Category — MidLeap

We haven’t had vocab in a while, so here’s a special one:

Today’s vocab word is zia. It means aunt. Here it is in a sentence:

“Kristin sarà la zia migliore di sempre!”

Happy translating!

This post is dedicated to my friends in Italy. The ones who put up with my English and force me to speak a little Italian every time we talk. Thank you for your patience…you’ll need it with this one.

Le parole sono iportante. Io dico lo tutto il tempo. Che è l’unica cosa che mi rende nervoso per il mio ritorno in Italia e l’avventura oltre. Le parole.

Sono cresciuto con una madre che era un insegnante di inglese. Ho studiato legge e ha scritto per una vita. Le parole sono i miei amici. Essi sono i miei strumenti, le mie difese, le mie armi.  Più di ogni altra cosa, parole significano humor.    Io sono una persona divertente. In realtà, io sono abbastanza divertenti.

Ma, il mio umorismo è in gran parte dipende dalla intelligenza e tempi comici. E ‘qualcosa che ho coltivato in modo da utilizzare per rompere il ghiaccio con persone nuove, come strumento diplomatico nelle situazioni di tensione, e altrettanto divertimento generale. Senza padronanza della lingua, dovrò ricorrere alla comicità fisica.

So che questa avventura mi permette di imparare molto su me stesso. Sarà strip via quello che penso io e mi lasciano con il mio core. Sono pronto a lasciarsi alle spalle il consumismo. Sono pronto a lasciarsi alle spalle “l’avvocato “. Io non sono così sicuro che io sono pronto a lasciarsi alle spalle l’umorismo. Suppongo che mi dice qualcosa.

La settimana scorsa, la mia mamma mi ha chiesto se ho paura. Le ho detto che io non sono – e sono davvero no. Mi sento come se fossi pronto per conoscere me stesso. Credo che non solo mi aspettavo l’apprendimento avrebbe cominciato così presto.

Every couple of weeks, Leigh and I find ourselves venturing out to one of Portland’s great breakfast spots. There are so many, that we never run out of new places to try. Even when we think we’ve experienced a place, it’ll do something new, like open a take-out window.

Take, for example, the Waffle Window at the Bread & Ink Cafe. I’ve never been a huge fan of the cafe itself, but the Waffle Window is inspired.

It is literally a walk-up window in the side of a building where you order plates of the most amazing Belgian waffles ever.

You can just see the outdoor seating area to the right of the window.  Families were bundled up, making love to their waffles on the picnic tables.

Leigh and I went a couple of weeks ago to see what the hype was about.

Now, don’t worry.  We still love Flavour Spot.  These waffles are different.  I’m starting to see waffles the way I see pasta.  There are endless, delicious ways to prepare and top these wonderful carbs.  I don’t want to limit myself by having a favorite.

When Leigh and I try a new place, we maximize our experience, so we will often each order something, and then split another item. Despite the size of the plates emerging from the Waffle Window, Leigh ordered the “not-a-waffle” biscuit and gravy, I ordered a fabulous seasonal waffle featuring huckleberries, blueberry compote, panna cotta and fresh whipped cream. Then, just for good measure, we shared a Nutella and Fresh Banana waffle. (It also had fudge and whipped cream.)

Um, yeah.  These were good.  Really good.

The berry waffle was amazing.  Fresh huckleberries and lemon are wonderful together, and the panna cotta and whipped cream sauce were light, sweet and went down like a dream.

I didn’t try the gravy (it was sausage), but Leigh was a fan.  It was a big biscuit and a hefty portion of gravy.  Looked good.

This isn’t scientific, but I have found that anything containing Nutella is approximately 3x as delicious as anything else.  Paired with bananas, and the fresh whipped cream, this waffle was downright yummy.

I’ve neglected to mention that these waffles are coated in sugar.  Yup.  You know, because the waffles themselves and the toppings aren’t enough.  (I totally support this.)

So, in the end, the Waffle Window deserves the hype it’s been getting.  These are super-tasty and not super-spendy.  Go give ’em a try while the weather is still good.  Waffle love-making just gets sloppy in the winter.

This weekend, we headed to Pine State Biscuits on Belmont, another place that we’ve been meaning to try, and that’s been getting a lot of hype.

This place is also deserving of the hype.

Pretty much anyplace you go to for breakfast in Portland will have a line.  But when you find a place with a line at least half a block long, it’s a pretty good sign you’ve found a winner.

Pine State Biscuits is a small place.  It has exactly three tables and a bar with 5 stools.

The Tripple Nickel bar next door has some nasty old picnic benches outside that accommodate breakfast-goers, desperate to dig into their biscuit sandwiches and hashbrowns.  This morning, we were lucky enough to find a place inside, though we’d already ordered to-go.

Today, I ordered the “Vegeterian Moneyball” – a biscuit and shitake gravy with a fried egg on top – and Leigh ordered a simple egg and cheese biscuit.  To share, we had a veggie “hash-up” – hashbrowns with onions, mushrooms and cheese.  Awesome.

When we got our food, we thought we’d need all three of the to-go boxes for leftovers.  Truth be told, there wasn’t much left to take with us.  Just enough for each of us to have a couple of bites at lunch.  Several of the folks around us had amazing-looking biscuit sandwiches that included fried chicken and gravy.  Intense.

Being from the south, Leigh can be a little persnickity about her biscuits.  Today, she was happy.  These were flaky and lovely.  I found the veggie gravy to be at least as good as that at Gravy and Tin Shed, two standards in Portland.

Next time we go back, we’ll try the collard greens, grits and sweet tea.  Aparently, these three things will tell us whether the folks from Pine State are really southerners.  I’m not sure why this is important, and I don’t think the people in line really care, but it’s a good excuse to go back.

Yesterday, a couple of friends took me to have liquid loveliness at Cacao, a gourmet chocolate shop a couple of blocks from our office.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking – this whole “no-sugar” thing I claim to be doing is a load of crap.

But it’s really not!  I’m generally really good.

I’m leaving the country, and a friend wanted to buy me a cup of amazing liquid chocolate – like the kind in the chocolate waterfall in Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (you know, the one with Gene Wilder).  So, what am I going to do?  Say no?!  That would just be rude.  Also, I’m fairly certain it’s a violation of the Geneva Conventions.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure.  What?  You don’t believe me?  Screw you.  Look it up.  YOU LOOK IT UP!

Last week, I sold my house. Well, I signed the acceptance papers, so I count that as selling the house.

Don't we look happy together?

It might not seem like much, but it’s been a long, long journey. After living there for 5 years, I let the house sit empty for almost two years, unable to tear myself away from it. Unable to even rent it. Unable to move on with my life. It took a lot of time, an energy clearing, and a major life change to get to the point where I’m finally ready to hand the house to the next owner.

When I first moved out of the house, I had a really hard time. I cried every time I went back, which made it hard to pack up, clean it out, or do any kind of maintenance on the house. It took a toll on my finances. It took a toll on my relationship. My inability to move on has kept me in a holding pattern, circling my “successes” and pondering my “failures”.

You see, I bought the house right after law school. In fact, I made an offer, sight-unseen, while I was on vacation in Hawaii, one week after taking the bar exam. I lived there the entire time I practiced law – while I worked at the Court of Appeals, while I worked as a Hearings Officer, and when I opened my own practice – in my house. I lived there when I was a political organizer, doing the work I loved.

That house was a symbol of everything in my life I had decided to be. A symbol of the success I had worked hard for. It was part of my “five-year-plan” – the smart investment I’d decided on in my college financial planning course. And, that course was part of my business major, the marketable degree I’d decided to get.

Yay me! I planned my life out at age 20! What’s crazy is that I lived my life according to that plan for the next 12 years. Wow.

Even after I moved out, it took me a couple of years – the time the house was empty – to figure that out. It was a painful two years. Even once I saw the reason I was paralyzed, I wasn’t able to change it.

It’s amazing how effectively we can fool ourselves. A three-bedroom ranch in the suburbs filled with furniture and consumer debt. That was the pre-packaged experience I chose.

I realized something today when I was talking with my boss about my decision to pick up my life and go traveling. For quite some time, I’ve been trying to figure out what I want. I’ve made myself truly miserable searching for the life I want. What do I want to be? What do I want to do? How do I want to live? That’s a hell of an overwhelming series of questions. I’ve been searching for the entire life plan/path/experience that I want, instead of just doing what I want to do today, in this moment. I was so absorbed in the giant task of figuring out my life that I couldn’t see the little things that I wanted. For the first time in a very long time, I know what I want. I just want to go back to Italy. I know nothing after that. I have thoughts about what might happen. I have ideas about what I could do, but the only thing I know I want is to go back. Next to years of agonizing over what life I want to live, deciding to go back to Italy seems like one of the easiest things in the world.

Last week when I was at the house, I had a remarkable moment when I looked around and saw the house as someone else’s home. It’s a great house, and I loved my time in it – but it belongs to someone else now. It will always mean a great deal to me, but perhaps now I will think of it as less of a symbol of my “success” and more as one of my greatest teachers.

I just wish my teachers didn’t make me cry so much. It’s kind of how I imagine Catholic school.