a cup.

The desk staff out our hotel (Hotel Donatello, in case you are planning to visit Rome. It’s great – stay there!) were mostly older men, who were fairly amused at my attempts to say the room number in Italian to retrieve our key. One evening we returned “home” and one of them told Andy he was a lucky man. We laughed, Andy said he knew, and we explained it was our honeymoon. He gave us a sly grin and said, “Ah, maybe something happens, you will call him Donatello.” Another night, different clerk, we came in with a pizza, and the clerk told us in broken English that he would trade us the pizza for our room key. After much chuckling and assurances that we’d bring him another pizza (ha ha!), we got the key. We can’t recommend the friendly staff at Hotel Donatello enough. Seriously, go.

Even though I’d been to the Vatican Museums before, we spent hours wandering through the collections. I saw entire sections I hadn’t seen before, and we even managed to wrangle seats in the Sistine Chapel to actually sit and examine the ceiling. This time, unlike last, they were being very strict about the no photo policy, so I didn’t get any updated shots of La Capella Sistina.

This guy in the Raphael Rooms is just plain tired of being upstaged by 'The School of Athens'

We ate so much good food in Rome – only the fact that we were walking an average of 5 miles a day kept us from gaining 20 pounds. We took Rick Steves’s recommendation on a trattoria with a set menu (Trattoria del Pallora – their motto is “You’ll eat what we want you to eat.”) one night, and after Andy got his first taste of grappa, we meandered home because we stayed out past when the Metro runs. One evening we got caught up in the Sunday strolling on the Via Corso, and probably doubled our daily mileage, so we went wandering close to “home” looking for a restaurant. That’s when we stumbled upon Hosteria Cannavota. It was 7:55, and they had just opened for dinner, so we slipped inside. The food was sublime, the service (two older gentlemen) dignified, and the atmosphere perfectly Italian. We both ordered our seconds off the house specialties column, and were not disappointed. The tiramisu was quite literally the best tiramisu either of us have ever put in our mouths. The waiter spoke no English, and was sweetly patronizing when I ordered everything in Italian and checked my pronunciation with him a couple of times. He would kiss his fingertips and say, “perfetto!” It was so wonderful that as we walked back to the hotel, we began to entertain going back for our final meal in Rome. So we did, and everything was just as wonderful the second time. If you go to Rome, find this place and eat there. Order from the house specialties, and have the sliced-right-off-the-pig-leg-at-the-front-when-you-order-it prosciutto along with the Macedonian fruit salad (after your meat, before your dessert) and the tiramisu. Take two hours to do it and enjoy the house wine. You can find them across from the Basilica of San Giovanni in Laterano (the old papal basilica before they built St. Peter’s) at Piazza San Giovanni in Laterano, 20, 00184 Rome, Italy.

Cannavota is simply the best. Period.

Oh yeah, while we were in Rome, this thing happened that was pretty important – Silvio Burlesconi resigned. We had been cut off from news for almost a week when we were walking one night and came upon a huge crowd outside the Quirinale. We finally found a journalist to talk to, and she told us that Burlesconi was resigning in an hour. So we decided it could be fun to be a part of history. Three hours, and several renditions of the “Hallelujah Chorus” (performed by a mini orchestra and choir) later we left, after having danced and sang with the Italians, taken loads of video guaranteed to make you nauseous, and having nearly been trampled when the crowd overpowered the polizia. We didn’t stick around for the champagne, but we did get showered in confetti to the joyous cries of “buon anno!” It was cold, so we opted to head “home” for a pizza. History – we were there.

History, kiddos.

After Rome, we headed to Florence for a couple of days. The difference is staggering. Florence is neat, clean, and very poised, in stark contrast to the boisterous, smelly, somewhat hodge-podge that is Rome. Again, it’s just a difference. Lots of art in Florence, most of it in places where cameras aren’t allowed. Buy the book, they say.

Our first night, we went to a trattoria (again) recommended by Rick Steves. We had a very pleasant evening visiting with two other couples who were seated next to us – Steve and Amy, from America via Cambridge, and Steve and Danielle, from Canada, married on November 5, and on their honeymoon as well. We ran into Steve and Danielle a couple of times the next day while touring the Duomo. (They climbed the Duomo, and we climbed the Campanile. We only THOUGHT we were in good shape from all that walking…I like to have died.)

After we got back from the trattoria, Andy decided that the tiramisu and two shots of limoncello we’d had at the trattoria weren’t sufficient for sweets for the evening, so he went out in search of a pastry. He returned fifteen minutes later with a tale of being chased by Italian thugs, ducking into an open shop, and having the shop keeper shoo his would-be assailants away before selling him a pastry and giving him a lecture about when it was safe to walk after dark in Florence. “You do not walk after 23! You love your wife? Go back to your wife, and no walk after 23.” Good times!

Only halfway up...

We walked a lot in Florence, and in our wanderings, we found this adorable store that specializes in all things paper craft. They have journals with paper made in Italy, wax seals, ornaments, handmade marionettes, and the coolest little music boxes that play bits from operas (I got one – Merry Christmas, me!). We purchased several postcards and prints, and had a lovely chat with the woman who owns the store. If you’re ever in Florence, go find Scrivimi, and stop by. They can be found at Piazza del Mercato Centrale39/49R, 50123 Florence, Italy. It’s near San Lorenzo.

Nothing to do with the previous paragraph, but isn't my husband handsome?

We caught the late train from Florence to Milan to head back to Paris to fly out, and spent an hour and a half with three Italians who spoke very little English. We offered bread, and Andy tried to share a tissue with one woman. We all sat in chummy almost-silence once we established that I only spoke a little Italian. Then, out of nowhere, one of the women leans over and hands me a blue ceramic baby bootie tied up with ribbon. We thanked her, looked at one another and laughed, then explained that it was our honeymoon. Knowing grins and “auguri” followed, and we actually had a short conversation – the bits that I couldn’t say were translated by the teenaged boy who spoke a little English. He thought I was from “Loonda?” “London?” “Si!” “No, siamo Americani.” I took the fact that we didn’t vibe American to mean we were doing it right. Anyhow, as regards the bootie – we’ll see how things shake out. LOL

We boarded the overnight train in Milan for Paris, and found our couchette companions were an older French couple – the wife was sweet, and the husband was rocking one of the most awesome handlebar moustaches in the world. When sleeping with strangers on a train, it is expected that everyone will just sleep in their clothes. Handlebar decided that his trousers weren’t conducive for sleeping, and before my shocked eyes he shucked them. On the other top bunk, Andy saw my wide-eyed expression. All I could do was lean back so I couldn’t be seen, and mouth the words “NO PANTS!” over and over while trying not to laugh out loud. Perhaps you just had to be there.

Yeah, kind of like that.

We didn’t sleep much on the train (thank you, loud people in the hallway), and by the time we boarded our replacement flight (to Chicago, because our flight to Dallas was cancelled) I had a throbbing headache. Combine exhaustion, pressure change, and lack of good breakfast, and you get a migraine that is impervious to over the counter pain killers. Two stewardesses kindly gave me pills, and they even ordered a wheelchair to get me off the plane and through customs. I tried sleeping before our next flight, but as nothing was working, we went to seek medical assistance. The TSA agents at security called the paramedics, and long story short, we got to see Chicago from the back of an ambulance, and we spent two and a half hours in the ER at one of Chicago’s finer hospitals. I got an IV, fluids, and pain meds that made me throw up, and Andy got to sign his first round of paperwork as my husband. We’d like to go back and visit Chicago one day – we feel that we may not have seen the best side of the city and I, for one, would love to see it without clutching a barf bag or throwing up in front of our hotel.

We made it back in one piece to Dallas the next day and the rest, they say, is history. Married life has been wonderful, and we can only see it getting better and better as we continue this adventure. We have so much for which to be thankful, especially our wonderful friends and family!

(Photography albums will go up on Facebook soon – promise!)

Got it? K.

So, I’m Becca and this is Andrew:

Things are about to get really sugary in here, so I’m gonna go ahead and pass out the paper air sickness bags now. You’re welcome.

So, is this music sounding familiar yet? Yep, it’s the song they use for eHarmony commercials…have you guessed where this is going? Smart cookies! I used to roll my eyes when those came on, unable to believe that someone could be that happy (and I wasn’t), and that you could really find someone perfect for you on an online dating site. But after some stern nudging by my dearest best friend, I went ahead and grudgingly signed up. Best $60 I ever spent in my whole life.

Getting nauseous yet? No? Okay, just wait.

We “met” three weeks ago yesterday, but it already feels like we’ve known each other forever. Things just kept clicking into place until we finally got to meet for the first time on Saturday. (It’s a super-cute story, and we’re so going to sell the movie rights – James Franco, you’d better clear your calendar.)

So, I’m pretty sure God made Andrew just for *me* – just ask any of my friends. He writes me poetry, makes pretty (and cool!) art for me, says the loveliest things to me (in several languages), and is just generally all-around awesome. He thinks that the goofy stuff I do is adorable, and that I’m perfect the way I am, and I think he’s pretty wonderful, too.

After struggling for so long with being alone and feeling like I’d missed my chance on love, it is like spring has sprung overnight in the garden of my heart. Birds sing, flowers bloom – there are fireworks. The plot of “Ever After” not only seems plausible, but probable. Prince Charming does exist, and sometimes he drives a red truck.

Did I mention that he's dead sexy?

The time has come, the walrus said.

Made cake balls and cookies. Cake balls are ever so yummy, but the cookies look better on camera. See?

Got to have the goodness that is Eddie Izzard speaking French stuck in my head all afternoon. Ou est le singe?

Rounded out the day with The Eagle. Not what I was expecting, and not what the trailer portrayed it to be. Enjoyable, though.

So, now I’m off to bed, hoping that I live through tomorrow (V-Day at a bakery? Sheesh, what am I, insane?) and the subsequent week. Je t’aime, mes amis.

I don’t really have much to say, just wanted to post a picture of some work I did today, as I am very proud of it. I made two other kinds, but these are my favorite.

These are so fun to make!

Okay, so is it weird that I don’t know who won the Super Bowl? There just wasn’t any reason to care this year, especially for someone who doesn’t understand or watch (American) football. I do know which teams played, does that count?

My extra-long weekend comes to an end, and it’s time to finish this week’s lessons and plans.

Arrivederci.

Perhaps I’m not cut out to be a blogger. Or maybe I’m just too lazy. Either way, you get what you pay for, right?

Anyhow, last year was rather tumultuous and full of changes for me. The theme song for 2010 is ‘Breakeven’ by The Script.

2011 has brought along the promise of better things. I have rather hopefully designated Michael Buble’s ‘Haven’t Met You Yet’ as this year’s song.

And with that I’ll leave you with an apology for slacking off and not posting my usual “Day the Music Died.” You can always re-read last year’s.

I make no promises as to whether or not I’ll be better about blogging this year, but I hope to be.

Ciao ciao, my peoples – un grande bacio!

We’ll start off with a traditional return piece…

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

by Miss Q

This summer was lots of fun, except when it wasn’t. I finally finished my Master’s, but that meant taking Research Methods for the second time, and my professor this time was a screaming meanie. Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t competent to teach the course…but I passed, and in the end that’s all that matters.

One of the most beautiful things I saw all summer.

At the beginning of June I got to take a “vacation” to New Orleans to do some freelance photography covering the oil spill.

An artist and his work.

Filling the berm.

The oil didn't always stay on one side of the berm.

The governor and Robert Dudley

Tell us how you really feel...

Did I mention that I got to meet Erin Brockovich?

Okay, so it wasn't *all* work.

At the beginning of July I got to take a real vacation to Houston to see ‘Wicked’ – loads of fun!

Mmmmmm - tapas.

I love vacations. I love soccer. I really love vacations with soccer.

As usually happens in July, I had another birthday. C’est la vie. The food was good, though.

After weeks of uncertainty about my job, I finally got the word that I was changing subjects and getting a new classroom on the back-end of campus in the new portable building section. Again, that’s life. A starving kitten was living under *my* building, and decided that I looked exactly like the sort of chump who would take her home and make sure she wasn’t hungry anymore. Shrewd little creature.

Gemina, aka Gema.

Yeah, she's got my number. I'm doomed...

School started back in early August, so no more summer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the fact that I no longer have three hours of homework to look forward to when I get home in the evenings, I’m still trying to get caught up with all of my work for school. I am loving the 4-day week, though, and I can see myself getting caught up very soon.

So, here I am, teaching Fine Arts Survey and one class of Freshman Seminar (homicide is never far from my mind during 7th hour). It’s really been quite fun, and remarkably I only have a couple of students who are major problems. Part of that is due to the fact that last year’s sophomores spent the year hearing how mean I was, because my classes last year couldn’t behave themselves. As a result, this year’s students came in terrified of me, and behave themselves quite well, so I get to actually act like I have a soul (most of the time). The freshmen, however, all need clubbing with blunt instruments. But’s it’s okay – one of us will survive the year, and it is going to be me.

Ciao, ciao i miei cari – un grande bacio a tutti. And I’ll catch ya’ll later…

All images copyright 2010 Rebecca Quattrini. All rights reserved. Duplication prohibited.

Don't you want to hang out with me?

Really. It’s a shame I don’t see much percentage in having anything other than basic cable, because I’d probably watch soccer all the time. I’ve watched almost every game of this World Cup so far, and despite the officials trying to make things difficult, I actually managed to watch two games at once this morning. I was planning on watching Mexico play Uruguay while watching the stats on France vs. South Africa, but got sucked in before I could turn the F/SA game off. My brain almost exploded. I don’t know how sports fans do it; I couldn’t handle simply having a PIP thing going on with only one set of sound, so I had both computers running with the sound on for both games. And I intend to do it again this afternoon. If they find my body with brains trickling out my ears, you’ll know what happened, so someone please explain it to the police.

This has been a great World Cup so far, although it’s really only picked up steam in the past few days. There were so many 0-0 and 1-1 draws I was beginning to wonder if it was going to be worth watching until it got to the Group of Death. But things are shaping up quite nicely – France is going home, and Italy and the USA are still in the mix, so I’m happy.

****************

Yesterday, I noticed that one of my tomato plants had managed to sneak in getting pollenated without my knowledge. So, today we start….

Tomato Watch.

The squash is still not flowering, so no vegetables for me. Yet.

****************

To all you lurkers out there – Yes, you. *points* – I know you’re here, reading and looking at pictures. So comment already.

****************

Since I have a little extra time on my hands, I have been trying to plan to cook more heart-healthy foods and whole grains. I love pancakes, but with the butter and the sugar and the white flour, they end up being not so healthy. So here is my alternative. They’re not light and super-fluffy (there are no eggs), but they are pretty tasty, if I do say so myself.

This recipe calls for freshly ground grain, and the measurement is for whole grain berries (kernels). I use spelt, but I imagine wheat or kamut would work as well. Grind the grain until it is relatively fine, remembering, however, that the finer the grind the higher the glycemic index. I use my Magic Bullet with the chopping blade (the flat one). If you are unable to grind your own grain you can try substituting whole wheat flour. I haven’t done so myself, so I don’t know exactly how much flour you would need. 1 cup of grain generally grinds out to be between 1.5 and 2 cups of flour, so start with 1 c of flour and work from there…

Whole Grain Pancakes with Strawberries

3/4 c whole spelt berries

1/8 tsp salt

1/2 tsp baking soda

3/4 tsp baking powder, scant

1/4 c Splenda

3/4 tsp cooking oil

1/4 tsp vanilla

1/2 c soy milk

4-5 strawberries

Grind grain to desired consistency. Place freshly-ground flour in a small bowl and add the salt, baking soda, baking powder, and Splenda; stir dry ingredients to mix.

Make well in the center. Add oil, vanilla, and soy milk. Stir until combined. Allow the batter to set for roughly 30 seconds, then dip out onto griddle on medium-high heat, using a 1/4 cup measure. Be careful not to stir the batter after the initial mixing or the pancakes will be flat and dense. Recipe makes about 3 palm-sized pancakes.

Cook pancakes until center is done – it will vary depending on the heat of your griddle. While pancakes are cooking, de-stem and slice strawberries. Remove pancakes from griddle and stack on top of one another, layering strawberries in between.

Enjoy!

Memorial Day – a day for remembering and honoring the brave individuals who have fought, and fallen, for our freedoms, generally celebrated by outdoor food preparation followed by a libation or two…or three…or four. A day for being off work and enjoying it. A day, I figured, that would be good for furniture shopping because I am pretty tired of looking at furniture that, while serviceable, screams, “Poor college student!” So I decided to hunt up some furniture, and enlisted the companionship of a friend so that I would be less likely to fall prey to the grasping machinations of desperate sales people. “Bring your camera,” he texted, and told me not to ask questions. When I arrived, he informed me that he had just learned an amazing new method for taking high quality pictures using varying exposures and that after we shopped for furniture we were going to drive down to Sicily Island Hills to take pictures of the falls. We discussed (argued) whether or not the dog would come, and after a very disappointing stint at the furniture store we set to packing up the necessities for such a trek. An hour and a half later found us cruising through Winnsboro, dog in tow, munching on fried chicken, Cutie Pies (where have these delicious little pastries been all my life?!), and the most disgusting steak-flavored chips imaginable.

Sicily Island Hills is an expansive wildlife management area, home to the beautiful St. Mary’s Falls. We hiked down the trail, tied the dog to a tree, and climbed down to photograph the falls.

When we finished, the light was getting to that almost perfect time of day for picture takin’, so we struck out for Windsor Ruins.

After snapping some good shots, we called it a day and headed back to Monroe. We got to Vicksburg without incident – the fun started between Tallulah and Waverly, between mile markers 158 and 159.

It was the time of day that can generally be considered “gloaming” – the sun had been officially “set” for probably a good half an hour, and the world was bathed in that bluish-gray that is too light to be night, but too dark to be considered twilight. This particular stretch of I-20 has a wide, grassy median, and the ground slopes off rather steeply on either side of the interstate. I was finishing up singing along to “I Am a Rock” with Simon & Garfunkel when I saw something ahead that didn’t seem to make sense – it was large and round, and from a distance seemed to be made of darkness. My brain set to churning, trying out all of the probable possibilities. We were approaching it rather rapidly (I will admit to doing somewhere close to, if not over, 80 at this point, but it turned out to be a good thing), and by the time I was able to connect my brain’s hypothesis with the evidence of sight we were practically even with the Thing, and I was so shocked that all I could do was stammer, “B…b….b….bear! ****ing bear!” and start pounding the steering wheel. Yes, there staring at me from the bottom of the embankment to the right of I-20 was the largest Louisiana Black bear I have ever seen in my life, and the first one I had ever seen in the wild. I tried to apply the brakes, but there was no way to safely stop the car before the bear was out of sight. I looked up into the rearview mirror to see if anyone else had seen it, too, and watched as a single headlight went careening toward the median. The bear was in the road.

We raced to the next exit to turn around while phoning the highway patrol to alert them to the fact that there was a bear playing in traffic. I’m sure there are many places where bears, and even bears in the road, are fairly commonplace, but this is Louisiana, and we don’t have many bears. This was a big deal, to us anyway.

By the time we were back on the interstate heading the opposite direction, and level with where the car had run off the road we could see that the bear was in the middle of the interstate, and the SUV that had apparently hit it was carefully pulling out of the median. It was another quarter of a mile before we got to one of those “Emergency Vehicles Only” crossovers and screeched through it like something out of an episode of the Dukes of Hazzard. By the time I pulled the car in behind a stopped 18-wheeler, the bear had been drug off the road and was on the shoulder. It made me sad to see such a beautiful animal having been killed, but apparently it had run out in the road so I guess it took it’s chances and lost. I thought about how I would have liked to have seen it moving (it must have been running extraordinarily fast to have gotten to the middle of the road so soon after we passed it), and wished I had been driving the speed limit. Within minutes the rearview mirror flashed blue and announced the arrival of the authorities. We got out and walked back to meet them and explain the situation to the deputies. As they surveyed the bear and listened to what we could tell of the story, one deputy shook his head and said, “You ain’t gonna believe this s***, but it’s been the night for wildlife. I’ve got a six-foot ‘gater in the backseat of my car.”

Dead? we asked.

“Nah, alive. We managed to hook him.”

We’d left the cameras in the car, but this was too good to pass up. “Can we take a picture?!” we begged, practically salivating.

He agreed and we scrambled back to get our cameras. After we snapped several shots of the bear (poor bear) he took us back to the squad car to proudly display his prize. Unbelievable. Only in Louisiana…

Serious gore cropped out to protect your delicate sensibilities...

I wonder if he was read his rights...

After shaking hands with the officers, we got back on the road, but decided to see if we could track down the folks in the SUV. A little deductive reasoning led us straight to a little diner at the next exit where, sure enough, there was a gray SUV that looked like it had hit something big. Like a bear. We found one of the owners, and after making sure she was okay, got permission to take pictures of the car.

We decided to stop for dinner, and ended up visiting with the couple who hit the bear (they were able to satisfy my curiosity as to the bear’s speed – he was, indeed, “booking” it) and a family from the area. After showing the couple pictures of the bear (and the alligator) we began discussing the logistics of hitting a *bear* with your vehicle, and it suddenly became very clear to me why it was okay that I had been handily exceeding the speed limit. The woman was still shaken, but thankful they had been in such a big vehicle. “If we’d been in my car,” she said, trembling, “we’d be dead.”

She was right – that bear was big enough that it would have crushed a car on impact. It was then that I realized that if I had been driving the speed limit we would have gotten to the bear about the point when it started to cross the road and *we* would have been dead. I’ll try not to justify speeding, but for once, just this once, it possibly saved my life.

After the initial shock and excitement about the bear began to wear off, conversation turned to more mundane topics. We’d found out early on in the proceedings that this couple was on their way to Denver from Alabama, so we asked what took them to Denver. Family?

Business, actually.

It turns out that they were headed to Denver to open a bottling plant for their beverage business. What do they bottle, you might ask? Medical marijuana is the surprising answer.

Yep. Two hippies ran over a bear.

File this day under “You can’t make this shit up.”

Anyhow, here’s the link. Please save it and vote every day. If you don’t think you can remember to do that, but would like to vote, send me your email address and I’ll send you an email every morning reminding you to vote. Doesn’t get any easier than that. Send this on to your friends, and the offer stands if they’d like an email reminder. Vote, people!

http://pep.si/c1kTPG

My new love is the 11th Doctor, whom I didn’t think I was going to like… [edit: I wasn't expecting to dislike this new Doctor, I just couldn't imagine anyone living up to, much less surpassing, David Tennant's performance.]

:-D

Matt Smith. I have a thing for nerdy boys…

And he wears bow ties!

Yeah, I kept the bow tie...bow ties are cool!

All I can say is, this may be the best season yet for DW. I’m head over heels for this revamp, and I’ve only seen the first episode. LOL

Also topping the list of things that I love – geocaching. I got my own GPS unit this past week, and I haven’t looked back. So far I’m on a three-day caching streak, and I’m going to see how long I can keep it up, even if I’m only finding one cache a day. Yesterday, Deanne and I took Cato out for an afternoon of geocaching around Monroe – what fun! There were several DNF (Did Not Finds), a couple of which were due to the elements and being unprepared, proving that I *need* a bullwhip, fedora, and machete to go out caching. We tried to get to a cache out at Chenault Park, but were impeded by a gully full of water from the storms this weekend. Not to fear, I decided I could grab a low-hanging tree and swing myself across to the other side. Leaving Deanne up on the top of the embankment holding Cato, I took the leash to try to snag the branch and pull it down (see? bullwhip!). After several tries I succeeded, only to have the branch break. I finally had to admit defeat…plus, I’d seen a snake (machete!). Mucho kudos to Deanne for patiently waiting, and holding the moose without a leash, while I scurried around looking for a way to Indiana-Jones-meets-MacGyver my way to the cache.

Rehearsals for ‘Romeo & Juliet’ at FHS continue on apace. I could write a book about all of the drama we’ve had, and I’m not referring to the acting. To give you an idea: while discussing some of the goings on with my cast, one of them opined, “This is turning into an episode of ‘GLEE’ – it’s like we have our own Sue Sylvester!” I agreed, but lamented the fact that our “Sue” doesn’t have the guts to come and insult my hair to my face. Seriously, it’s gotten ridiculous. Between cast members quitting (read: diva!), guardians threatening to remove cast members over racial issues, cast members who can’t ever seem to show up to rehearsal, and other teachers giving us a hard time, we’ve had a hell of a few weeks. We produce in two weeks – check with me then to see if it was worth it. LOL

Off to bed to face a new day. You stay classy, interwebs. *wink and finger-point*

Yeah, okay…won’t do that again.