Clara's Precious Cape

Clara had a fantastic weekend at the California State Championship Cross Country Meet! She ran her best race of the year - covering 5 kilometers (3.1 miles) in 19:40, for a pace of 6:20/mile. She finished 40th in her division (and as the 8th fastest sophomore). That's out of all runners in Division Four schools in the entire state of California. I am so proud of her! She didn't earn a precious medal, but she did earn a precious cape.

 

You see every year, the team makes capes for the state qualifiers. They have a cape ceremony on Friday night. And the runners wear them for warm-ups, etc. on Saturday. 

Clara loves her cape, as do all the runners on the team. It's definitely the newest precious item in our household.  Cross country season is over, but as the girls run off into the sunset, at least they will always have their capes to remember the 2013 season.

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This story is presented as part of Sian's Storytelling Sunday 2013 - Pick your Precious. For other precious stories, go to this link.

Storytelling Sunday (on Friday): Crocheted Quilts

As I mentioned yesterday, I've been super busy. I thought I would not have time to participate in this month's Storytelling Sunday blog circle, sharing stories about the precious things in our lives. But then I read this awesome post from Sian and decided there was no reason not to participate (even if I am a little late). To see other participants from this month, go to this link.

So, a very simple post about the crocheted quilts made by my abuelita. They are warm, indestructible and, well, homey. When I was growing up, one of these was on every bed in the house. I have a green and yellow one on my bed right now. My mom gave me this pink one when I moved out, and it's on Clara's bed right now. And you know what? She loves it. Because there's something special about a quilt. I have been thinking about this post, ever since I read this quote on my friend Deb's blog:

“After all, a woman didn't leave much behind in the

world to show she'd been there. Even the children

she bore and raised got their father's name. But her

quilts, now that was something she could pass on.”

 ~ Sandra Dallas

Are there any special quilts in your life?

Storytelling Sunday: A Courting Gift

When cleaning out the garage recently, I came across three books which are precious to me because they were special gifts.  The Lewis Carroll was inscribed to Paul from Tom, one of his best college friends. The friendship book, given to me by my best friend from 8th grade, also had a very sweet inscription.  The final book, Backgammon for Blood, though, fits Sian's call this month for Storytelling Sunday to tell a story about "something given in love." After reading my story, do pop over there to read some of the other stories.

I first met my husband, Paul, in high school. We both competed in speech and debate tournaments for our respective schools. I don't think we ever actually spoke to each other, but I did have several friends who went to his school, so he was on the periphery of my debate world. I remember times when we were at parties together or our teams had dinner together at a restaurant.  At 6'7" (two meters), he definitely stood out from the crowd! 
When I went to college, Paul and I again found ourselves in concentric friendship orbits. One of my good friends, Steve, had a very good friend named Tom; Paul was one of Tom's best friends. So, even though I didn't know Paul well or Tom at all, Steve often regaled me with tales of adventures that the three of them had together.  The three of them, along with their friend Chuck, also played a very competitive, testosterone fueled, cut-throat brand of backgammon.   Their bible was a book by Bruce Becker called "Backgammon for Blood."
I was intrigued when, in my last year of college, Paul and I moved into the same rooming house. I noticed him right away . . . he was definitely tall, dark and handsome. I remember asking him to help me hang a map in my room, since he could reach all the way to the ceiling! During the first part of that year, I was involved in the last stages/death throes of a serious relationship followed by a series of short-term, very fun,  non committal relationships. Many nights when I would come home from dates, Paul would be sitting in the dining room studying, and we would talk for a while.  My roommate Lynn and I would sometimes bring huge baggies full of pennies to the ice cream parlor where Paul worked and buy huge sundaes, paying for them with hundreds of small copper coins. He'd just shake his head, make us our sundaes and tell his co-worker to count the pennies.  Before long, we began eating meals and studying together. He even taught me how to play backgammon.  We had the luxury of becoming friends long before we had to worry about navigating anything romantic.
By the time spring rolled around, I had a major crush on him.  By then, I realized he was smart, kind and funny, as well as tall, dark and handsome.  But I had no idea how he felt about me.  
Until my birthday in early March. He gave me a backgammon set and his copy  of Backgammon for Blood. In that moment, I realized he was serious about me, even if he hadn't yet expressed himself in a more conventionally romantic way. We made that leap a few short weeks later. . . . and the rest is history! 

Storytelling Sunday: A Toy Story Moment

The first Sunday of every month, Sian of From High in the Sky hosts Storytelling Sunday, an opportunity for story tellers from all around the world to share a tale. In 2013, Sian has encouraged people to discuss those precious objects which they hold dear. You can find this week's stories by visiting this link.

The whirlwind of Henry's high school graduation ceremony, grad night celebration and the carousel of  graduation parties is over. The hustle and bustle is gone, and the house is strangely silent these days. Henry is visiting Costa Rica on a "Senior Trip" with 39 other lucky graduates whose parents ponied up the money to send them on one last high school adventure. I'm taking the opportunity to clean up and reorganize his room.  I toss out mountains of old paper and donate outgrown clothes to charity. I pack  up his hats from Little League baseball teams, t-shirts from All-Stars and assorted trophies into boxes destined for the attic. Toys and stuffed animals are placed in a donation box. Brio trains and Matchbox cars will be saved in the attic; maybe his children will use them one day. I'm almost done, when I come across George.

Curious George was Henry's constant companion when he was a baby, toddler and preschooler. He slept with him, packed him up on trips and took him to day care for nap time. There are other things in this box: Rollo the Rhino (who Henry won at a fun fair in Killarney Town on our first trip to Ireland); a souvenir bag from one of our many train trips that I know is stuffed with marbles; a puzzle box from Budapest that no one remembers how to open; signed baseballs from Spring Training. But nothing has the weight of memory and love of George. I can't bear to box him up just yet. I take him out and place him on the shelf next to Henry's diploma, soccer cleats and University of Oregon orientation materials. George might not make the trip to Eugene in the fall, but, for now, he's too precious to make the trip to the attic.

Storytelling Sunday: Earning My Keepsake

{The first Sunday of each month, Sian of From High in the Sky hosts Storytelling Sunday, an opportunity for bloggers to gather and share a few stories. For 2013, she has suggested that we share stories about our precious keepsakes. Here's my story for today.}

On Friday, I bought this necklace at the registration expo for the 2013 San Diego Rock'n'Roll Marathon and Half-Marathon.
By the time you read this, I will have arisen at 3:15 a.m. to put on my running shirt and race bib, my running tights and race socks.  I will have laced up my shoes and packed a bag with my supply belt and visor.
I will have met my race team in the hotel lobby at 4:00 a.m. to catch the shuttle bus to the starting line of the race.
By the time you read this, I will have waded through 20,000 people and will have found my corral for the 6:45 a.m. start.
I will have looked at my daughter, Clara, and thanked God for giving us the opportunity to take this incredible journey together and for all that it has done for her and for us.
By the time you read this, I will have run 13.1 miles to honor Mick, Judy, Phil, Trish and Thelma, as well as Jeff, Peter, Marti, Megan and Sandi.
I will have paid homage to our Santa Cruz team honorees Gini, Doug, Kathy and Greg.
I will have thought about Paul every step of the way.
By the time you read this, I will have completed the San Diego Rock'n'Roll Half Marathon, and by the time you read this, I will have earned a new precious keepsake.
Thank you all for your support and encouragement.  I could not have done it without you.
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p.s. The 2013 Summertime Photography Scavenger Hunt is on! Check out the details at this post. 

Storytelling Sunday: Cruising to Alaska

Good morning, and welcome to Storytelling Sunday, a monthly round-up hosted by Sian of From High in the Sky. For 2013, Sian has suggested we tell stories of our precious keep-sakes, and for May she asked for something outdoorsy.  Since May always floods me with thoughts of my parents (they were both born in May), I thought I would share the story of my Lladro polar bear and the cruise to Alaska we took with my parents. You can read other storytellers's tales for May by clicking on this link.

One summer, shortly after Paul and I were married, we couldn't decide where to go on vacation.  At the last minute, we decided to go on a cruise to Alaska.  My parents were planning to take a similar cruise that summer, but we decidedly did not want to go at the same time.  Yet, through some mix-up which I never quite understood, we ended up booked on the same cruise!

Which turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened.  For the first time since I had moved away at the age of 17, I spent relaxed, quality time with my parents. It was the first time that we ever spent time together after I became an adult. And we found that we really enjoyed each other's company.  We did not eat dinner together and did not book the same shore excursions, but we found many other excuses to be together.  We met for cocktails almost every night, and several mornings we played bridge with my dad. We went shopping with my mom in Sitka and arranged to go to the midnight buffet together one night.   But the best day was the day we cruised through Glacier Bay.  Paul and I arrived in the viewing lounge early and grabbed a table by the window.  My parents arrived later, and we kept the table for the entire day. We had lunch there and many, many, many cocktails. We chatted and played cards and enjoyed the awesome scenery.  Later that day, my mom and I visited the ship's gift shop and we each bought a Lladro polar bear to remind us of the wonderful time we spent together on that cruise.

Both my have since passed away.  They are gone, but definitely not forgotten. And, whenever I look at my Lladro polar bear, I remember how our relationship changed for the better, and for good, after we spent time together on that cruise.

Storytelling Sunday: Buster B. Bear

On the first Sunday of every month, Sian of From High in the Sky hosts a round of storytelling. For 2013, Sian has suggested that people tell stories about the precious things in their lives, "those things from your past you can't bear to throw out . . . Or the thing you love most in a room."  For this month's story, I want to introduce Buster Brown Bear.
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My husband Paul gave me this teddy bear while I was in law school, a year or two before we married. When he arrived, his fur was  a soft brown, and he wore a blue satin ribbon around his neck. I named him Buster Brown Bear, and we joked that he was a constitutional law scholar.  We both found this very funny for some reason. Buster B. Bear traveled with me from Cambridge, Massachusetts to Ithaca, New York after we got married.  For almost thirty years, this well-loved, well-traveled ball of fur has shared our bed. He's definitely the worse for wear these days, but I still love him.  He's very precious to me, and I definitely couldn't bear to be without him!

Storytelling Sunday: Heirloom Jewelry

On the first Sunday of every month, Sian of From High in the Sky hosts "Storytelling Sunday," a chance for bloggers to tell some tales and spin some yarns. For 2013, she has invited participants to "pick their precious" and tell the story behind a precious object. For March, she suggested something Irish. And I have just the thing or two to talk about!

I love jewelry.  I always have. And when I travel (as I am wont to do), I try to pick up a special piece for my collection. In 2001, on our first trip to Ireland, I wandered down the cobbled part of Grafton Street, closed off to cars and a joy pedestrians.  I stuck my nose into Fields Jewellers and looked at every piece of jewelry that had an Irish feel to it. We were staying in Dublin, on the Trinity College campus, and Grafton Street was just a hop, skip and a jump from our apartment in the student dorms. It was our first trip abroad as a family, and I loved exposing our children to the world (we returned to Ireland twice for similar academic summer abroad programs and also taught in programs in Prague and Budapest).  Over the next few weeks, I visited Fields over and over, thinking about what I wanted to buy. Eventually, I bought five pieces: a child's bracelet for Clara (who was 3 at the time); a sterling silver cuff bracelet (which I wore for years and then gave to our Goddaughter on her 16th birthday with an invitation to go to Ireland with us on our next trip); a pair of silver Celtic knot earrings; a light and (relatively) inexpensive sterling silver Celtic cross necklace; and this gold Celtic cross pictured above. In the last dozen years, I have worn the cross most days. I love its simplicity, its length and the feel of it around my neck. In Christopher Moore's awesome novel, A Dirty Job, he suggests that every human being has a "soul object," a tangible object where their immortal soul is transferred upon death. The novel's protagonist is in charge of collecting these and making sure that deserving souls make it to heaven. When our book group discussed the book, I asked everyone what they thought their "soul object" might be. And, for myself, I chose this necklace. Because it encompasses my faith and reminds me of all the travel we have undertaken as a family and because I wear it almost every single day. It's definitely precious, and I hope that, someday (a long time from now) one of my children will cherish this necklace as a piece of heirloom jewelry. 

Much like I cherish this piece:

My father bought this gorgeous gold necklace for my mother on Mother's Day in 1972.  The back includes a quote from Washington Irving, "The love of a mother is never exhausted, it never changes, it never tires." I was thrilled to inherit it from my mom. I think she left it to me because I was the only one of her three daughters who became a mother. I wear it on those days when I feel like I need her strength to bolster me.

I will end this (very long) Storytelling post with one more Irish piece:

I love this Claddagh ring which I inherited from my Aunt Vera and Uncle Nano. The design of the ring symbolizes love, friendship, and loyalty and originated in the village of Claddagh, just outside of Galway (one of our very favorite places in Ireland). I'm not 100% sure of the story behind the ring I have, but it is special in a couple of ways.  First, it is made out of rose gold which gives it a beautiful and unusual color. Second, it is fairly heavy and thick. It almost has the feel of a man's ring  My Uncle Nano was a Houston, Texas jeweler of some note, and every piece I inherited from him is of the highest quality. I love wearing my Claddagh ring and (secretly) enjoy the fact that I'm not sure of its back story. It allows my mind to wander and weave all kinds of tales . . . which I'm sure every storyteller in Ireland would appreciate!

For more stories (Irish and otherwise), please check out Sian's linky here.

The Wedding Buddha (Storytelling Sunday)

{Sian of From High in the Sky hosts a gathering of storytellers on the first Sunday of each month. For 2013, she invites people to share stories of the precious keepsakes in their lives. I'm sharing a love story, a propos for February. To read other stories, click on this link.}

I was on the verge of coming into my own.  I had been at college for two years and was beginning to have a sense of who I was and what I wanted to be, even if I wasn't exactly sure how to get there.  And that summer, I met a wonderful couple named Kris and Vince.  They were a few years older than me and had clearly already crossed that threshold.  They seemed fully realized people - smart, funny, well-traveled, great conversationalists and very much in love.  I treasured the time we spent together and aspired to be like them some day.  At the end of the summer, they were married in the Berkeley Rose Garden.  I was particularly enthralled with one of their wedding gifts - a simple white, porcelain Buddha. It's beauty and serenity, as well as its exotic nature, enraptured me. 
Kris and Vince moved up to Seattle to start their life together, and we kept in touch with Christmas cards and the occasional lunch when travel plans brought us to the same city.  Four years later, I sent them an invitation to my wedding.  They were unable to attend, but a gift arrived from them - a distinctive green box from Gump's. When I opened it, my heart skipped a beat when I saw this beautiful white porcelain Buddha. The fact that they remembered my reaction and sent that very special gift spoke volumes about the people they were.  
Now, almost thirty years later,  I still have my Wedding Buddha. It sits peacefully in our bathroom and reminds me that I was only truly able to come into my own when I found someone to cross that threshold with.

Recollections of a barefoot girl (Storytelling Sunday)

The first Sunday of every month, Sian, of From High in the Sky, hosts a gathering of storytellers called "Storytelling Sunday." For 2013, she has suggested that we pick something precious to us and share its story. So, on this wintry Sunday, I am sharing a story of summertime . . . a story of cake walks and goldfish and one very special rooster.  To read other stories, click on this link.
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Barefoot and carefree.
That's how I remember the summers of my youth. Tan legs, cut off jeans, and calloused feet so black by the end of the day that no amount of scrubbing could get them clean. 
I traveled everywhere on those feet . . . to the park at the end of my street, to the 7-11 to buy candy, to a hiding place during our endless games of hide-and-seek, and to the cool shade of a friend's garage to play ping-pong.
And, once a summer, I walked up to my elementary school for the summer carnival. It wasn't the biggest fair of the summer. That honor belonged to the "Corn Festival," which ran for three full days and had actual, honest-to-God carnival rides like a Ferris Wheel and spider buckets.  No, the school carnival was a much smaller affair - with booths made by parents and prizes that tended to the small and plastic.  
No matter, I enjoyed filling a brown paper bag full with pink monkeys and yellow giraffes, along with the occasional super ball and paper straw full of colored sugar.  If I were lucky (and I usually was), I would also carry home at least one plastic bag filled with water and a gold fish. A reward for my skill at throwing a ping pong ball into a glass bowl.  
Every year, my hands were also filled with a home made cake, won at my favorite booth - the cake walk. The cake walk was always located at the far end of the school, in front of the first grade class rooms because that was the only place on campus with a piece of cement large enough for the organizers to draw a circular path with 24-36 numbered squares.  Every year I would trek over to the cake walk area, give the parent in charge my ticket, and walk around the circle until the parent's helper lifted the needle from the record and stopped the music.  The parent in charge would then pull a number from a bowl and read it out loud.  Inevitably, inexplicably, I would look down at my dirty, bare feet and there, carefully written  in chalk was the number which had just been called.  I would smile, choose a cake from those displayed on a table in the shade, and pad on home.
One year, when I opened my brown paper bag, I found a ceramic rooster. I have no recollection of winning it, but am certain I won it at a school carnival. I have kept it with me for almost fifty years. It sat on the trophy shelf in my room during high school and traveled with me to college and grad school. I moved it from apartment to condo and finally to our house. Now, it sits on the window ledge in my kitchen. A reminder of happy, carefree, summertime days.

Storytelling Sunday: Four Little Words

Sian of From High in the Sky hosts a monthly meme called Storytelling Sunday, in which she invites people to share stories in words and/or pictures. You can check them out at this link.  Here's my offering:
Friday afternoon, I scurried into the High School gym. Late for the game because of the visitors I brought with me.  I had stopped by my daughter's old school to pick up some of her friends.  They wanted to go see her play basketball for her new school. I told them not to worry if we were a little late because Clara didn't usually get into the game until the second quarter. To our surprise, Clara was already on the floor. She had been moved up to a starting position, and she flashed us a quick smile as we settled into our seats.  The girls were excited and giggling, sitting a few rows in front of me. Although I was happy for Clara, I was distracted. 
Paul was in the hospital - again.  He had been hospitalized on Tuesday with a fever.  He was on the mend from the infection, but we were waiting on test results. He had a scan to see if he has any active cancer cells left in his body.  Even with a good test result, he's probably still  looking at a bone marrow transplant to complete his treatment. But still.  Still.  A good test result would mean no more chemo and a chance to move forward.
My phone vibrated. I looked down and read the text: 
Tumor in complete remission. No activity on the pet scan. :)
I started crying after reading the first four words.
The girls asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't answer.

Storytelling Sunday: On Becoming Me

It was a dark and stormy night. Winter, 1980. Walking home from a party. Alone.
Alone was a new concept for me, just recently having broken up with the guy I had dated since starting at University. But alone felt just fine. 
I had taken a flier and said yes when invited to a party by a girl who had been in a few of my classes but who I didn't know well. I went to the party and found it full of friendly folks, including one old acquaintance. I mingled. I drank. I danced. I sang along to Steely Dan's "My Old School" at the top of my lungs. I felt free and light and full of life.  I realized I felt happy. Happy because I could just be myself. Free of expectations, imposed by others, of who I should be. Happy to be on the path to becoming me.
Happy because I knew that, after every storm comes clear open skies. And happy to know that I would be there to greet the new day.
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This story is brought to you as part of Sian's Storytelling Sunday. To read more wonderful words, check out this link.

Storytelling Sunday: A Night at the Ballpark

Sometime last week, my son Henry and I went to the ballpark.  The players were great:

The fans and stadium electric:

But, for this mom, it was all about him:

And me:

When the kids were little, a favorite bedtime book was "The Big, Big Sea." It's about a mom and a daughter and their moonlit walk by the sea. Late in the story, when the daughter is curled up on her mother's lap, the mother whispers "Remember this moment. It's the way life should be."
That's how I felt about this chilly night where we shared a blanket . . . and a hot chocolate.
  At some point, it came to me that Henry will be off to University next year.  Startled, I said wistfully, "This could be our last baseball game here together." He looked at me and said, "Nah. I'll come home and go to games with you. . . as long as you buy the tickets." Then he smiled that smile of his, and my heart melted.
I didn't say it out loud, but I thought to myself, "remember this moment; it's the way life should be."
And when we got home, I got on the internet and bought us tickets to the playoffs. I mean, can you really blame me?
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This story, in pictures, and just a few words, is brought to you in conjunction with Sian's Storytelling Sunday.  For more wonderful stories, check out this link.

Storytelling Sunday: A Summer Ritual

I grew up in Orange Country, California. But it was not the glitzy "O.C." of Real Housewives or television imagination. It was Northern Orange County, circa 1970, where tracts of ranch homes and newly developed shopping malls sprouted alongside orange groves and fields of strawberries.   I remember the joy and anticipation I felt whenever my mom would bring home a flat of strawberries from the field next to the hospital where she worked. She would wash, slice and serve the berries, with a little sugar or over ice cream. And they were the best things I ever tasted. Each bite tasted like summer.

Recently I stopped by a roadside stand selling strawberries (2012 Summertime Photography Scavenger Hunt Item #4) and bought a flat of strawberries. To enjoy this summer ritual with my own kids. One last time, before school starts.
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This story, in pictures and just a few words is brought to you courtesy of Sian's Storytelling Sunday.  To read more stories, check out this link.

Storytelling Sunday: A Snapshot of Love

When I captured this couple in my viewfinder on a photo walk in Barcelona, I was transported back to thoughts of myself at the same age, enjoying lazy Sunday mornings in the summer.  Paul and I lounging around in bed.  Eating Noah's bagels slathered with cream cheese. Drinking cappuccino and enjoying the New York Times. And I remember thinking, "Could there be anything better in the whole world than being in love with your best friend?"
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This story, told with a picture and (just a few) words, is offered as part of Sian's Storytelling Sunday - Year 2.  For other great stories, check out this link.

Storytelling Sunday: Euro 2004

Tonight Spain takes on Italy in the final game of Euro 2012.  We will be in Barcelona, Spain and expect it to be a wild time! But, today, in the spirit of nostalgia, let me take you back to an earlier tournament.  In 2004, my family and I spent a month in Ireland and London, and we watched almost every game of  the European Championship. Our 15 year old Goddaughter, Maddie, was traveling with us as well.  2004 was a breakout year for Portuguese player Cristiano Ronaldo (front row, far right in the team picture above), who was an extremely attractive young man:

I emphasize young because, at 19, he was clearly too young for me (in my early 40's) to be fantasizing about. . .  . a fact that I emphasized repeatedly.  "But he's too young for me," I whined over and over again while we watched the games.  Until one day Maddie had enough.  Exasperated, she exclaimed loudly, "Yes, but he's not too young for ME!"
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This story is presented as part of Sian's Storytelling Sunday Year 2: Photo(s) and (just a few) Words.  For more wonderful stories or to play along, check out this link. Photos sourced from the internet. 

Clara's Travelling Tales (Storytelling Sunday)

We have been blessed with the opportunity to travel throughout Europe as a family.  The law school at which I teach offers a number of "summer abroad" programs, and my husband and I decided early on that we wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to take the kids and explore the world together. This summer, we'll be travelling to Dublin, Ireland for three weeks (where I will teach) and then to Barcelona Spain for a week's vacation.  Today, as part of Storyteling Sunday, organized by Sian of From High in the Sky, I thought I would share some travelling tales to celebrate our upcoming trip. Since Clara celebrated a birthday this past week, I thought it appropriate to focus on some of her stories from our summers abroad:
In 2002,  Clara was four; Henry was seven. We spent three weeks in Dublin, Ireland where I taught at Trinity College; one week in Northwest Wales touring castles; and one week in Edinburgh Scotland.  We walked the children everywhere and, for the most part, they were troopers about it.  Although occasionally, while we were consulting a map and trying to figure out how to get to our next destination, Clara would pipe up in her small four year old voice "We could always take a 'capsy.'"  (The last word being one of her own devising, a combination of cab and taxi).  And, once, when we stood at street level considering a restaurant (such establishments are often located on the second floor in Wales and Scotland), she looked up, sighed, and said very softly, "I hate stairs."  At the end of the trip, Paul and I were relieved that we had been able to book a nonstop flight home from Ireland to California.  After we had settled in, we explained the length of the flight to Clara.  Thirteen hours?  She looked at us, as if we were crazy, pulled her green blanket over her head and slept for the entire flight!

In 2004, Clara was six; Henry was nine. We returned to Dublin and added a week in London afterwards.  Clara attended a performing arts camp in Dublin and loved singing and dancing. When we went to London, we attended a showing of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and she was equally thrilled by the flying car and the ice cream trolley which came by our seats at intermission.  At the end of the show, confetti rained from the sky. She gathered some up. Later, in our apartment, she threw it up in the air, over and over again, reveling in the ability to create a celebration out of thin air.  Henry was overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of London.  Not so Clara.  She asked me in all seriousness, "Mom, if I move here, will you come visit me?"

In 2005, Clara was seven; Henry was ten. We headed East and spent three weeks in a farm house turned travel hostel in Prague Czech Republic (where I taught at Charles University). We spent long weekends in Rome, Italy and Vienna, Austria.  In Rome, I was a little hesitant about going up the dome inside St. Peter's Cathedral, but Clara sprinted ahead and so I had to follow! Clara loved drinking from and playing in the fountains found around the streets of Rome.  She also loved  all the cute Italian men who thought she was "bellisima" and showed her how to use the fountains to spray water at people in the crowd.

In 2008, Clara was ten; Henry was thirteen. We started with a week's vacation in Paris, France and then spent two weeks in Budapest, Hungary where I taught. We ended with a week in Venice, Italy. Clara was the only one from our family brave enough to go all the way to the top of the Eiffel Tower.  On our last night in Venice, there was a huge thunderstorm and tons of wind and rain.  Clara asked if she could go dance in the rain in Plaza San Marco.  She was shocked when we said, "yes."  Out she went! She danced and laughed, finally returning, soaked and beaming with joy.

Happy 14th Birthday Clara! I hope you enjoy this summer's trip and return with more tales tell!

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To visit other bloggers and read their stories, go to this link. You won't be disappointed. I promise.

Storytelling Sunday: "It's easy, mom!"

Clara: "Can I have your old camera mom?"
Me: "Yes you can, once you learn how to use it."
Clara: "I know how to use it mom.  It's easy. See?"
Yes, my love, I do.
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This post is offered as part of Sian's Storytelling Sunday Year 2: Pictures (and just a few words). For more great stories, check out this link.
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P.S. I posted my April stamp give-away a day early. But it's not too late to put your name in the draw. For a chance to win a set of very rare and quirky stamps, click here and leave a comment.

Storytelling Sunday: Squeeze Play

From Wikipedia:
In baseball, the squeeze play is a maneuver consisting of a sacrifice bunt with a runner on third base. The batter bunts the ball, expecting to be thrown out at first base, but providing the runner on third base an opportunity to score. . . . In a safety squeeze, the runner at third does not take off until the batter makes contact bunting, waiting for more certainty that the ball will go to a location from which it will be difficult for the fielding team to make an out at home plate. In a suicide squeeze, the runner takes off as soon as the pitcher begins to throw the pitch, before releasing the ball. If properly executed, a play at home plate is extremely unlikely. However, if the batter fails to make contact with the pitch, the runner is likely to be put out at home plate (hence, "suicide"). Therefore, the suicide squeeze usually requires a skilled bunter who can make contact consistently, even on difficult pitches, and a confident, aggressive base runner. These plays are often used in the late innings of a close game in order to score an insurance, winning, or tying run.

Suicide Squeeze all the way . . . 

And safe at home. For the go-ahead run.  Nice!
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This story, in pictures and words, is brought to you as part of Sian's Storytelling Sunday. For more great stories, check out this link.

Storytelling Sunday (Picture): The Armband

There are many things Henry is on the soccer field:  fast; hard working; coachable. Definitely talented. But there's one thing he has never been - a leader. It just has not been in his nature to stand up and fill that role.  
Until this year. 
Congratulations son.
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To see more stories for Storytelling Sunday, go to this link.