Lago di Como

Whenever I told people I was going to Italy for three weeks, whether they'd been there or not, they all advised me to, "Eat lots of gelato." Apparently, it's just what you do in Italy. I did, despite my dairy allergy, and I can't think of a better place to clutch my stomach than sitting on a bench by the shore of Lake Como.

If you've read Mark Twain's, "The Innocent's Abroad," you may remember his description of the glacial lake, or if you've seen Star War's "Attack of the Clones," the marriage setting of Anakin Skywalker may ring a bell. But like so many woman before me, I went to Lake Como with my eyes on the Alps above me, while also scanning the beaches for George Clooney, who has a villa somewhere in the area. I was particularly on the lookout in Bellagio, the namesake town for the Vegas hotel, because of my associations with Ocean's Twelve (also with scenes at Lake Como).

After a beautiful drive through southern France, it had been about eight hours in a very full van when we careened around one last hairpin turn for our first view of the lake at sunset. I was still floating in a reverie of euphoria when we inched up to the narrow neighborhood where our house for the week would be, just down the hill from this lovely chapel.

Our side of the lake seemed to be the shore where wealthy Italians settled down to grow grapes and keep their nice red and orange houses freshly spackled. I had to make intentional mental notes about certain buildings or I would have gotten lost in the tiny alleys. Everything seemed to be built into a zigzagged hill, which gave a nod to the tiny cars and flat heels everyone had. There was one tiny, disorganized supermarket in our town, Lenno, which made more sense when I found out that the population is just 1,800. Lakeside restaurants served a dizzying variety of pizza with ample fish options to boot. But for dessert? You got it. Gelato.

Go Time

Oliver, 4 months, ready for the big trip.

Tomorrow my au pair family plans to ship everything they own back to the States and head off to Italy with just the clothes on their back. OK, not quite -- we're actually taking quite a lot in the van, along with the giant golden retriever -- but it will doubtless be a long, hard day. We're planning to leave at around 4:00, which means it will actually be around 6:00 when we hit the road for three weeks of vacation. It will probably be emotional to say goodbye to the neighbors and the house of two years. The movers will pack stuff they're not supposed to pack and the house will echo when Oliver announces he's hungry. Let me guess -- as soon as we leave, the boys will immediately be starving, the dog will breathe in my face, and we will immediately (and forever) lose five important things in the melange of luggage piled to the ceiling. Yessir, here we go. 

Julie and Ian with the Italy vacationmobile.

The Third Continent

I was really looking forward to getting on this plane and emerging again on a different continent. Europe has always symbolized so much to me -- elegance, architecture, history, culture -- but it'd always felt so unreachable.

A seamless flight and a few movies later, I was on the ground and through customs to meet my second cousin, Ian, at Charles de Gaul airport.

How do you know you're a first-timer in Paris? When you go straight to the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame. Ian and I swerved through neighborhoods in "Blue," the family car, and arrived at the cathedral in time to catch some of the Sunday service organ music. There weren't many people in the pews, but I wouldn't want a world tourist attraction to be my home church either. I'll

definitely make time to sit through the whole service sometime, but for now, I'm happy with my posthaste trip to the Gothic masterpiece. One guy, Jean de Jandun, was definitely a fan and praised it to the skies before it was even finished in 1345 (after nearly 200 years of construction).

"That most terrible church of the most glorious Virgin Mary, mother of God, deservedly shines out, like the sun among stars."

The next logical stop was the grocery store in our adorable monastery town of Meudon for lunch supplies with the rest of the family, who I will introduce soon.

But yes, I am finally here in Paris, after two months of waiting, and the adventure begins.

The Night Before France

It's the night before I leave for France, and I'm trading in my chopsticks for a French dictionary. The adventure has started, or rather, resumed, after a brief intermission and much-needed time at home with my family.

A few years ago, I'd mummified the dream of going to Europe, and never dared to even think of living there. I wasn't short-changing myself, just being realistic.

But now, as another move is about to happen, my experience in traveling this past year has made me wise enough to try to temper my near-continuous shivers of excitement. The unanswered questions on the other side of the Atlantic are both thrilling and scary. There will be euphoria and tears, laughing and learning. But all this will get me closer to heaven and deepen my longing for it. It's 2:05 and I'm finished for tonight. The coming months will give me time enough to spaz out over the history, style, architecture and people of Paris. Until then...

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

J. R.R. Tolkien

The Gang's All Here

Our whole house was in a state of disarray last night as we readied for family pictures. It's a bi-annual event that involves agonizing over the color scheme of the photo, and then getting everyone on the same page, with extra points for fitting pants. This year's smack down was over what shade of red -- fire engine or cranberry -- we were going to wear. Mom won and everything turned out well, despite some last-minute scrambling and shirt swapping. The session inevitably had us getting (very) cosy in the small studio and staying until the Berkshire mall closed (also a tradition). Here are two of my favorites. Until 2012, here's the Patches gang. .