Scary movie

I love scary movies. I'm not sure why . . . I just like the suspense, the jumps, the twists and turns. I enjoy them, and usually am pretty good to sleep afterwards (except for E.T., which scares the shite out of me - but that's another story)

Many of my friends do not share my taste for the scary movie. Alan, however, does. We go to scary movies. Even the really bad ones, because in all of their hilarious awfulness, we can revel and laugh and even be startled, all in the name of fun.

One of the best ways to enjoy a scary movie, of course, is to go with a big, strong manly date who will let you hang on to his arm throughout the course of the film, and tell you when it's safe to look again. Alan, my flaming, dramatic, dear friend and I usually just end up clutching each others' arms in mutual fright. And crack each other up in the process.

Tonight we went to the late show of "The Fog." It was decent; MUCH better than "House of Wax" (although that's not really saying much). If you'd like some scary "fluff" movie, this is it. There are a few rough patches of "what just happened to the plot?"-ness, but it's pretty cohesive on the whole.

So. Good Haloween movie? Perhaps. But I would go see Saw II instead...

Fall is in the air

I can taste fall in the air. The crispness. The slight chill.

By my workplace, there are crunchy leaves, and I always go out of my way to step on them, much to the amusement of the valet standing in front of the restaurant next door...

I made pumpkin bread this evening for my bookclub, and it was very tasty. Even AZ commented that it was (and I quote) "your best yet". Coming from her - highly knowledgeable SF foody that she is - high praise indeed :)!

I am craving hot apple cider. And roasted chestnuts like one finds all over Paris around the holidays.

"Love means never having to say you're sorry . . ."

Did you know that the above is a line from the movie Love Story?

I just watched it. I netflixed it almost 2 months ago and just had not watched it yet. Of course you know the famous music theme, right?

It was a beautiful and tragic story. I cried and cried at the end. It was not unkin to my reaction during all of those *%?*!# Nicholas Sparks films. Alas. But I'm glad to have watched it.

Just add (holy) water

Our church is doing a church-wide Bible study (as seems to be the case twice a year or so) called "Better Together", and it encompasses 8 weeks of sermons, small group study and reading of the same titled book by Rick Warren. It is, I think, the second in a trilogy by the aforementioned uber-pastor from SoCal.

I must admit I went into this kind of a skeptic. I mean, Rick is cheesy. But, he also has some valid points. Anywho. I'm not here to blog about theology or doctrine or anything like that.

I have been going to my church in SF for about 3 years. For a good chunk of that time, I have been part of a small group Bible study, meeting on Monday nights. It started off as a group geared specifically for Graduate Students (which I was when I joined), and has now morphed into a Grad/Young Professionals under 30-type of group. There are a handful of us left from the first few months, but others have come and gone as people in SF are wont to do.

In this particular study, there is a big emphasis on getting people really involved in a small group - which is good. You build community, get connected to people and get to know one another better than just glancing over at the pew next to you and smiling at that girl who looks *vaguely* familiar (Is she new? Did we meet last week?) every Sunday.

But I digress...When our group met for the first time for the "Better Together" study, we found that we had practically tripled in number, and had about 40 people show up. That is NOT so small. Consequently, we broke down (randomly) into 3 small-er groups.

Now, before this branching, our group was pretty tight--we had all finally broken the mold and actually started becoming friends, confidantes, etc. All of these relationships were not built in a matter of weeks, but over the course of months, and in some cases, years.

The idea, however, that an 8-week study can create an "insta-bond" of deep community and fellowship is kind of absurd to me. I know - well - about one third of my new small group. Another third I would consider acquantainces, and the last are practically complete strangers.

We had some communication problems in our group this week. Probably - maybe? - due to the fact that we are trying to create this instantly intimate bond, without really being comfortable yet. People are sensitive, unsure, and hesitant about letting their guard down. Which, is NORMAL, I would like to point out, for a group of mostly strangers.

There is so much emphasis right now on "group togetherness" and a "group community project" - which (on paper) is an awesome idea. But we just seem to be having growing pains. I am one of two in charge of planning a social activity for our group. Bowling and pizza? You bet! The problem is scheduling (of course) and it feels a little like I'm planning "mandatory fun". Like, the only reason to go is because your mommy dropped you off at daycare and you have no choice.

I don't know.

It's only been three weeks. I've committed to stick it out, so we'll see what develops. I'm trying to keep an open mind, because I think it's important...but it's also difficult.

Did you ever notice

. . . that when you go to the movies, the shortest person in the group gets stuck sitting behind a really tall person? This almost happened to AZ last weekend. We were waiting for In Her Shoes to begin, wehn these a couple walked in at the last minute, and started down the row in front of us. AZ let out this little sound of "oh no....!" and the couple ended up just missing her by one seat.

Now, by this point, AZ has it made in the shade. Because unless a movie is sold out, people will avoid sitting next to a stranger at all costs. Hence, the lone single seat gets left. And the next couple will then sit in front of me.

Great.

Satisfaction

Is finally knowing the song well enough to sing along with the radio/cd/ipod with confidence.

And man that makes me feel cool, right?

Even though I'm really still a dork because I only know the chorus.

Remeber the Blues Traveler song "Hook"? Great song!

When I got that album in highschool, I played the song over and over and over until I learned the "fast part" in the middle. I remember spending hours laid out on the floor of my bedroom, listening to the song and reading the lyrics until I could sing the whole thing JUST like John Popper.

And to this day, I still can. Truly satisfying, indeed!

I am getting one of

these.

I am so excited.

Party Express

I just walked in the door. My feet are aching, my hair is a little chaotic (what's new?), I'm sweaty and still have plenty of adrenaline running through me. These are the classic post-salsa dancing symptoms.

Long story short, I went to a friend of a friend's birthday party tonight. We celebrated Erika's birthday with the help of the Party Express Bus. Basically you rent a bus to take you to 3 different clubs of your choosing in SF.

There were 15 of us on the bus, and our theme for the night was salsa. Erika is from Brazil, and had a mini-entourage of fellow brazilian girls in tow. Erika's husband is completely a compeletely gringo Mormon from Utah. But, they just seem to go together.

The rest of the crew was mixed; most didn't know how to salsa, but they were willing to try.

First stop: Roccapulco. I'm glad I finally got there. It's a nice large space with lots of tables to sit at. The bus just pulls up in front, the guide speaks to the bouncer, and we go straight in. No lines, no nothing. Beautiful. We started at 9:30, and at that hour, Roccapulco was pretty quiet, with only the DJ playing. Danced a few salsa's with on of the Brasilenha's husband, and we had a group merengue (everyone kinda got that rhythm down).
Just as the band was coming on, we had to be off to the next club.

Second: Club Caliente in SOMA. This place was packed, and we were definately an odd bunch to be going in, because
A. We were dressed for Cocomo (ie: no jeans) and everyone in here was more casual and
B. We had lots of tall blond girls (even though some were latin) who tended to stick out.
The DJ was playing Raeggaeton music when we came in, and we kind of danced in smallish circles. I eventually starting dancing with a guy for a while, until he put his face in my cleavage. Then, I was like..."I'm just here to dance, sorry" and told him he could go find someone else, no hard feelings. So, I go back to the group, and, suddenly, see a familiar face in the crowd (or, at least, a familiar looking shaved head). It was Adonai, a friend from salsa class. I couldn't believe it! We talked, and then the DJ started playing better music (merengue & salsa) so we danced until the party express had to take off.

Final stop: Cafe Cocomo. It's funny. This club was so intimidating to me in January of this year. Now, I walked in and it felt so familar---the music, the people, the decor, the vibe, was all welcoming me back. The band tonight was Pepe y su Orquesta Peru. Excellent! We got there around 11:45, managed to find an empty table in the corner, and went about the task of acquiring dance partners.

First up for me: Dago from Colombia. Really fun to dance with - but was trying to convince me that 'we had great energies together' and 'come dance with me 4 nights a week.' He gave me his number, and I promised not to throw it away.
Then we had Virgil, a stout, short mature man who was lots of fun. He had an interesting way of leading with his wrists...but he knew what he was doing and how to communicate, so it worked. We were being silly & danced for a while.
A had the opportunity to be one of two women (the other being "Carmen" aka Raquel) to dance with some guy at the same time. That was cool! How he did it (can't remember his name) I don't know, but it was neat.
The last dancer of the night was Marco. He was very much into the cuban style salsa, but led very well. He would do this crazy knee bends & hops --- seriously just like at the end of the movie Dance with Me. We took a photo together at the end of the night, and agreed to dance again next time we were both at Cocomo.
Finally, the clock sounded 2 am, the lights came up, and the strains of the Beach Boy's "Cocomo" begin to play. The night had come to an end. It was a great time.

Bon appetit

I went to Chapeau! for dinner tonight. It is this tiny little French bistro in the Richmond. And it was sooooooo delicious. And packed with patrons all night.

Menu:
Amuse-bouche: Melon and tea cold "soup" served in an espresso mug
Appetizer: Moules et frites
Entree: Cassoulet
Dessert: Tarte tatin
Coffee
Red wine

The chef came around and spoke with everyone. He was very nice.
In fact, after we left, and were half way down the block to the car, I hear this shouting behind me. I thought it was some crazy person, but then turned around and realized it was the chef. He was running after us, telling us to have a good evening, and asking if we enjoyed the food.
"Mais oui, c'etait superb, delicieux"...it was great to speak French. He gave us both kisses on the cheeks. And scooted back to the restaurant.

The perfect ending to a most pleasant dining experience.

The blue angels are in town!

They have two big shows in San Francisco this weekend.

They are practicing right now.

And they are flying back and forth right over our office.

I am like a two year old, barely able to sit still and get anything done, because I want to go see the airplanes fly by doing circles, spins and dives!

Seeing 20/20

I do not have good eyesight. But every now and then, God gives me 20/20 vision. He gives such clairty and understanding - albeit in hindsight painful at times - that I know He exists and listens and cares.

Today is a perfect example.

I've had an interesting week in regards to a certain man who shall remain nameless, but who has been a factor in my life for about a year. I will not bore you with all the minutiae, but I will say that he has been in and out of my life throughout 2005. When we ended things, they did not end with a bang . . . they just stopped. We lived on opposite coasts, and, well.....that ended that. And I knew that going into the relationship - I mean, I knew we would only be in the same city for a short while.
And yet, I decided to go for it.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." (Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

A major reprecussion of the "ending": lack of closure.
Everytime we saw each other this year, it felt (rekindled?) as if we were together again. Each gesture, speech pattern, habit, so familiar, comforting, wanted.

We spoke this last week - in person and via computer - of hypotheticals vs. reality and "what-if's" vs. "not likely's". We spoke of what it is to be happy, what it is to be committed (or not), what it is to be an artist, what it is to follow your heart, what it is to be one human interacting with another. We were approaching a closure of sorts. Actually talking about things that had been left unsaid.

I wrote a letter. Hid it in my drawer for a week. And then decided to let him read it. It was a good letter - no "I'm so unhappy without you letter," nor "I hate your guts...". It was a simple, truthful statement of feelings past, and present thoughts. I think I wrote out about 5 drafts of the thing! ha!

For me, the letter offered a closure. I am better able to express my thoughts in writing than I am in person. I get too nervous and tongue tied in person (especially around this particular person). I've gotten better as I've gotten older, but I still have a ways to go in this respect.

Closure. And yet this morning, en route to work, I could not stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks. It sucks. But I can see that it is good.

How? God is looking out for me.

Example: I did not get cast in a part I really wanted. I am not a super diva, but I sang a damn good audition and I would have been perfect for it. But I didn't get cast, and was upset about this over the weekend. Last night, P told me that he got the part he wanted in this same show. If you have ever been in a theater production, you know how much time you spend with your castmates, and how that intensity fosters relationship(s). My heart could not have stood that.

Example: I went to Starbucks this morning, and my friend C was barista-ing. I had just gotten to work post tears-during-the-commute and she expressed some concern. I didn't have time to get into it right then. Fast forward to my lunch break. I'm walking to the deli, when I hear my name. I turn around, and there is C, smiling and telling me that she is buying me lunch. We sit and talk and pray and I am was so grateful for how much God blessed me today with C.

So. It is late and I am tired.

I don't regret my relationship with P. I will stick with Lord Tennyson on that one. I try to own my decisions, be they good or bad.

But, I am humbled that even when I am feeling frustrated, sad, worked-up, stubborn, emotionally tender, and weak, God sees all and grants vision to us. And He cares. And He loves.

The people at safeway are always so nice

When checking out at Safeway, the checkers never fail to look at the receipt and hand it to you saying "Thank you, Ms. Daniel" or "Thank you, Mr. Jones" etc etc.

And today was no exception.

I went to Safeway with our business card to buy some supplies for a goodbye party we're having at the office tomorrow. I swipe my personal safeway card - with my name on it (saved us $1.50!) - and then swiped our business visa.

I sign the credit card receipt.

The woman at the cash register hands me my copy and says "Thank you, Ms. Foundations".

You just can't make this stuff up, people. This is real life.

Unexpected Surprise

For the last few Wednesdays, the San Francisco Jazz Festival has been putting on outdoor, lunch time concerts at the park near my work.

Today was the Baguette Quartet. They were so fun, and very . . . Parisien. It was a pleasant surprise on this lovely day.

Tonight, I am geared up to go to Teatro Zinzanni's hurricain relief event. Zydeco music during happy hour followed by their "Love, Chaos & Dinner" show. All the expenses from this evening (artist's pay, ticket sales, drink sales, wait staff salary, even the $10 service charges) are going to the relief fund. AMAZNING. I feel guilty (but just a little) that I only am paying $10 for this $150+ event.
One of my former SFCM colleagues is still in the show, too, so that will be fun!

Reasons I love this time of year in San Francisco:
Strictly Bluegrass Festival
San Francisco Flamenco Festival
Italian Heritage Parade
Fall Film Festivals
Oktoberfest by the Bay
SF Jazz Fest
Ferry Building Harvest Festival

(And that's just October!!!)

Happy Brithday to ...

...random laundry!

Having actually missed the one year birthday of this blog, I am celebrating one year and 12 days! The extended birthday season...gotta love it. I actually cannot believe that I have been doing this for so long. I didn't think I had it in me!

---

I went to Cafe Lo Cubano today on accident. I took a new way home from work, and when I realized I couldn't make the left turn I wanted (what? no left in SF? shocker!), I ended up in a parking spot right outside.
I had been by this place with AZ before, but never inside.

I ventured in to get a coffee. A cafe con leche, to be precise. One of the best cups of coffee I've ever had in my life. SO good.

Get your own stapler!

I am totally living in "Office Space".

Realizing that my stapler can do this as totally made my day.

I also think our FedEx guy is hot.

I am such a dork, I know.

The Black Sheep?

You know how they say everyone has a "black sheep" in their family? Well, I wouldn't really say we have one of those, but we do have some characters, that's for sure.
My cousin, H, for example. He is brillant, no lie, and he tends to get himself into those types of situations reserved for ridiculously smart - yet stubborn - people. He is fearless, and lives life with gusto, and without reserve.
2005 has seen him in Eastern Europe (Romania and Poland) and Northern Africa. Just because he wanted to go. I have urged him - many in our family have - to write some sort of book, memoire, something about his adventures.
Here is an email he wrote, details from this last adventure, which I found so utterly amazing and amusing (and, it's all true), that I had to put it up. . .enjoy!
(NB: Keep in mind that H is not one to "blend in" to his surrounding - 6'4'', broad shoulders, and fire engine red hair...)
---
To: K
From: H
Subject: "War's Over: Wermer Dropped the Big One"

It always ends. And usually, it ain't pretty. Thus the Africa Expedition. I only made it as far as Morocco. After disembarking the boat at Tangier, I made my way to Essaouira on the Atlantic Coast, where I spent a few days windsurfing (and yes, I am one dead sexy bitch in a wetsuit), earning renown from the local surf bums as "Le Grand Chat" for my spry handling of the board. We stayed in a guest house overlooking the ocean and there was a girl who came everyday to cook dinner whose skills almost (note: almost) rivaled those of my mom, but I was impressed enough to ask her to marry me. She insisted I would have to give her family seven camels though. Alas, I am not a man of such means.
From the coast I proceeded to Marrakech, where I slept on a roof with a litter of kittens, put to sleep at night by the unremitting pipes of snake charmers and the beat of drums and awakened at 4:30 am by the chants of Muslim prayers. The markets of Marrakech are truly amazing, the sights and smells of piles of fruits, nuts, meats, spices and untold heaps of god knows what extending into an unsolvable maze of narrow alleyways. I am not much of a shopper though, but I did find some kids one day being hassled by a storekeep for kicking their soccer ball in front of the shops, and invariably into his piles of fruit and whatnot. So I assisted them in executing the water over the door trick, sending one to bait the enemy by grabbing a couple of oranges and attempting to juggle them while the other had positioned a bucket overhead. When the old man came running out, the string was pulled, and voila, douched! As we began to crack up though, his expression was decidedly not one of amusement. So he and his helper came chasing after us. We raced up an alley barely wider than my own wingspan, dodging scooters, donkeys, assorted stray animals and Muslims, but a couple of old geezers are no match for Le Grand Chat.
After leaving Marrakech I spent a couple of days crossing the High Atlas Mountains, camping in a river gorge one night, before heading for the desert. A day's drive brought me to the last town before the Sahara begins. I started off staying with some nomads about two hours camel ride into the desert. Forcibly risen at dawn by the sun, wind, and flies, we would get in a couple of ski runs down the dunes. They had skis and snowboards and we would hike up the dunes about 200 feet high and ski down. Then I had to go in to town to manage my fantasy baseball team, so Mubarek and I would cruise by the other tents to see if anyone wanted a ride to town, just like Johnny B at the bustop.
I hate commuting though, and while it might not be as miserable as 395 or 66, four hours a day getting your nuts crunched on a camel hump is somewhat less than comfortable. So I moved from the suburbs back into the city. Besides needing to oversee the team in the middle of the playoff hunt, I had heard rumors of camel races. Now wherever you are in the world, even in the last town before the desert, maybe especially in the last town before the desert, two things you will find anywhere are whores and gamblers. As someone who's skittish about touching the handrail in the metro, I'm not likely to seek out the former, but the latter, they always seem to find me. And sure enough I found myself on the windswept outskirts of town betting on slow ass camels.
The language barrier being even tougher out here, all negotiations (and everything in this country has to be haggled) for wagers, odds, and exchange rates had to be made by drawing figures in the sand with a stick. I weren't too good at picking the winners out though, and the losses were beginning to mount. One afternoon I had skipped one race and I was having a drink when I saw a camel jogging up who was moving faster even at a leisurely trot than any camel I had seen before. Armed with this inside info, when that camel appeared in a race shortly thereafter, I decided to take my shot at the title. I became the center of action for that race, I took every bet I could get my hands on, and ended up with every scrap of redeemable bank note I owned in the world pegged to this smelly hump of fur.
Of course, it turns out I only had half the inside info, because when the race started (the camels start from the down position) my camel didn't get up. He just sat there like he wanted to pick his nose with his hoof even as his jockey tried to yank him around. I started cussin him, cussin his momma, cussin his daddy, cussin his grandmamma and granddaddy, as were the others who had bet on him. So as we stood there, a dozen Arabs and a Redneck yelling our lungs out at this stupid camel, I was on the verge of either balling my eyes out or grabbing the nearest hard object I could find and whipping the snot out of the son of a bitch, when apparently one of my fellow punters managed to peg the fat fucker in the ass with a rock, which got him up and going. And whoosh, he was going, as far as camels going goes (we're not exactly talking Kentucky Derby here). He could hoof it about twice as fast as the other camels, and he was gaining fast. I started running alongside him, screaming, throwing my fists in the air, and he had almost caught up to the leader when I had The Vision.
My particular vision involved sitting at the Colonial Club in Mombasa this time tomorrow, served by an African man in a white linen suit, drinking gin rickeys on the shores of the cool blue waters of the Indian Ocean. But really The Vision is that image of ill-begotten luxury engineered by every gambler right before he finds himself in some distant desert outpost with the equivalent of about 75 cents in his pocket because his camel decides to turn off the track at the last second and just go galloping off into the desert. The inevitable additional insult was that while running my glasses pulled a slip and slide right off my face and under my shoe, and I returned to find the pieces buried in the sand.
And so there it ends: sitting at a café in the dusty streets of Merzouga, sand and sweat encrusted in every conceivable crevice, blind, broke, bewildered, beaten, shoveling out my last loose coins for a mint tea. Against all of which possibly I could have risen to fight again, but against the heat, against the mad, menacing sun, beating down on and baking me all day with no air conditioned refuge in which to repose and fan the bait and tackle, against that maddening fire I was a cowed, whimpering shell of a human. So I had to open up my bag to haggle for a ride to the next biggest town. The driver started at a pair of pants, two linen shirts, and a belt; I started with two pairs of dirty boxers. We settled on one shirt and a belt.
I got back to semi-civilization, got a bank wire, took a 12-hour bus ride packed with screaming Muslims and goats, and some more trains, boats, buses, and planes later made it back to the UK, where I could recuperate under the clouds and winds and drips of Scottish skies.
So I never actually ran any guns to freedom fighters. In fact, I never bought a gun, sold a gun, or even saw a gun. Nor did I import or export anything or become the internet porn tsar of Eastern Europe.
All I seemingly managed to do was get robbed by Hungarians, play cards with Cossacks, and dance the foxtrot in a Paris nightclub. But, you know, did the things in the days. I blew my wad and then some though, so I have to leave behind the world without calendars, without clocks, where morning actually did come twice a day or not at all. On this last pass through London, I've been hanging out with my cousin's friends who work in Parliament, eating at the staff cafeteria, drinking pints at the janitor's pub beneath the House of Commons. And soon enough that will be me again: a Citizen. Working for The Man.
Eating in the Dirksen cafeteria, knocking back cold guys at the Lounge, the struggle for Truth, Justice, and Freedom fading into anecdote. But somewere in the dim recesses of passing time an eye will remain open, a lighthouse scanning the dark waters for signs of hope, dreams of liberty. Because Freedom will live forever in the hearts and minds of The People, and should they ever need me, I reckon they'll know where to find me.
Liberté Toujours,
H

ARRRGGGHH part deux

Thank you, God, for my ENT, Dr. Tipton. He is amazing! Love him.

AS it turns out, I am (apparently) allergic to SF. Who knew?
The doc poked and prodded my face and head, and even did a wicked-cool (albeit a little gross) sinus scope. hooray.

His diagnosis (for today): bad allergies combined with jet lag and slightly inflamed left ear (I'm having a hard time hearing out of it..).

BUT, as well, chronic tonsilitis. ugh. He says I should consider getting my tonsils removed. Elective surgery is fun, yes?

I don't know. What it boils down to is this:
-Every time I catch a bug or a sniffle or something, there is a 50% chance it will turn into bad tonsilitis (bad for singing)!
-My concerns: what does this surgery entail? What's the recovery like? How would it affect my singing and how soon after could I start singing without risk of injury??

Lots to think about. hmmmmm.

ARRRGGHH!!!!!!!

Of course I am getting sick right now.

Of course.

When I have nothing but a month chock full of auditions.

Fabulous.

Please pray that I
1. Get in to see my doctor today or tomorrow.
2. Get adequate rest
3. Get better soon!!!!

I found this on Cassi's site . . .

...and it's pretty funny! Cassi is located here.
---------------------------
Things to do when seeing Lord Of The Rings:

1. Stand up halfway through the movie and yell loudly, "Wait! Where is Harry Potter?"

2. Block the entrance to the theater while screaming, "YOU.....SHALL....NOT..... PASS!"

3. Ask everyone around you if they think Gandalf went to Hogwarts.

4. Finish off every one of Elrond's lines with "Mis..ter Ander-sonnn."

5. When Aragorn is crowned king, stand up and at the top of your lungs sing, "And I did it.... MY way!"

6. Talk like Gollum all through the movie. At the end, bite off someone's finger and fall down the stairs.

7. Dress up as old ladies and reenact "The Battle of Helms Deep," Monty Python style.

8. When Denethor lights the fire, shout "Barbecue!"

9. In TTT when the Ents decide to march to war, stand up and shout, "RUN FOREST, RUN!"

10. Every time someone kills an Orc, yell: "That's what I'm Tolkien about!"

11. During a wide shot of a battle, inquire, "Where's Waldo?"

12. Start an Orc sing-a-long.

13. Come to the premiere dressed as Frankenfurter and wander around looking terribly confused.

14. When they go in the paths of the dead, wait for a tense moment and shout, "I see dead people!"

15. Imitate what you think a conversation between Gollum, Dobby and Yoda would be like.

16. Release a jar of daddy-long-legs into the theater during the Shelob scene.

17. Wonder out loud if Aragorn is going to run for governor of California.

18. When Shelob comes on, exclaim, "Man! Charlotte's really let herself go!"
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Siblings in Europe, September 2005

I just returned from my 10-day vacation in London, France and Italy. Not nearly enough time to cover all that we did, but we managed, thanks to Easy Cruise.

Here are a few pictures:

1. Mediterranean Sea

2. Spices at market in Nice, France

3. Portofino, Italia

4. Easy Cruise One



I am working on getting all of my pictures online for viewing . . .