This morning we did a load of laundry and Rowan managed to dye some of our clothes pink. While we were out visiting Sacro Monte, karma punished her by having the puppies eat one of her shirts.
Sacro Monte is a town at the top of a hill with a large church as one of the focal points. Partway up the hill begins a path that has various buildings along the way, each one representing a station of the cross.
The view from the top is quite breathtaking, so breathtaking that I had to look at the camera for fear of losing all of my breath and therefore having none left.
At the top, we sat and drank caffe shakerati and checked out the view. My drink had alcohol in it, and was more delicious than Rowan's. This is a picture of the view, not of the drink. 
The walk down the hill was much easier than the walk up.***
Rowan's mother (Hi, Marion!) has commented that we have pictures of the dogs and of one of the cats, but not of the other cat. This is Cipi (pronounced CHEE-pee).
She drools a lot when she is being petted.
Rowan also wanted me to put in this picture of a caterpillar. I have no idea why.
Tomorrow we are going to check out Lake Como. Rowan says that George Clooney has a house there. I may try to find him and run some movie ideas past him.
3 comments:
1) Karma does not punish people for making laundry mistakes, Kevin!
2) Cool if the farm thing works out. That sounds pretty awesome.
3) Are you writing? With all this down time? You better be...
4) What happened to those contests I was gonna enter for you? Some missed connection there?
5) Is it strange that that cat looks really Italian?
6) George Clooney delivering bad news alongside...ah, who else did we cast? Clooney sounds good though.
Also, I think it is a mistake to let your other blog die for a year...
1) So you’re a karma expert now? If so, let me know when I need to dodge the karmic boomerang.
2) Yes, it does.
3) No, but I hope to at the farm.
4) I put Dixon on the job. Walking down the street with a stack of papers seemed like too much work.
5) Yes. They sometimes feed the cats leftovers, and I feel that being Italian is somehow linked to past eating.
6) I don’t remember who else. Lyle Lovett pops into my head, but there is no way that can be right.
Lastly, I don’t mean to let the other blog die, but I am a foreign environment and don’t feel like I can rant against a system I don’t understand. In Barcelona, I was going to write about aspartame (they seem to put it in everything there), but I never got around to it. Soon, I will build up enough rantability, and I will untame the mundane yet again. Maybe I will write something political. Because now I am less informed but just as opinionated.
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