The Hits Just Keep On Comin'

            Lately, the messages sent my way have me scratching my head. When I add them up, they lead me to some startling discoveries about myself.

            Like many of you, when I look in the mirror – if I don’t look too closely, that is – I look and mostly feel just like I always did.  I certainly act the same; just ask my husband who no doubt desperately wishes that weren’t so.  Anyway, I’m wondering if the world is trying to tell me something.

            In the past few months, I’ve had some encounters that have given me pause.    I went to my doctor for a check up.  For the first time ever, my cholesterol was elevated.  I can’t say I was too surprised as I also learned (ok, I already knew it)  that I am just slightly off the chart in another area – ok, you guessed it – the suggested weight for my age and height.  Do you think those two things could go together? Never mind. 

            I was then sent for a bone scan where I learned that my bones are thinning out.  Furthermore, I’m a fourth of an inch shorter than I was last time I was measured.   How is this fair when my full-grown  height was only 5’ 2 ½”?

            So, I’m fat and getting shorter.   What’s so bad about that?  Well, keep reading; I’m not done yet.  I went to my eye doctor and learned that I have cataracts. They aren’t causing any problems, but they are now on my chart for future reference.

            However, my most startling revelation occurred not in a doctor’s office, but when buying a pair of shoes.  The over-eager shoe salesman would not leave me alone.  He consistently directed me to the “old lady” boots with low heels.  I kept looking at the high-heeled ones (they are great for short fat people, you know), trying to throw him off and to regain a bit of self-respect.   Nonetheless, I did finally buy a pair of black boots (Ok I admit they are low-heeled Naturalizers).  He asked me if I had exciting plans for the afternoon.  I said no, that my errands were completed, and I was going home.  He looked at me, leered,  and said, “Are you going home to take a little nap?” 

            So, somehow I’m not only short and fat with bad eyes, but I look like I need to go home and take a nap? 

Add to this list the fact that I recently got brand new glasses with very (or so I was led to believe) up-to-date frames.  Guess what?  I had them for over a week, and not a single soul –friend, neighbor, husband,  grocery clerk – noticed. 

            I think that my mother’s oft-repeated adage has now come true, “Nobody’s looking at me” – except for predatory shoe salesmen, that is.

Shrinking and thinking,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/ Tizmom/Mom/Grandma/Grizzie

Winter Wonderland

1/1/18

Temp:   -11

Hi, fam, friends, and frenemies,

Holiday fervor subsided?  Looking at a half-dead poinsettia and wondering whether to revive it?  A broken Christmas plate and wondering whether to glue it back together?  A Christmas sweater that hasn’t buttoned in a few years and wondering if you should go on a diet? If you are the wondering and not doing stage, then you’ve come to the right place.  Grab you leftover bubbly and have a seat.

Here's what I've been wondering:

In attempting to remove a frozen turkey neck from a turkey, I managed to twist my hand which produced a cracking sound in three of my fingers , and now I am rendered even less likely than ever be able to open a pickle jar.  I’m wondering why they put the neck and giblets  in a frozen turkey anyway. Assuming anyone wants to eat those “extras”, who has time to cook them on Christmas Day?

In buying my husband a belt, I took his current belt with me to the store.  While trying to measure the new belts for size, the buckle of the old belt somehow became commingled with the buckle of the new belt such that I could not untangle it. Neither could the young man at the check out.  Several shoppers were kept waiting in line while valiant attempts were made.  Finally, the belts broke free.    I’m wondering why JC Penney doesn’t provide better training for its Christmas help, aren't you?

Our granddog Frannie, a French bulldog, took my husband Bob for a walk the morning of our family Christmas dinner.  Frannie chased after some birds and ran out her leash.  This caused Bob to fall on his knee, elbow himself in the ribs, and bend his pinkie into a new position. While at UrgentCare awaiting treatment, my daughters and son-in-law were frantically texting me with requests of how to mash potatoes, cook cranberries, prepare brussel sprouts, etc. and, of course, do this all simultaneously.  Always willing to help, I spewed forth my culinary orders.  When we arrived home, all was completed beautifully, and we sat down on time.   I’m wondering what I can stage next year to get out of the last two hours of Christmas dinner preparation.  All suggestions welcome.  (Note :  I learned later that my son-in-law was wise to this possibility , and exhorted the girls and himself not to do too good of a job lest they get their cooking jobs permanently. My son and daughter-in-law and kids were gone during this event, so maybe I can trick them next year…)

Here in Middle America, the temperatures have been frigid, so I have been mostly inside for several days.  One task I have tackled is  purging the hallway closet.    That sounds easy enough, doesn’t it?  Take the shoeshine box, for example. The shoeshine items (rags, polish, leather balm, brushes, shoe laces which still have price tags stickered on them, more rags, water-proofing spray) are rarely invoked; however, they have resided in the the hall closet for over twenty years.   What will be the result of moving them to a less accessible spot? Like the new tax plan, it’s hard to predict.  The change probably won’t be noticed for a while. However, at some point, a sleeping giant will awake and want to polish his shoes and he will demand to know – immediately – what has become of the shoeshine supplies.  Then he will decry the fact that he was not consulted on the moving of them and will proceed to put them back where they have resided for the previous twenty years.  I’m wondering if it’s safe to move the shoeshine box.  Is it worth the risk? Let me know what you think.

What to do with my “techo-deco”picture  frame circa 2000 that provides a slide show of photos when you push a button?  It seemed like such a clever idea at the time.   I’m not quite sure when it took up residence in the hall closet.  Remarkably, the remote was with it.  However, when I pushed the button, it said that no photos are on the frame.  You and I both know that’s not true.  Those photos are somewhere.   I don’t know what they are or where they are, but I must preserve them at all costs, right?    This item will be sent to the electronics mausoleum in the basement until further notice.   I’m sure it will enjoy meeting the 8mm camcorder, some old cell phones,  and many, many chargers, wires, cords, and gadgets that may or may not go with anything we currently own.   I’m wondering if  I there’s really anyone qualified to tell me what all those items are for and how much longer I need to save them.

Well, slackers, I hate to tell you this, but the fun is up.  It’s time for you to stop drinking and thinking and start moving.   That’s right. Surely, you have a closet you need to clean out or a plot you need to devise to trick  your own family.  Or at least some leftovers you need to polish off. It’s a new year, remember? So, get busy.  I wouldn't want you to follow my example.  I just went downstairs to retrieve my Christmas ornament boxes, and  ended up reading 20+ years of my own Christmas letters. I wonder why.....

Blundering and wondering,

I remain

Tizzie/Liz/Elizabeth/Tizmom/Mom/Grandma/Grizzie

A Tramping Broad

Guten tag, freunden and flascher freunden (friends and false friends),

FMM**:  4, 548 steps, but the day is young

Have you missed me?  Been wondering where I am?  I wonder that a lot, too.

This time we and the students are in a famous Missourian's favorite German city: Heidelberg.  He liked it so much that he stayed for months instead of days and he wrote about it extensively in his book called A Tramp Abroad.    However, a current famous travel writer feels  differently.  He claims that our location is not worth visiting even if you have three weeks to spend in Germany.  He insists that it attracts "hordes of Americans" and that "its surviving charm is stained almost beyond recognition by commercialism." Well, who are you going to believe -- Mark Twain or Rick Steves or me?  

What's Germany like so far?  Well,  our introduction to our rooms here included a Power Point on cleanliness. We were told to keep the dishes washed and our rooms tidy.  A photo of a sink filled with dirty dishes -- from wayward former tenants (!) -- was displayed to show us what not to do.  Random room checks will occur.  If your room is messy and your sink is filled with dirty dishes, you and your roommates will have five euros deducted from your security deposits.  While Bob and I aren't sure if this applies to us, we have been keeping up appearances just in case.

We are told that jaywalking is verboten.  Not only will you be fined, but Germans will "look down" on you if you do this.  So far I've only missed one tram trying to abide by this rule. Aside:  Did you know that the term jaywalking is of American origin?  It dates from 1915-1920 when a "jay" was a slang word for a "stupid or dull person."  Hmmm... seems like I know another word that begins with "jay".... Maybe my Mizzou friends can help me out.

Bicycles are king.  They are everywhere.  And no one wears a helmet. They also have the right of way.  If one runs you over, it's your fault.  This one can be tricky, especially if you are someone who gets to talking and forgets that you are standing in a bike lane.  I'm learning, I'm learning. I may invest in a helmet myself.

Promptness is expected.  Even one esteemed professor whose name I won't reveal who is accustomed to having people wait for him has taken to showing up on time for meetings.  I kind of like this one.

Our daughter Nancy is coming to visit tomorrow.  She has been given strict instructions on what to bring:

*a very specific automatic pencil for her dad (the exact kind he has used since 1976). Photos and specifications were provided to her.  Hopefully, she won't let him down.
*a stack of paper plates (Shhhh ! I don't think they are allowed here; she will probably be detained.)
*microwave popcorn (It may be against the law,  too, but I'm willing to risk her future.)

For those of you who are long time readers of Tiztalk (begun in 2009), I must report that mice have again reared their ugly heads and teeth.  More on this next time when I hope I can report a resolution and maybe even a titillating  photo or two.  In the meantime, set your mousetraps.

With Nancy's arrival, there's hope that photos will reappear on Tiztalk.

**For new readers, "FMM = forced mile march".  I must say that having a Fitbit certainly keeps me honest.  liked it better when I could "estimate' how far I had to tramp in a day.

Talking but not jaywalking,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/Tizmom/Mom/Grandma

Rome Ravings

FMM: 7.5 miles

Howdy,

I just tried using my "I Translate" app to see what the Italian translation for "howdy" is. Turns out it's "howdy".  However, it also provides verb conjugations for it. I don't think I've ever "howdied", but I don't know for sure.

The latest buzz...

I splurged on two milk-carton-like containers of red wine.  One was .89 euro; the other was a whopping 1.15 euro. Boy howdy, they both tasted fine to me.  After all, vino rosso by any other name is just vino rosso, right?  And no cork bottle stoppers were required either.  A win-win.

Want to get up early and get your errands run?  Forget it.  Stores here don't post their business hours.  You just have to hope that the owner wakes up  when you do.   I would not suggest a 6 am doughnut run.

They have not heard of the blue hair special over here.  They  usually open for dinner at 7:30, my brother Tom's bedtime. He wouldn't like the food anyway.  We haven't seen roast beef, corn, or
radishes on the menus.

Interested in fashion?  These things appear to be in style:  unzipped low boots,  backless tops with  black bras underneath, red athletic shoes


Wondering about animals in Italy?  The answer is pigeons and more pigeons.  They are everywhere, and they are totally not afraid of humans.  In fact, I think they love me as they will happily brush up against my feet as I dine at an outdoor restaurant.  And they are happy to invite their friends over if I accidentally drop a crumb or two.  They don't mind being kicked.  Aw, heck, she didn't mean to do that?  They just come back for more.  A student reported a one-legged pigeon pestering her. They're tough old birds. My only solution is to head for tall tables, and hope for the best.


When Bob and I go somewhere , a persistent anxiety plagues him.   He will often say, "How would I explain THAT to your sister Mary?" For example, last night I stated that  I flat out refused to do anymore running across streets.  It was 97 degrees. I vowed to walk at a normal pace, in spite of the lawless frontier of weaving, honking, speeding and careening cars, buses, and motorcycles called a street over here. His comment, "Dear Mary, she refused to run, and now she's done."  Note:  I was unable to keep my vow and ended up "Mom running", as my kids call it, in spite of myself. But today I am NOT running.  I swear.

I love Rome's large stone pine trees.  However, they  drop long needles which can be very slippery.  I nearly slipped last week, and I heard , " Dear. Mary,  she was just fine until she slipped on a pine."

I could go on, but you get the picture. This poor man has been tracking and explaining me for forty years as of today.  It's not an easy task, and he has done a great job of it.  Thank you and happy 40th, Bob!  I don't deserve you, and you certainly don't deserve me.  He'll never see that since he claims he's never read any of my blogs, so I guess I'll have to tell him in person. And I'll do my best not to do a single thing that requires explaining today.

In other news...We attended my cousin's daughter's concert last night.  Her choral director had heard that we might show up, but she wasn't sure  why we we're in Italy.    She asked, "You're over here to write a blog, right?"  I just smiled.


Observing, swerving, and undeserving,
 I remain
 Tizzie/Tiz/Mom/Tizmom/Liz/Grandma Tizzie

\

Worldly Wise

FMM:   6 miles

Buon Giorno,

Live and learn?  Who ever thought up that?  I don't mind the "live" part, but I sure get tired of the "learn" part.  In case of an apocalypse, no one I know would want to wake up and discover that I was the other person left on Earth.    However, my ability to adapt may surprise you.

Someone about the height of Lurch (or my neighbor JS, you know who you are)  must have  installed the bathroom mirror in our apartment.   If I stand on my tiptoes, I can see my eyebrows.  There is also no full-length mirror.  What's a girl to do?   It's easy.  I put on my makeup using those little mirrors that come with compacts and eyeliner.  You know what I'm talking about, right?   Then I get dressed. When I am all ready to take on the world, I jump up and down a few times to check out the finished product.   I also check myself out in store windows as I walk by.  I would not recommend that second part; it is not for the faint of heart.  To my knowledge, I have only had one minor mess up:  I wore my shirt inside out all day.  I can only hope that my mother's oft-repeated words are now true in my case, "Nobody's looking at me."

We have no toaster. My husband has solved this one.  He grills bread in the skillet with olive oil. Add a little jelly, and you're all set.  Sound good?  You don't have to answer that.

We have no washing machine. This problem has since been solved, but the first week we had to visit the laundromat.  We planned our trip by making two map-intensive treks out to actually find one that was still in business.  We succeeded, and the man assured us that he would be open until 1:30 on Sunday.  As long as we arrived by 12, we could get our clothes washed and dried on time. We arrived at 11 with a large rolling suitcase full of dirty clothes.  He announced that he would be closing at 12.  So, we were able to wash our clothes, but not dry them.  No problem.  We wheeled them home, carried a drying rack outside, and Bob guarded our belongings with his life for the next several hours.  Ok, actually, he sat outside and read a book.  You'll be happy to know that we have been able to return to wearing clean undergarments. It's the little things.

The television programs are all in Italian.  Imagine that!   We shook down our daughter Nancy  for  her Netflix password.   We were excited to get back to our old habit of  HTT (happy tube time). However,  things weren't quite that easy.     I downloaded Netflix, but guess what?  It was all in Italian, too!  The next day I shared my plight with one of the students.  Guess what?  If this ever happens to you, there's a little button at the very very bottom at the left that lets you change it to English.  We are back in business.   After some trial and error, we have figured out the best way to prop up the iPad with pillows.  The sweetest part of all?  Nothing - but nothing - tops the pleasure of ripping off your own children.


Ideas for Solving the Graffiti Problem in Italy:

If you are  caught in the act, you  must register as a text offender.

Institute a spray paint registry like the Sudafed ones in the US.

Any others suggestions??


Coping without doping or moping,

I remain


Tiz/Tizzie/Mom/Tizmom/Liz/Grandma Tizzie

Reaching the Wisdom

FMM:   8.39 miles on Sunday (No, I'm not kidding)

Hi, friends, frenemies, and fam,

Recently, we got an eight euro break on a museum entrance.  When I asked the man why, he smiled and replied, "Because you have reached the wisdom."   Wow, and I thought I was just touring around; I didn't know enlightenment was part of the deal.  O'Connell children,  take note.  It's official: I now really do know best.

Since you are all reading this to learn about Italy, or at least to pretend you are spending your time wisely, I'll let you in on a few things I have experienced since arriving:

Women hanging out apartment building windows talking to people in the street.  (Yes, this happens a lot.  It's probably because most of the windows have no screens. So far I haven't seen any men doing this.)

A man holding his thumb to to his two fingers, bending his elbow,  and shaking his arm while speaking loudly. (Yes, and I don't think I was the cause of it, but one can never be sure about such things..)

Graffiti everywhere. (Yes.  It is on every possible surface.  Today we even saw in on the pop-up side of an escalator step.  I'm told that if it weren't for graffiti we would have no knowledge of how the ancient Romans lived.  Nonetheless, when I first saw our neighborhood, I feared that I had landed in the middle of a Crips vs Bloods turf war or perhaps a Corleone vs Sarducci vendetta.  But, no, I'm in an ordinary neighborhood.  And I'm told that most of the remarks have to do with soccer. Of course, designing creative ways to "solve" this problem has caused us to dream up all types of cruel and unusual deterrents and punishments for offenders.  Send me your suggestions.)

The frequent use of an Italian word that most of you didn't know you knew.  Answer at the end of the blog.

Tizhaps (Admit it; this is your favorite section.). I went to the post office to buy stamps.  I had a half-written letter with  an extra sheet of blank paper in it with me as I wanted to show the postal worker that I was mailing the letter to the U.S.  She promptly grabbed it out  of my hand, taped it shut,  and demanded two euros twenty.  Add one more person to the list of people who will now think I am off my rocker...I was talking to my sister on the phone while sitting outside at a subway station when I looked down and saw a lizard on my purse--- well, you can picture the rest; I prepared for pickpockets, not lizards......There's an unusual man who lives in this complex and sits at the entrance or sometimes lies on the curb.  I must pass him every time I come or go.  I've said , "ciao" to him a number of times, and he eventually answered back.  Then he stopped me and tried to ask me something.  I thought that perhaps he had found my lost metro card.  He put his hand in his pocket and showed me a handful of change and kind of shook it. I replied (in English, of course), "No, I didn't lose any money, but I did lose my metro card."   He hasn't spoken to me since.  So, now I think maybe he wanted money, or perhaps he wanted to offered me money (don't laugh; you never know!).  My "friend" suggested that perhaps he had recognized my wardrobe plight and wanted to offer me money for new clothes...I've taken to wearing my sunglasses each time I go out, but somehow I think he still recognizes me.


Give up?  Okay, the word is "prego."  It means "you're welcome" in Italian.


Wise and in disguise,
I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Mom/ Tizmom/Liz/Grandma Tizzie

Ciao

June 9, 2016

FMM*:  5 miles and the day is young.

Hi, friends, Romans, and countrymen/women,

I am in Italy.  Since  I have nothing better to do, and, obviously, neither do you, let's waste some time together.

Once again I find myself  in a foreign land getting by on my own devices.  You know that can't be good. Bob and I are here with 46 or 47 -- I keep forgetting -- students.  Bob is teaching a class.  Me?  I'm just here.  

We have had our share of cultural adjustments.  I became re-acquainted with a device I had first encountered in Europe in 1974: a bidet.  I tried to explain what it was to Bob, but without wifi for a proper explanation/demonstration, he didn't quite get it.  Nonetheless,  he did find a use for it.  He has been soaking his sore foot in it.

Bob has become quite attached to the RFID (you did look that up, didn't you?) money belt he got for Christmas for this trip. Of course, he refuses to wear it as designed --- out of sight and under one's shirt.  So, it looks suspiciously like a you-know-what (initials: FP).  He has asked me a few times if he looks like a dork.   Of course, I insist that he doesn't, but we all know the truth.

Figuring out food has been fun.  I bought what I thought was chicken noodle soup.  However, it turned out to be missing the chicken and noodles.  So, we had broth one night.  I thought I was being smart and ordered what I thought were scallops on one menu.  That turned out to be pork in a basalmic vinegar sauce.  I didn't mind as I like pork, too.

Tizhaps:  I briefly lost my passport, but a quick-thinking student grabbed it off the ground as we exited a ferry, thereby saving me from a lifetime spot in the Hall of Shame Gallery.... when walking back from the grocery the first time, I accidentally walked into the wrong gated apartment complex (well, someone was holding open the gate and I was only one complex off...) and got myself locked in as a key was needed to get out.  Luckily, the Italian man who had let me in laughingly responded to my cries,  came back across the street and released me or I might still be there; it reminded me of the time an 18 month old Molly slammed the metal door on us at the bank and we were locked in the safety deposit box room at Landmark Bank for 10 minutes; they have since installed a bell you can ring, probably due to us...lost my FitBit the first week.

Despite my best efforts --- or should I say lame efforts -- I have someone not packed the right clothes.  I should be wearing skintight jeans (Darn, left mine at home!), skintight tops (left those, too), high heeled shoes, boots,  and clogs (may have some at home in a box in the garage from 509 Marshall), and way more black.  If I decide to improve my wardrobe, I'll be sure to post pictures.

Currently, I don't know how to post photos from the iPad.   I'm hoping to shake down some of the students soon.  In the meantime, you'll have to use your imaginations.


Roaming and Roming,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Tizmom/Elizabeth/Liz/Grandma Tizzie

*FMM= forced mile March