wild turkey chase

Sometimes, Graham stumps me when he asks a question. I usually try to give him a reply, but sometimes I can't think of anything clever or nice to say, so I say nothing at all. When this happens he tends to repeat the question over and over until he gets some sort of response. Lately, rather than repeat the entire question, he has resorted to just saying the last word of his question.

For instance, we took the train into old Napoli over the weekend to check out Christmas Alley.

We have learned our lesson about trying to drive in the heart of Naples, so we found a train stop somewhat close to our house.


Exiting the train, we were thrown into the chaos that defines this city. Graham tried walking himself, but after nearly getting nicked by 3 mopeds cruising the sidewalks, I decided to carry him. Tony and I were focused on the street signs, or lack thereof, when Graham started asking me something about a turkey. "A turkey, mom?" "A turkey?" "Turkey?" "Tuurr---kkeeeyy??" I had nothing clever or nice to say, and it is difficult for me to talk and breathe at the same time while carrying Graham-he's heavy!- so I chose to say nothing at all.

We turned around to find a live rooster roaming the streets with two guys chasing after him. I dropped Graham and grabbed the camera, but they caught the turkey before I could get a photo to prove to you that, indeed, there was a rooster in the city. Notice the rooster in the man's hands, and the smiles on their faces. Who knows how long they'd been chasing that thing.

Graham still keeps asking about a turkey, and I still have no real explanation, except to say, "It was a rooster, bud. Not a turkey."

the perfect tree

December 12th is my dad's birthday, which also means it's time to hunt for a perfect Christmas tree. When I was a kid, my dad took tree-hunting very seriously.

This weekend, to honor the day of my dad's birth, we went out looking for a tree. It turns out that there are a few contrasts between tree-hunting in Naples and tree-hunting with my dad in the snowy mountains of Star Valley, Wyoming.

First of all, notice the greenery in Naples. This was never the case when I was a kid. There was always plenty of snow by this time of year.

Next, we did not have to purchase a permit from "Bart's" over here. Instead, we had to barter with the owner of the shrubbery.

In Wyoming, we would bundle up and hike all day long with no food or water until our snot and tears were frozen to our faces and we could not feel our toes. This year, we just had to drive until we found a place that sells live trees, and we got to stop for cappuccino along the way.


As a kid, after freezing to the point of numbness and finally deciding on a tree, we would have to cut it down and drag it all the way back to the car ourselves. This time, we had some help.


Believe it or not, there were some similarities I noticed, as well. We didn't just pick the first tree we liked, but drove around until we found the perfect one. My dad used to put bright orange flagging tape on a tree that he liked and then say, "Come on. We gotta look some more. There might be something better." And, even though I would cry every year when I was younger on account of my freezing feet, I remember feeling elated and giddy when we'd pick our tree, and I was always excited to do it again the next year.

I hope that Graham will look back on his tree-hunts as fondly as I do mine.

Thanks for making Christmas so much fun, Dad. Buon Compleanno!


And, War Eagle!

he's gonna be a photographer

Thanks to a few quick lessons from Devin Francis, Graham started experimenting with photography. All of the above photos are unedited, or straight out of the camera, as true photogs would say, taken by the one and only Graham Thomas.

What do ya think?

adventures with mama graham part 3, 4, and 5

Last week, Graham and I had three days to explore and have adventures in the land of Stuttgart, Germany.

Day 1: We navigated the public train system together and found ourselves at the beautiful Christmas market. Graham rode the rides, and we stuffed ourselves silly at one of the many food tents.


This tent was particularly good, because you got a huge bowl of food, which I later learned was called maultasche, for only 4 Euro! And, a kind, local gentleman explained to us the tradition behind this food. He said that, long ago, the Swabians didn't want to completely give up meat on Good Friday, which is the usual religious custom. So, they found a way to chop it up and hide it in spinach and dough. They figured God couldn't see it, so they weren't doing anything wrong. All I know is that it was delicious and I kept hearing my German great-grandmother's voice telling me to "EAT!"

We ended up going back to that tent with Tony the following night for dinner. Tony had 3 helpings, because when he went back for seconds, it was only 2 Euro, and thirds was only 1 Euro! Tony can't pass up a good deal.

Day 2: I suggested we go to the dinosaur museum. It was very cold outside, so I figured an indoor activity would be just right. Graham stated that he had no interest whatsoever in going to a museum. He said he wanted to go swimming. Swimming? In the winter?

It turns out there are many indoor swimming pools in Stuttgart, so we picked one and tried to find it. It was a great cultural experience, because the place was packed with locals taking a break from the cold. The water was warm and there were tons of kids. It was the perfect Stuttgart experience. Nice suggestion, Graham!

Day 3: We couldn't resist the Christmas market, so we went back for some ice-skating and eating! Yep, I went back to my favorite food tent again. It was still very delicious, but let's talk about Graham on ice. He loved it, thanks to the little penguin he could hang on to. I also found myself giggling and saying "wee" like a little girl. We could have stayed all day, but mama graham was hungry and needed to get to her special food tent. Oh, there I go again talking about the food tent. Sorry.

I'll stop now, but first I want to tell you that I bought some potatoes and am going to attempt to make the kind I had from that tent.

Okay, I promise. I'm done.

gold medal

If there were an Olympic sport for sacrifice and patience, Tony would have won a gold medal last weekend when we hit the slopes in the Alps.

Tony loves to ski. If you ask him what things bring happiness to his life, he will reply, "Skiing. And good food." Tony spent his childhood winters skiing the mountains of North Idaho. Hardly a day goes by that he doesn't express gratitude for having uncles who took him skiing all the time.

He ran off to college in Boston where large mountains are hard to come by, so he only got to ski about once a year when he would return to Spokane for Christmas break. After college, the Navy led him to Florida (no snow or mountains), then Oklahoma (flattest place ever), and now to Naples (it doesn't snow here, but there is a rumor that you can get to a good ski mountain in about 2 hours).

As you can imagine, this all amounts to Tony getting to do very little skiing over the last 10 years. So, to say that a ski day in the Alps was a very special event for him would be quite an understatement. He could have just left Graham and me in the dust and went about his merry way on the mountain. Instead, he stuck with us. He tried to remain calm and patient as Graham was getting increasingly more freezing and annoyed by the second. It was a frightfully cold, cloudy, and windy day up there. Graham probably cried more on that mountain than he has cried in months, but Tony did not give up. He held onto him and asked him to try one more time.

After Graham had had absolutely enough and just wanted to play on the giant indoor playground, Tony took a turn watching him so that I could have a chance to experience skiing in the Alps, too. Back when Tony was skiing all the time, he would never have sacrificed a second of his ski day. He would get there when the lift opened and ski until it closed with only a quick break for lunch. The fact that he lovingly and patiently stayed with his family on his first day of skiing in over a year, and in the Alps, no less, just makes me feel so, well, so very loved.

Does anybody have a gold medal we could give to him?

(Sorry no photos. Didn't want to deal with the camera along with all the ski gear and what-have-you).

(Also, just want to report that we are home sweet home in Bella Napoli and can't wait to catch you up on last week's adventures in Stuttgart. Just gotta get the photos ready).

a love letter

Dear Innsbruck, Austria,

It was dark when I first met you, but the snow was falling and everything felt perfectly romantic. Then, you fed me tandoori chicken at your local Indian restaurant over candlelight and I began to feel that tingle through my whole body that tells me I am falling in love.

When I awoke the next morning and stepped outside my room for a morning jog, I was so struck by your beauty that I gasped out loud and then giggled and jumped for joy. I knew I was absolutely in love. Your mountains covered in a new blanket of snow. Your raging river flowing right through the middle of your adorable town. Your sidewalk salters, pedestrian pathways cleared of snow and ice, enormous and kid-friendly parks, labeled bicycle lanes, and efficient public transportation were almost too much for my heart to handle.







And then, you really blew my mind with your Christmas market and traditional Austrian cuisine. I had to stop and catch my breath! I beg you, will you please, please, please give me an opportunity to truly be with you and get to know you someday. I know distance is a problem right now, but we could work things out, right??

Just give us a chance.

I love you.

I really love you.



You. Complete. Me.

All my love,
Ramblin' Mama Graham

the bird whisperer

There's a story about St. Francis that goes something like this.

St. Francis was on a journey with his companions when he stumbled upon some birds. Since there were so many birds of all different varieties, St. Francis got caught up in the moment and decided to go look at them. The birds, apparently, waited patiently for him, rather than scurrying off as he expected them to do. So, as any good monk would do, he decided to give them a sermon. He told them to be grateful to God, their Creator, for giving them wings and a home in the sky. The birds began to stretch their necks and flap their wings, which St. Francis interpreted as rejoicing. He walked right through the middle of them and they touched his tunic.

St. Francis blessed the birds and thanked God for the experience before rejoining his companions. After this experience, he was inspired to preach to all animals and became known as a sort of animal "whisperer." Legend has it that he even quieted a flock of noisy birds that were interrupting a religious ceremony.

This is the story that ran through my head as Graham attempted to befriend the birds outside the St. Francis Basilica.

Perhaps he's not the quite the saint I thought he was...

Maybe when he grows up??