A good egg

File under: a good idea?? (and when you say it out loud you have to end the question in a high-pitched tone of super-inquisitive-ness)



Today I was in my local Trader Joe's picking up a couple of last minute things for dinner tonight.






And I noticed a new product on the shelves.



A new product in the refrigerated shelves. Near the milk. And next to the yogurt.


It was a bag of hard-cooked, peeled eggs. Maybe a dozen or so. In a bag. A sealed, plastic, semi-clear bag.





And my first thought was: great idea! I love eggs. I love hard-boiled eggs. Who doesn't love a quick shot of protein? Add a little salt and you are good to go.

But then I pictured myself taking the bag.

And opening up the bag (of peeled, hard-boiled eggs, that sort of sat in some cloudy water).

And I decided it wasn't such a good idea. The smell and all.

But I still love eggs.

Flight of the Conchords 'Foux Da Fa Fa'

One way to celebrate Fridays...Foux Da Fa Fa...with Jemaine and Bret.

Going to 'Gansett

It's Friday. Finally. And since it's still summer-technically, we're heading down to Rhode Island to catch what's left of these last warm, swim-able and surf-able days.

Little secret to outstanding New England beaches: Rhode Island has some of the best beaches in the States. Water's warm and clean. Surf's up. Sand is smooth. Our fave happens to be Narragansett Town Beach in Narragansett, RI. Just an hour and a half's drive from Brookline. And with Scott's folks in Wickford we often flop into their digs for the weekend.






We also have a tradition of going to the Inn at Castle Hill in Newport for a cocktail (sans les enfants). Sure, the gin and tonics are a little steep but you can't find a better setting. Or view.





It also happens to be the peak of corn and tomato season right now. Like, all you want to do is eat ears upon ears of corn and tomatoes galore.

Carpenter's Farm in Matunuck, RI is a dream of a local farm stand. A vintage salt farm that grows this butter and sugar corn and loads of heirloom tomatoes. And then some.

Brookline's Best Irish Pub

Last night Scott and I went to this local pub right in our little village. Matt Murphy's. It's the most quintessential Irish pub you could go to without getting on a plane and flying to Ireland. We've frequented this place many times but last night seemed particularly memorable since we were able to get there early (kids are with Scott's folks for the week while we still have work) and just linger before meeting some dear friends for dinner.


And linger we did. And taking in all the calm and quiet. Over a couple of glasses of Guinness. It was pretty darn awesome.

Owner Siobhan Carew, authentically Irish, usually staffs Murphy's with her ilk and brogue, so you get the added bonus of trying to decipher what you were just asked by the wait staff. And who doesn't love a good brogue. And the food is pretty fantastic, too. Menu is strictly Irish fare. Fish and chips, hearty stews and amazing Shepherd's Pie. And the finest fish and chips you'll have west of the Atlantic, served ala 'Angela's Ashes' wrapped tightly in a wad of newspaper.

The bar and interior is all dark and cozy. Artist, Suzy Pilgrim Waters
has adorned much of the available wall space with her wonderful and whimsical artwork, mostly of rabbits.

Matt Murphy's Pub. Boston's best Irish tavern, right here in Brookline.

Friday Night 4maggio Free-4-all

It's Friday night. The end of our first full week back. First full week of work for us, and first week of 'multi-sports camp' for the kids. (multi-sports = s.p.u.d and capture the flag and kick the can and HORSE, it does not = baseball, football or basketball. It's Brookline fergodsakes.) And while it was very nice to get back into the swing of things, we all seem to be longing for something...something extra....something that would make the end of this first week special.



Which could only mean McDonald's food fandango for the kids and formaggio kitchen for me and Scott.

No. Holds. Barred.


This means, really, that the kids get a very special treat of dinner and a movie - as in, they get to eat in front of the t.v. (Swear to god, it's okay. They don't turn in to a pair of obese trolls, they actually can do this routine once a week and live to tell about it.) Tonight it was "Annie" and happy meals. Four nearly three hours.


While Scott and I dined on cheese and wine and bread and cheese and wine and greens. And more wine. And cheese.


It was nirvana.


It was if we were back in Brussels. I was able to obtain some mighty fine formage from Formaggio Kitchen. In the South End. http://www.formaggiokitchen.com/A wonder of a tiny store front that manages to carry all sorts of authentic French and Italian goods. Cheesy goods. And pastry goods. And then some.









Authentic Parisienne Macaroons. Melt in your mouth. Light but fully loaded with flavor.

And purchased right in Boston. Maybe a mile from Brookline.

South End Formaggio aka Formaggio Kitchen.






And they have more than one location. The Huron St. in Cambridge being their flagship and and a shop in NYC. They've received all sorts of superlatives as in 'Best in Boston' for cheese-mongering (is that even a word?) and local accolades. Suffice it to say, it's a damn good place to get damn good cheese. On a Friday night.





Oh. and they sell loads of wine, too.

Spoon - The Underdog

To me, quintessential summer tune...and who doesn't love horns in a song?

Home Sweet Home: Brookline

I've decided to change my tune a bit....making this a more 'domestic' blog since life still goes on and there still is so much more to tell, stories and anecdotes and whatnot.

This morning, for instance. Among the craziness of breakfasts, lunch packing for day camp, tug of war over the riveting Wednesday morning comics, morning chores, I got three talking heads and their opinions on how I looked when I walked into the kitchen. Like picture a kitchen counter, three people in mid cereal bite look up and say:

"Mommy, um, I really don't like your hair that way."

"Are you wearing that With your hair that way?"

"Please don't wear that when you pick us up from camp, And your hair. Never like that. Okay?"

"Yeah, mommy, please don't wear that and change your hair"

All fired directly at me. Like annoying pellet gunfire.

I love that. I love when I haven't even taken a shower yet because I'm too busy getting people out the door, I get what feels like a full-throttle attack on my person. Still in pajamas. With bed head. Like I'm actually going to walk right out the door looking like that.

Post Script

Just. Couldn't. Resist. Our return had too many tales of hilarity (and woe) to pass up.

First off, Brussels International Airport is like heaven compared to our warm friends to the south. Their Terminal B is a mall of glorious, spacious, delightful boutiques. All shiny and cosmo. Every Belgian and Duty free purchase available. We scored more than we needed on our exit. Me, with the never-seen-before black mustards (I dunno, thought they were cool) and lavender salt mills. Scott with this just-in-case chocolate and extra beer, Maia with her Calvin and Hobbes (in English) score and Colby with his Rubik's cube. No, I'm kidding. He got a miniature airport set-up. For his tray table on the airplane. And his imagination. It was peaceful and quiet and calm. We were there 3 hours before our departure and none too soon as we witnessed the hordes of folks arriving behind us. No lines for us....flew through the passport thingy, security...with the wave of hundreds just behind.

And then we got to our gate. And we board our plane. We flew US Airways, unfortunately, the Wal~mart of airlines. Cheap, but nice. Tired and haggard, but with a (somewhat creepy) smile. All four of us wedged. I love feeling like cattle. The kids were absolute troopers. Colby kept up with this sentimental "Bye Brus-Brus, bye Belgian airport, bye Belgian bathroom, bye Belgian chair/door/floor/bug" while Maia was content with her Calvin and Hobbes books.

And we flew to Philadelphia for our connection to Boston. 8 hour flight-due to head winds or tail winds or side winds. It was just long. With one movie and one meal- to steamy Philly. Just a quick observation: The airport of the City of Brotherlove, is waaaay over due for some updates. Little or no AC. Huge fans blowing hot air everywhere. And hot air + lots of folks doesn't really make for pleasant travels. Rabbit warren-like terminals. No loud speakers (as in electronic) just lots of yelling-out with directions, "PLEASE keep your passports ready. All boarding passes must be with each passport. Did you hear what I said??!! All Passports...." All the while, Scott and I are like drug-smugglers eyeing the dogs and Customs control since we had loads of contraband (olive oil, beer, 'imported' liquids galore) in our luggage. It wasn't terrible but it was a bit tough when we're all still on Belgium-time (11:00pm). Kids lost their trooper-ness and time-outs were frequent.

(I love giving a time-out to a kid when you're standing in a hot line of cranky people. And I love the feeling of a whole lot of faces in your face when you're trying to discipline your kid. I can so see why candy and bribery may work for some).

Colby and his long-overdue-to-be-trimmed fingernails gave Maia a nice scratch on her face. You may have heard Maia's wailing in Boston? And what's loads of fun is when the kids are exhausted they go to bathroom humor. And they do the fake-out swear word thing, like saying words that rhyme with those-that-are-not-permitted.

Mmm. Good times.

And yet, we arrive into Boston safe and sound, 1:30am Belgian time. Kids didn't sleep a wink (due to the fact that they had that way-over-tired-hyper thing going). Collected all but one bag at baggage claim, which came as no surprise. Call me crazy, but there is definitely something up with lost or delayed luggage these days. Especially when we were exceedingly early to every connection. So, all my precious stuff is in limbo somewhere between here and Philly. Burn-out hair, here I come.

And back to 33 Kent, Brookline. Home sweet home. Crashed around 9:00pm, EST, after a run to the convenience store for milk, eggs and cereal-since we were likely to wake up at 4am the next morning. We all seemed to have a good sleep. And when we were up (actually went until 6am, thankfully) the next morning, we all had this amazing Christmas-morning bounce in our step. Colby aka Alex P. Keaton kept up with his weird salutations, "hello, good ol' American toilet, hello good ol' American window, hello good ol' American pillow, hello good ol' American underpants".

And Scott and I realized that without really 6 weeks of television we had some major HBO catching up to do (Flight of Conchords, Big Love) and Daily Show re-runs. We could go back to just zoning out in front of the black box, never saying a word to each other, if we wanted. But those 6 weeks actually meant connecting, discussing, chillin' with the chilins'.

I think there's a lesson there somewhere.

All good things must come to an end....

And so it goes....our final days in Europe come to a close. We leave for Brookline this Wednesday, August 8 with packing, tracking down souvenirs, thank-you gifts and final to-do lists to fill the time. Two days ago, we left sunny, chaotic, risky, beautiful, warm, physical Southern Italy and arrived to orderly, empty (all are on their 4 week summer 'vacances'), behaved, careful, clean, regulated, precise Brussels. Fortunately, the weather was sunny in Brussels. A nice greeting. Unfortunately, two of our three bags didn't make it with us. Alitalia. ALITALIA. Always Late In Take-off, Always Late In Arrival. Or, aka, the one airline notorious for mysteriously losing or misplacing luggage. Worst kind of bad stereotypes come creeping into your head with this situation. Naples, Italy - a total zoo. Zippered, unlocked luggage. Ugh. But after a couple of days of haranguing the airline,we recovered both bags, all in tact. And delivered to our front door.

And so now our last minute errands include amassing Belgian chocolates, Belgian beer, and a random collection of Belgian cool stuff (like super cheap fleur de sel, speculoos cookies, and godknowswhatelse. Apparel or other wearable accoutrement, not so much. Very Boden/Ann Taylor-safe in Brussels. Antwerp, very hip, very Dries Van Noten, but didn't get there) that I can find. But specifically, that means Scott's got a very important excursion to: "De Bier Tempel"

http://the3gentsbeer.co.uk/world_beer_guide/de_bier_tempel_brussels_belgium.htm

In the Grand Place. When I first heard of this my thoughts went right to some stinky pub and gave Scott the "yeah....right...." but then I got more info. and apparently, if you're a beer snob, this place really is like a temple. A shrine. And what they do sell, which is the main purpose of this pilgrimage, are these larger than life size bottles of beer. Not just 1.5 liter size, like the size of a bottle of wine. You can get 3, 4.5, on up to 12 liter bottles. And each has some biblical name to the size. For instance:

A 1.5 liter is a Magnum,

a 3 liter is a Jeraboam,

a 6 liter is a Methuselah,

a 12 liter is a Balthazar,

and the mother of all sizes is 15 liter, or Nebuchadnezzar

If it weren't for the incredibly high quality of beer that each contains these would merely be behemoth novelties but you can't really find them in the US any more and they're great for dinner parties...hence the purpose of the errand.

Although fun to image Scott toting these big, heavy bottles. "What? It's just beer."

The kids have emoted, in their own freaky, hyper, epileptic manner of expression that returning home is a little stressy. Maia said that she feels excited and scared and both emotions together make her feel uncomfortable and overwhelmed. Tearful now and then. For a somewhat emotionally repressed kid I thought this was pretty cool. Colb, on the other hand, goes back and forth between ultra-silly bathroom boy stuff to just lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling. Both have said that they have had an amazing time...'better than expected'. So, high-fives for that.

And for me, it has been like a dream. Our little apartment was really perfect. Our days, rainy or not were are filled with something new and different. Italy was really over the top. But in general, Brussels provided us a look into what I didn't know was possible, granted it's a super-livable city for an American, but it's nice to know we pulled it off. And hopefully, some day, we can do this again.

So home we head. To Brookline. Emerson Park. Lucy. River. Dear, missed Abrams, Roland-Kalbs, Hiltons, Corrados. And Rhode Island. Family. Narragansett Beach. All very warm and wonderful folks to return to. So much to be thankful for.

Not sure if or how I'll continue this blog but it's been a wonderful way to journal our highs and lows. Cathartic and totally self-indulgent, if nothing else. Come back for a visit now and then, if you so desire.

And because I still love Tintin so much (and never tire of the colors of these illustrations, Capt. Haddock being my all time fave), the whole gang bids a fond farewell...

Arrivederci Italia

Top Ten List

1. Swimming in the Mediterranean both at Capri and at Marina della Lobra


2. Swimming in the pool at our hotel with the kids


3. While swimming in the pool hearing Colby announce loudly (several times) as he scurries out that he has to go 'poop-poop-poop!' while holding his bum.


4. Chair lift with the kids and the locusts and the sun and the warmth over Capri. Felt like the closest thing I could come to human flight.


5. Imbibing in local wine, olives and a variety of lemon-flavored things from the surrounding Agriturismo.


6. Watching the sunsets over the Mediterranean with the kids.


7. The boat 'tour' around Capri narrated by a cross between Silvio Dante and Bobby Bacala'.


8. Free limoncello shots handed out by the local market owner.


9. Did I mention swimming in the Mediterranean?


10. Having the family in Southern Italy for a week's vacation, a far cry from Brussels and a farther cry from home.

Bottom Five List

1. Crashing-bonking-knocking into a black Merc after getting lost 3 times on our way to Hotel Piccolo Paradiso, fresh off the plane.


2. The knuckle-biting drive from our hotel to Positano and beyond, even though we were surrounded by breathtaking beauty.


3. Never really getting used to this whole Italian-cultural thing of embracing RISK (and that an inch on either side of a car, boat, person is not enough!).


4. Russian tourists that have arrived in throngs...a) they all seem to have enormous heads, b) body order (not that big-headed, smelly throngs of Russian tourists is necessarily a bad thing).


5. Can't think of a fifth. It was a damn good vacation. Unforgettable and may not happen again for a while.

Olives from next door.

Pax.

Our little Mediterranean Villaggio

Today we hung around locally. Trying to balance big fun with occasional quiet fun so the kids don't expect chairlifts and boat tours every day. This morning after breakfast we took a walk to the little market to get lunch stuff. Breakfast, by the way, in Italy is comprised of rolls, lousy muffin-like bread items, jam assortment, yucky cereal and room temperature milk. I think the message is that one's not really supposed to actually eat any breakfast, just have your espresso or cappuccino and be on your way since the meal you had the night before could still be in your stomach since you're not used to eating so many carbs.

Or maybe that's just for me.

Our hotel is situated in Marina della Lobra, which is within Massa Lubrense. It's the fishing port and it couldn't be more perfect for us. We're steps away from the water, the really small village, the market and some waterfront restaurants. Super authentic. Not really touristy. And right next to our hotel is the church, Santa Maria della Lobra. Bells go off now and then, sort of like the Muslim call to prayer. No real rhyme or reason, they ring. And it's nice.

We also have our own local monk that kind of shuffles in and out of our hotel. In full Franciscan regalia. Today I was all set to sneak a photo of him during our morning stroll. I even had the camera set at my hip for a sorta look-away shot but I got so busted! Not knowing anything about Catholicism I thought 'code of silence = code of no photographs'. And now I'm going to hell. But he yammered on in Italian and then posed for me with a big smile. I got all religious and tried to say 'God Bless!' in mumbled English. But I'm still probably going to hell.

Here's our walk down to the market and to the marina. This is where Scott and Colby were having one of their billion conservations (it's either car, plane, train or boat related) about the plane ride back to Brussels. Scott kept making Colby repeat his questions. Colby would ask, "What kind of plane will we fly from Maples to Brussels?" and "When we get to Maples, is it going to be hot again and crowded in the airport?" And then Colby caught on that Scott was trying so hard not to laugh about something. But the kid still says Maples instead of Naples.

Just. Can't. Correct. Him. Right. Now.

More of the walk down....without Maples.

Here's our market. Awesome friendly proprietor. Was so psyched that Scott speaks Italian he offers us a shot of limoncello every time we go in. (fyi, limoncello is this amazing lemon, sugary liqueur that on ice or really cold is quite tasty. But better without kids, tho. It packs a punch.)

Snack bar, hang-out. You can't see but above this, to the right, are the homes of the locals. Townhouse-y stucco structures. Fairly well-maintained. Always laundry hanging out to dry as dryers are considered superfluous since the fresh air can do the very same to wet clothes. And what one can often see are people just staring and leaning out their shuttered window. Like, culturally, it's okay to live in the moment. To just stop and look and ponder. You never really see folks do that in the US. The whole sense of time is dramatically different.....for better or for worse. Certainly makes it easy to get in the spirit of things when on vacation.

The Lido (I can't help but think of Boz Scaggs) part of our hotel. All's quiet at 10am. Scott and I were dying to figure out how we could leave the kids in our room after bedtime and sneak down here for a night cap. Open 'til 3am. Maia's trying to sneak a nap.

And the path back up to our hotel from the Lido.

(C'mon, how many times would you want to say lido?

Where you off to- the Lido?

Um, I'm going to the Lido. I don't know about you.

Didju see Silvio down at the Lido?

and it always has to be italicized.)

Isola di Capri...or My Blue Heaven

Mere words cannot do this resplendent island justice. So imagonna just post a bunch of photos from our day today, with some cryptic descriptions here and there. And if you double-click on most of these you'll get the complete effect of the shot-amateur that it is.

This would be our sweet little launch that took us along with 20 or so others to Capri. Left right from our marina. Scheduled to leave at 9am.

It departed at 8:40am. Good thing us Americans are always early.

Old Salt. Had to sit in the stern. Had to make sure the engines were running.

Near the Blue Grotto. First sighting of the clarity of this water. Photo does not do any justice.

Me. and my blue heaven. Actually it's Marina Piccola. Small, free beach on Capri.

After a couple of hours at the beach and lunch, Scott, very wisely, suggested taking the chair lift to the top of the island-which is 'just' a view, a snack bar, and a view- in lieu of hiking about. "Kids'll love it!" And they did. That's Maia in front of me with her Jackie O shades.

A view. From the top.

Another view.

And on our way home, we passed the magnificent outcroppings or Faraglioni, as they're called.





















We were on Capri from about 10 to 4 and it really didn't feel like enough time so we just may head back again before we head back to Brussels this Saturday.