Alpini Singers

My friend asked these gentlemen to sing for us the famous battle song about the bridge where the festivities were taking place. I guess you had to be there, but it almost made me cry. Various people broke out in song during the weekend.

Dancing American with a backpack

It speaks for itself....yes, I know I am a bit sad or maybe is it mad?

Italy

I went to the alpini (a fun loving sector of the military in Italy) festival that was held near my friends village in Italy, near Venice. It was FANTASTIC, truely a great experience!!!
The first photo, my friends with the Alpini's hats. The second, a view from the famous bridge which by the end of the weekend was packed with party goers. The third, masks in Venice. Enjoying the white wine at the festival is the 4th photo and the fifth is the alpini's and their hates in front of the church. There were so many! It looks like a flock of birds?!! More photos and videos to follow.

Oh Happy Day!

I have recently secured the role of PA to the Head of the Business Information Officer and the Head of the Communications at a charity organisation, St John Ambulance, in Farringdon. Everyone seems really cool and I think it will be a great experience. It's a charity that deals with first aid and safety training and they have many volunteers at concerts/marathon (see photo). Overall we support over 40,000 volunteers within the UK. I am so happy to have a permanant role and to soon be salaried! Everyone was right, it just takes some time after school to find a good position.

Check out where I will be working: www.sja.org.uk/sja

The Faltering Fallback

My housemate and I have a new favorite local.
When I first moved to Finsbury park the doctor I work with suggested a place called the faltering fallback as his favorite bar in the area. I didn't quite understand where it was so I didn't attempt to go.
A few weeks later I was talking to my upstairs neighbor and, as the Brits generally do when first getting acquainted, he started recommending his local pubs. I heard from him again about the faltering fallback so I told me flatmate it was worth a trip.
Sunday following we thought we would explore a bit in the neighborhood and ended up near where the pub was located. We asked someone and they pointed to the end of the road. We heard a lot of noise coming up to it, but only saw ivy and beautiful flowers. When we walked in we were greeted by hoards of men. I turned to my flatmate stating, "this place is great" while she thought the male energy was a bit overwhelming. We walked through uncovering little coves and areas where people played board games. The back opened up to a great simple large room with a pool table and loads of picnic tables, filled with local supporters. The back area, this area, thai food was being served by a suprisingly very clean and tiny kitchen. Trying to find space we discovered the beer garden which had different decks and different levels covered with pretty window boxes and much needed heat lamps.

Since then, we've agreed the faltering fallback is a keeper and a great pub to have in our neighborhood. The name alone is genius and we definitely like the vibe.

London Living: Tales of Apartment Hunting.

On a mission to find the perfect flat for two which is within our meager price range, my friend Belen and I are up for a real challenge.
London is full of people and full of habitations, tiny little gems, disgusting over lived in lets, disastrous refurbishments. The city is divided up in zones and although we agreed zone one (the centre) is just too intense, we don't want to be out too far. Zone two would be brilliant and in our price range (sort of). In our quest to find this ideal apartment, we have met our share of landlords, or slumlords, each unique and eccentric as is the property they have to offer.
A few nights ago I saw one in Elephant and Castle, it was fairly nice, though dirty. It was close to the centre and the right price. But it was also owned by a racist princess, pulling up in her Audi declaring quietly to me that she would rather let to someone like me then someone like the current Africans she had living there now, even offering me a discount in the deposit. Although the place was nice I couldn't stomach giving this woman my dough and in the end I couldn't imagine our mums visiting. It wasn't in the best area or maybe it was because I was being too picky.
Sunday we were in in Highgate, a beautiful area, very high class and although the lounge and kitchen were lovely in this garden flat, the rooms reminded us of our first year at uni, ever so tiny. The same Sunday we also saw a flat in zone one, near the white chapel tube station, which made our skins crawl. The tenants, having left in a rush, left the place disgustingly dirty and what was supposed to be in reality a two bedroom flat was actually a one bed room with the living room used as a bedroom. The scary stairwell and the dirtyness of the place we couldn't ignore. We told the estate agent thanks, but no thanks.
We are still looking, ever diligent. We know we would be good tenants and I know there is that perfect place just waiting for us to find it. I think it's important to like the place you live. We have some time, three weeks or so and until then I will enjoy where I am at the moment. Looking out to the (SUNNY!!!) garden in Bounds Green.

So close I can taste it!

Our papers have been littered with stories on the presidential hopefuls for the upcoming election. They all look willing and ready. My friend's have bets going with me that Hilary will surely win, she has too!! they argue, she is a woman!!! (and a supporter of the war). I am leaning towards Obama for a bit of change in tired Washington. Whoever wins, I will be happy it cannot and will not be Bush (sorry auntie). Click on the link below to see a little vinet of our chosen leader I found on youtube. Remember Quayle? It might be safe to say Bush is worse. There are many more where this came from:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BqLvBUSJucg

Yes Please! Leather Bags!

As a scholar I am loving big chunky leather bags. Although slightly masciline, I feel they are quiet sexy for both men and woman. Leather is not for the socially conscious, but if you are do go this way, there are rich pieces meant to last and can be treasured classics long after those last papers are turned in or marked. The bag above is one I saw in a boutique around town in London, the below bag is Miu Miu (one of my favorite designers) which can be found on netaporter.

Christmas with the Loeschers.

Being away from home was difficult this Christmas. It was made easier by an invitation to join the lovely Loescher family for their Christmas day dinner up on Boar's hill in Oxford. Conversation was abundent around the cozy table and I was excited to see the usual Christmas fixings upon arrival. We were all so full after Gil's stuffing, Ann's oh so yummy turkey (as well as many other dishes) and italian scroppino made by Maggie after dinner. They had family friends who just came from Australia and Italy so we had a bit of a cultural Christmas especially as American's since we participated in the native British traditions such as Christmas crackers (see the photo with crowns) and figgy pudding. The above photos are of the candles above the hearth and Maggie, Claire (The beautiful Loescher daughters), and Ann whipping up the goodies in the kitchen. It was such a treat!

Invierno en Oxford

I couldn't resist putting up these black and white photos that my mate Nadia took of Oxford. Photography is one of her many passions and in my opinion, she does it well. It is very cold this winter, frost licks at the doorframes and my feet never seem to stay warm (I think I have permanent frost bite on my pinky toe)! There is something romantic in the darkness of the day and the sunsets have actually been fantastically colorful.

A Short Story: The 12th.

She had wanted the first. They came in a pair the first time. When the couple swam in her belly and she knew there were two hearts beating under hers she desperately wanted the two and felt blessed.

The twins were born on a sunny day. As she felt the first pains of labor she continued on with her daily chores. On the farm that same day the chickens produced the most eggs of the year. The milk of her ladies was unusually plentiful and with all the signs, all this she couldn't have seen the hints of what was to come. With the movements in her belly, she picked wild flowers and placed them in her purse so she could have the fragrance with her, so the babies could smell home right from the start.

At the hospital, the doctor did not know of the two and she did not offer the knowledge. It was a secret, for a fleeting moment, between her and her husband. The first came out quickly while the second lingered waiting to be asked for an invitation. When the two had finally been placed in her arms she cried from joy and of course the experience and thought a silent prayer. She felt complete kissing ones soft newborn brow and the others thin sliced lips.

She would not know what was to come. She couldn't have imagined how fertile she was or how she would be blessed in some sense of the word. She had not expected to be a breeder, a baby maker like the animals she owned in the fields. The second came after, tore her up, but was a boy which made her husband smile. After him, four girls in a row. She could not remember when she was not pregnant. She hoped each time to be pregnant in winter, hating hot summers, big and heavy with a baby inside her and another attached to her hip. At times in a glimmer of thought when she was stirring something on the stove she hoped there would be no more. She could not take it anymore, life was too full and her house too crowded. But with each pregnancy she approached her husband happily with the good news and exhaled when he smiled as if the sun was filling up the sky. He silently hoped with each that it would be a boy, eager to teach his earthly working ways, for them to lend a helping hand, but he loved them all.

After a boy and six girls there came a pause, a break in the ever going stream of her baby world when she thought that they were finished. But it was too soon to hope and after a year and a half she became pregnant with a boy. She knew now the dips and turns of her girls and knew this was not the female species. He was a wrestler inside her stomach. He came and then his father got his wish, three more boys after. All moving and living, turning and fighting with their mother before they came to be. She only hoped and never thought of how to stop the endless stream of babies and then she would catch herself and wonder where she would be without this one or that one, not laughing about them or learning from them.

After fifteen years past her twins, when she had first held the two so securely to her bosom she became pregnant with her twelfth. A dozen, a dozen, she thought. On this day when she went to tell her husband she paused. She could not bring herself to say anything. She could not tell him her usual, well it is that time again or guess the stork is going to come around our way. Her husband looked at her puzzled waiting for the reason why she had walked all the way out to the fields to talk. “It is the last time, I feel it honey, she told him. He wrapped his arms around her so as not to show her his face, puzzled as to why he couldn't bring himself to smile. I think it is great, he told her, our family will now be complete.
With baby one two she couldn't tell, couldn't feel the kicks and swore it was a girl. As time progressed her mind filled with worries for she felt little. The nurse and the doctor both said they heard the heart. “She is just waiting it out, she is the baby and is trying to get all of the attention, her husband joked. She couldn't sleep, waiting for glimmers of movement from her roundness. She felt in her heart she would know, know if this baby was not right or would not come out healthy and strong like all the others had. She put that aside, made sure she thought good thoughts about this child.

On the delivery day as she did with all the babes, now a ritual, she collected the flowers for her journey. This time she picked them quickly because she felt more urgency. When she got to the hospital the doctor looked concerned. She felt coldness from the room where she had once felt warmth. She brought out her flowers and realized there were more weeds than not. Picking out the flowers from the weeds and holding them tightly she started to push and with such ferociousness a tiny angelic baby girl flew into the nurse's arms.

With one whimper of a sound the baby girl made her mother's life fulfilled, and happy and with that same sound made it quietly commence to nothing.

As the doctor and nurses had been preoccupied with the newborn that they thought to have come so rapidly and to be presumed to be dead,they missed the crimson river flowing from her mother. No one knew she had taken her last breath and had slowly slipped past consciousness while they were looking at her tiny beauty, her twelfth, her last.