Cute stuff he does [part I]

Everyone knows that when living with others, you're always bound to have unusual confrontations, you may start to notice quirky habits, and you're given a (sometimes too) realistic look into your roommate's life. Living with a boy is even better. Not only do you get to closely observe the male species, but if he's your husband, you get to poke fun at him (and love him) for the quirky things he does. Nathan is no exception. Now, while some of you may be annoyed when people take the time to close a box of crackers and place them back in the pantry when, in fact, the entire box is empty, I am quite different. This makes me laugh; they are little reminders of my husband throughout the day. He's just lucky that I didn't want the crackers that bad.

Today, I woke up, walked to the kitchen, went to the fridge to get the milk for my cornflakes, and found this little surprise:
Weetabix cereal in the fridge.


More to come.

Goooooooal!

And that's how La Suisse pulled off the biggest upset in the 2010 World Cup so far. Folks, it's a good year to be Swiss (or pretend to be by default). We're looking forward to the next Swiss game on June 25...and guess what else is going to be awesome about that night? We'll be able to watch it with the Coes! yessssss.

Home Swiss Home

After 15+ hours of travel, there's nothing like walking into a spic-n-span home with a 5 lb pup waiting/whining/and jumping to give you kisses. After taking a sweet sniff of the bright fuchsia peonies, and finding/reading all of the little love notes strategically placed throughout the apartment, I snuggled into the newly-washed bed sheets and crashed. Ahhh, it's good to be home.

And suddenly...

My brother became a college graduate today. My little brother. The same brother that danced in a baby blue tuxedo when he was five years old, imitating James Brown and Michael Jackson (Christy and I his back-up dancers, of course). The brother who played "cheese wars" in the backyard pool with me, even when the water felt like zero degrees. The brother who sang his heart out for my mother at Christmas (and burned her a CD of his original songs), while she listened with tears streaming down her cheeks.


I watched him rise on the bleachers, his once blond "bozo-winged" hair now a dark brown cluster of curls under his black cap, readying himself for the march down to the football field where he would receive a scarlet folder with a small slip of paper inside that signified the end of this chapter of adolescence; he could no longer blame my parents for things gone awry, or borrow money because his life was too consumed with studies to work. No more late nights morphing into early mornings at the studio, or emergency campus grocery drop-offs to replenish his bare pantry. As I came to, and focused once again on the ceremony, I realized that he was suddenly gone. The bleachers that once held my left-tasseled brother were empty, and I wondered when all of this happened. When did it all happen? When did my blue-suited, Michael Jackson singing five year-old brother become an award-winning, design-archived architect [to-be] ? With brief panic, I searched the sea of black for my brother---curls and converse shoes, I found him, a few steps away from receiving his diploma. I watched him shake hands with the dean, and switch his tassel from left to right. And suddenly, he didn't look so young to me anymore.

Crack what?

My mother is at it again. After "putting up" with my embarrassing indulgence in MTV reality shows (Real Housewives of NYC), she has somehow added three words to her ever-growing and evolving vocabulary. Today while walking home from Jeni's ice cream, she proceeded to use the terms "biatches" and "crack whores" in the same sentence. In a thick Chilean accent.



Priceless.



Oh, and I almost peed myself.

Shopping with Margo

My mom is a special breed who tends to create or attract "special" moments. And shopping with her is no exception. Today, on our ALL-DAY shopping adventure that brought me vis-a-vis with anthropologie (hallelujah!), nordstrom, urban outfitters, jcrew, banana, gap, every store I've been missing since my move overseas five months ago, there were a few moments that will forever be stored in my memory, and one that was appropriate to share via the interwebs:

Moment #3: Context: In PacSun buying shirts for my little brother. A young, skater-looking boy with long shaggy hair comes up to us and helps us find sizes.
Mom: Well, what size are you?
Boy: I'm a thirty.
Mom: I don't believe you! You're tiny.
Boy: Ya, I am pretty small.
Mom (to me): Well, she's smaller than Ryan (my brother).
Me: He?
Mom: She.
Me: He?!
Mom (pointing to the young sales associate) Her!
Boy: Ya, um, I'll just go ahead and let you guys continue looking.
Me (after waiting a few seconds to let the boy walk out of earshot): Mom, she is a he.
Mom: What?! (A minute passes while she looks around with eyes wide in disbelief).
She promises not to apologize and make the boy feel even more uncomfortable. We purchase the items. We walk out of the store.
Mom: This world is getting too confusing for me. The boys look like girls, the girls look like boys. Ay, ya, yay, Dios mio.

Ya 'Merica!

So excited to return to this country for a few weeks. Oh Lord.

The best visual birth control

Apart from sitting on the left side of church every morning (where all parents and unruly children tend to congregate), here is the best form of visual birth control. like ever.



wow.

Warning: I'm overally emotional today and miss my family

I've been in an emotional state lately. Homesick isn't really the word, but I miss my family a heck of a lot. I'm getting ready to return (next Thursday!) to the States soon which has prompted me to reflect on the Whitby family a bit as I prepare to rejoin them for a few weeks.

From a mother who came to the States at 17, not knowing a single soul, not knowing the language, and becoming a woman who knows EVERYONE, befriends ANYONE, and loves unconditionally. To a father with a soft-soul and wise spirit who picked me up from grade school on his motorcycle and taught me to snowboard when he was pushing late 40s. A motivated sister with a heart for the least and lost, who followed her dream of becoming a doctor (despite the long days, tears, stress, the reality of death she encountered on a weekly basis and the phenomenon called life she witnessed all the same). And my baby brother. My not-so-baby brother who will be graduating from college in a few weeks with a degree in architecture. My amazing brother who has the ability to teach himself how to play an instrument within hours and transform something as ordinary as a plastic chair into an amazing piece of art.


I get to hug these people in less than a week.






I'm smiling right now.

i could learn a few tips from this youngin'

Got a case of the Mondays? Try this on for size:

Cinque Terre, Italie, 15 mai 2010

Today Nathan pulled me out of bed around 6:30 am and we put our hiking gear on and headed for Cinque Terre; a UNESCO World Heritage site of five seaside towns, linked together by a hiking trail that takes about a day to finish. We arrived 2.5 hours later and to our disappointment, only half of the trail was open due to rain and risk of landslides. We made the best of it and hiked what was open (and then some...shhhh). It was an unbelievable experience and we plan on heading back in the Fall to hike the entire trail (anyone want to come with??).

Forgive me America...

...when I say this, but you have NOTHING on European wines.

As Gianni complemented my husband for his impeccable palette and ability to describe his wines "beautifully," I smiled and realized (more so) why Nathan loves wine.

It's the tradition--the hundreds of years it has taken to perfect a single bottle; the generations through which the vines have been passed down; the hundreds of hands that have gently cared for, pruned, and harvested the fruits of the vines; the science and technology that continuously develops but most importantly stays the same; and lastly, the time you get to enjoy this tiny piece of history, perhaps with a loved one, sitting in the pleasant Tuscan evening air, smelling the wood fired oven, and watching the pink and blues of the sky as the sun departs and gives you rest from another beautiful day.

Perhaps, I thought, this is why Nathan loves wine.







And then I started to love it too.

Fiano, Siena, San Gimignano, Italie (Toscane), 14 mai 2010

I keep thinking to myself it can't get anymore beautiful, then it does. Today we woke up then drove to Siena for the morning. We walked around the narrow (should-be-pedestrian-only) streets, salivated over the "cheap" prices of leather goods, and sampled Italy's finest coffee in the main square while people watching. We saw several Americans who could have either been preparing for a forty-day fly-fishing expedition (fisherman's hat, binoculars, fanny pack, vests with multiple pockets, etc.) or just really into looking like a tourist. Talk about a bulls-eye on your back for pickpockets.




We grabbed a generous slice of home-made pizza for 2 euros then headed back towards Fiano.

We saw a sign marked "wine tasting" and drove to the estate only to find it deserted. [Europe is different from the States when it comes to the wine industry as wine tasting is a new phenomenon here...it's rare that you find estates open for wine tastings as operations are on a much smaller scale and the wine is still made by a father or son]. We left disappointed and decided to explore a little since we couldn't find an "open" vineyard. We stumbled upon a small town (like a total of three homes and a church) where a grandfather was walking with his small grandson on his shoulders, and next to him an old sheepdog followed slowly but faithfully. We parked the car and Nathan walked towards the old man with one question in mind, where is the wine?

The old man spoke zero English, and as we began to realize our sign language wasn't effective and lose all hope entirely, he motioned us to wait and walked to his quaint home to call for his son. A young man came out of his home with tools on his belt and sawdust on his clothing. He was so friendly and after explaining our predicament, he said 'no problem' and called up his friend who just so happened to operate the vineyard we had stopped in previously that day.

A 1/2 hour later, we met Gianni. Gianni's vineyard was bought by his grandfather in the early 1900s for 20,000 euro. His dad manages the finances, and he and his brother make the wine. He gave us a private wine-tasting, a tour of his manufacturing facility, and a tour of his private villa. We left about two hours later feeling like we had sampled some of the best wines but also like we had made a new friend.

We ended the day with 2 pizzas made by Enrico (the cook from the restaurant below our B&B), a bottle of Chianti, outside while we watched the sun set below the hills and vineyards.

Fiano, Italie (Toscane), 13 mai 2010

A rooster woke me up this morning around 6 am. I rolled over and went back to sleep for another hour. We ate a delightful breakfast of home-made plum preserves and fruit tarts and said goodbye to our hospitable host to make our way to Tuscany.

We stopped in Levanto, one of the cities linked in with Cinque Terre, to have a look around and eat lunch.


We then continued toward Firenze and Siena, where we found our bed and breakfast off of a tiny country road, surrounded by vineyards and green pastures.

We unpacked our little Jazzy (nickname for our car) and embarked on a hike through vineyards, olive groves, and hills. I'm convinced that first God made the heavens, and then He made Tuscany. Seriously. I've never laid eyes on a more beautiful sight. The lush green landscape, the rolling hills, the precise lines of vines in the distance, the blue skies and the scent of floral and nectar.

I...am...in...love.

Camagne, Italie, 12 mai 2010

I'm writing from an adorable bed and breakfast in the Italian countryside owned by an elderly man who greeted us at 10pm outside of his rustic home. He was funny on the phone (and by funny, I mean abruptly short) as I called him three, four, five times trying to find his B&B among the narrow, cobblestone streets. The last call ended with a sigh (on his part) and a, "I wait for you. Goodbye." Dial tone.

We found it, nonetheless, and he ended up being the most kind and generous man. I'm excited to see what kind of beauty waits for me in the day. Who knows what little treasures we may find on this adventure.

What the...

I was just carded while buying beer. I didn't think anything of it, just smiled and pulled out my B-permit to reveal that I'm in fact 25 (almost). Then as I was casually sharing the news with Nathan (it was my first time being carded here) and joking about how it's ok to look 21 for the rest of your life, I saw a smile creep up on his face,

"The drinking age is 16 here for beer, Tanya. He thought you looked younger than 16?"

dangit.

The German Hugger

This past weekend, our church went for a weekend away in the French Jura mountains. We all congregated and slept in a lodge-type building, where each morning we greeted one another sleepy-eyed and broke bread over strong coffee and jus d'orange with the windows facing the most breath-taking view of lush green hillsides and quaint French farmhouses. The speaker, a man named Peter Lewis, spoke about Simon Peter the whole weekend, highlighting his journey toward discipleship with Jesus.




Then Sunday, late morning, Nathan and I packed up the car and decided to do some exploration of the Jura via our new hiking gear!

Overall, the weekend was a refreshing time away from the "fast-paced" buzz of the city. A time to further the already-existing friendships and also make new ones. A time to reflect, to love, to smile, to drink (fabulous local wines!), to entertain (some of us were in charge of a series of skits for the little ones--oh my...), to listen, and to play. I came home realizing how blessed I am in this life, and how important a solid community really is.

In our "spaceship" for the children's play. Nathan is piloting.

Kids with yellow faces. No it's not paint, it's daffodil.

Our hike in the woods

Roots

And raindrops

I successfully peed in the woods. This is actually a big deal.

Our drive back home.

Oh, and I almost forgot. The reason for the entry title:

Sometimes I'm at a loss

for words. Especially during the times that I'm caught alone, in the midst of beauty that was thought to only exist in fairy-tales. Sophie and I took a walk up, up, up to the top of the hill yesterday only to discover these amazing hills, all covered with bright yellow dandelions and as our eyes rose above the fields our hearts began to fill...a perfect view of the snow capped Alps. I couldn't help but smile and acknowledge the Creator of such beauty and Sophie showed her appreciation by taking a poo in the bushes. She then began to run, and so did I. We ran the trails through the flowery fields, into the heavily shaded woods, over the creek, and past the cows. And when our hearts felt full enough to burst, we stopped and sat amongst it all. Bees and butterflies whizzed past, busily collecting nature's sweet, the distant clamoring of the cowbells filled the silence, and a sweet breeze blew through our hair (or fur).


I smiled again and Sophie licked my hand, as if to acknowledge and affirm my thoughts. Ah. I'm so friggin' blessed.