Cancer.

It’s a scary word, made even more frightening when coming from the lips of your doctor.  But the diagnosis is only the beginning.  What follows are overwhelming statistics, painful surgeries, poisonous treatments, and a life changed forever.  A person can do everything right in their life and a tumor shows up on a scan, forcing them to confront a terrifying new world of IVs and head scarves.

It’s rare to find someone who hasn’t lost someone from cancer.  My grandmother bravely fought and conquered colon cancer, only to have it return ten years later, ultimately claiming her life.  My healthy uncle succumbed to squamous cell carcinoma within a year of his diagnosis.    Just two years ago, I attended my grandfather’s funeral on the same day as William and Kate’s royal wedding.  I’ve lost two co-workers to various cancers in the five years since I’ve been at my job.  After a while, it all makes you feel powerless.

But you’re not.  There’s a lot that you can do to help.

For the Inspiration:
This post is inspired by Susie Lindau over at Susie Lindau’s Wild Ride.

A true inspiration

Today, this fearless and brave woman underwent a successful double mastectomy after recently being diagnosed with breast cancer.  She has courageously shared her story with her readers, deemed the Wild Riders, and I am amazed that she can still inject even the most terrifying situations with her unique brand of humor and awesomeness.  Susie is a rock star in the blogging world—and not just because she’s been Freshly Pressed—and I encourage you all to check out why so many bloggers have banded together to offer their support as she goes through this.  This one’s for you, Susie!

For the Action:
At the young age of twenty, my cousin faced non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and was saved by a bone marrow transplant.  I recently accompanied him to City of Hope‘s annual bone marrow transplant reunion.  It was incredible to see hundreds of survivors from all walks of life coming together because of a shared past.  The doctors and nurses were also there to lend their support and they greeted their former patients like old friends.

Seven and a half years post-transplant

It made me want to help.

When my cousin was going through treatment, my aunt and uncle joined the bone marrow registry and encouraged the rest of the family to do so as well.  After attending the transplant reunion, I signed up online for the National Marrow Donation Program at Be the Match.  The website provides all the information about transplanting bone marrow and it couldn’t have been easier to join.

I submitted my personal information online and within two weeks, received my testing kit.  A couple of cheek swabs later, my cells were sent to the lab and will hopefully be the match for someone in need.  Should I be called to donate, I have the opportunity to change someone’s life.  I can’t imagine not doing it.

*In a blessed turn of events, today my cousin accepted a position working for the hospital that saved his life.  We couldn’t be more proud of him.  Talk about giving back.

For the Body:

If donating bone marrow is not your thing and you prefer a more active approach, consider one of the many athletic events held all over the world to raise money for cancer causes.  A quick check of your local paper or community’s website will undoubtedly reveal a 5K, half-marathon, marathon, bike race, or triathlon.  There is literally an event for every type of cancer or memorial you can think of.  I receive mail every year about joining half-marathon teams for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, even though the longest distance I’ve ever run without stopping is only about three miles.  Though I’ve never participated in a running event, I have walked a breast cancer 5K in San Francisco and several laps in a local Relay for Life.  Find an event and lace up your sneakers.

Together we can kick cancer’s ass.

As I’m sure most of you know by now, I love to travel.  It doesn’t matter where I go, I just want to see someplace new.  I get giddy packing my suitcase in anticipation of the unknown sights and adventures that await me.  Sometimes I feel that my suitcase spends more time out of the closet, waiting to be packed or unpacked, than it does nestled amongst my clothes and shoes.  Whether by car, by air, or by boat, I couldn’t imagine my life without a trip to a different location at least once a year.  There is a certain feeling you get when exploring an area you’ve never seen before.  Even if it’s an area in immediate vicinity.

A lot of times, I hop in my car and drive down an unknown road just to see what’s at the end of it.  I have uncovered full neighborhoods in hidden canyons, dined at hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the greatest food, and viewed formerly familiar territory with a new set of eyes.  There is much to be discovered and rediscovered in this world and I won’t stop until I explore every inch of it.

I recently got a promotional offer in the mail to use my air miles for magazine subscriptions.  It was a bargain that I couldn’t pass up and I managed subscribing to three different periodicals.  The one I’m most excited about receiving in my mailbox: Condé Nast Traveler.  I cannot wait to get a monthly issue filled with travel tips, gorgeous photographs, and endless articles about where to go and what to do when you get there.  It will make choosing the destination for my next big trip all the more difficult.  But in a good way.

I do like my travel reading.

My wanderlust has led me to a variety of places over the past few weeks, subsequently making it far too easy to ignore the blog—sorry Wonderlings!  To start, I made my monthly seven-hour drive north to visit my boyfriend.  It’s a drive that I’m slowly getting used to taking, but California really needs to do something about the scenery along Interstate-5.  With the exception of a few towns and many, many cows (I’m looking at you, Harris Ranch in Coalinga), there’s not much to see in California’s middle.  However, upon arriving in Nevada County, the Sierras greet you like old friends and the road suddenly becomes picturesque.

A day trip to the Yuba River left me with two swollen and bruised knees from falling down three times. I swear it was the flip flops that created my status of klutziness! Luckily, my very sweet and caring boyfriend treated me to ice cream to soothe my hurt legs and ego.

Two weeks after I returned from the mountains, I took a belated birthday trip to Disneyland with my mom.

As a lifelong Southern California resident, I am used to annual trips to the Happiest Place on Earth where everything is familiar, but it had been more than two years since our last adventure and my how things had changed. Disney’s California Adventure had opened The Little Mermaid Ride and Cars Land since I had last visited and Disneyland had unveiled Fantasy Faire, which I somehow failed to see. The good news is that we upgraded our tickets to annual passes so we’ll be checking it out again soon.

This past weekend, I was once again in Northern California. This time, I came up a day early and while the boyfriend was at work, I had tons of free time to explore downtown Grass Valley. It’s a darling little town and one of the few places in California that I have found people to be friendly just for the sake of being friendly. There were a lot of “good afternoons” and pleasant chit chat to be heard in each of the shops I wandered in. When I finally got back to the house, my furry friend Steve decided to make his first appearance in two days.

A ferret who likes to make a blurry entrance.  I call it, the Ferret Prowl.

We managed to hit two river spots this weekend and I didn’t fall down once or succumb to the perils of poison oak. I consider that a win. Even more impressive was the crystal clear water, the warm-but-not-unbearably-hot temperatures, and the fact that my pale skin managed to get color that was not lobster red.

And the summer has only just begun.

For the Taste Buds:

I don’t know about you, but when the weather starts getting warmer, I no longer want rich, heavy foods that fill me up and leave me in a constant food coma for a few hours after consumption.  As someone who loves to bake, this time of year can be especially hard.  Who wants to turn on the oven when the kitchen is already toasty?  Plus, some of these decadent goodies are simply too much for the body to take.  The solution: nighttime baking and lighter recipes.

A few weeks ago, I brought Orange Sugar Cookies into work for a potluck and they were a huge hit.  Not too sweet and with a hint of citrus, all three dozen were gone before lunchtime.  I can’t recommend this recipe enough for potlucks and picnics and it is very easy to modify. If you prefer lemonade to orange juice, swap it out.  If you like extra orange flavor, try adding some orange extract or zest to the dough.  The possibilities are endless.

For the Soul:

Everywhere you look, bright and beautiful colors are popping up in the unlikeliest of places.  Spring is here and with the warmer temperatures and sunnier days comes vibrant shades of everything under the sun.  Fashion moves from the darker gray and burgundy winter choices to palettes of pastels and technicolor.  Flowers regain their vitality with bursts of fragrant blooms that seem to be right out of a painting.  Open your eyes and start looking for fresh colors in your own world.  Add a slice of lemon or kiwi to that boring glass of clear water.  Accessorize the work outfit with a brilliant bag or jewel-toned necklace.  Take the time to really notice the sky’s transition from day-to-night or vice versa.  A little pop of color is bound to make you just a little happier after the dark shades of winter.

I saw a lovely trio of colorful cars on my last road trip.

A gorgeous Southern California day.

For the Body:

With the longer days, it seems like just about everyone is hitting the pavement or trail for some good old-fashioned exercise.  Folks are pulling out their dusty running shoes, grabbing a buddy, and exploring the neighborhood.  By foot or by bicycle, the roads have become more populated with people taking advantage of Daylight Savings and soaking up every precious moment before the sun sets.  Lace up your sneakers, join the crowds, and enjoy the outdoors.

Just don’t forget the sunscreen.

First, the bombing of the Boston Marathon, then the fertilizer plant explosion in Texas, and finally the death of one Boston Bomber suspect and the arrest of another.  As someone with many family members in the Boston area, including Watertown—some a quarter of a mile from the action—where the suspect was finally captured, I am incredibly relieved to know that the only thing that happened to my family was the fear that ran through their minds as their hometown was put under lockdown.  Thank you Watertown Police and all those involved who ensured a swift arrest with no civilian casualties.

Now that the manhunt is over, the fact-finding mission begins.  With news coverage almost exclusively broadcasting every minute detail into the life of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, many labels have been attributed to the young man who remains in critical condition.

I read an article today in Cosmopolitan called, “My First Year as a Woman.”  The piece focused on punk rocker Tom Gabel’s transition from male to female.  Now living as Laura Jane Grace, the musician always felt uneasy in her masculine body and had identified with being a female from a young age even though she was born a biological male.  Today, she is proudly raising her daughter with her wife Heather—they were married before Laura came out as a transsexual—and is finally happy with who she is.  Though her young daughter still refers to her as “Daddy,” Laura no longer deals with the demons that haunted her when she was living as a male.

A Parent’s Love: (left) Tom and daughter Evelyn before the transition, (right) Evelyn putting on Laura’s makeup

What exactly do a punk rocker and a suspected criminal have to do with one another?  More than you might think.

Both of these stories got me thinking about how individuals identify themselves and how others identify them.  Whenever you are asked to introduce yourself, it’s common to give your name and some personal detail about yourself.  Some people speak about their occupation or family and others their hobbies.  “Hi, my name is Bob and I’m an architect.  I recently designed a building in Denver, one of my favorite cities in the country.”  On the other hand, your buddy might say, “This is my friend Bob.  He has a German Shepard and loves to go out for sushi.”  What may seem like a trivial detail to you, a friend may find incredibly interesting and worth sharing.  Sure, you might describe yourself one way and your friends and family may describe you differently, but it doesn’t mean that the clashing identifiers are right or wrong.

When it comes to Dzhokhar and Tom/Laura, we only know what we can logically assume.  Dzhokhar may very well be a terrorist who sought to do harm on an unsuspecting audience, but he is also a son who has a deeply concerned father in Russia who wants to know  about his son’s well-being.  Though Dzhokhar’s actions, in my mind at least, can never be justified, this young man is a lot more than just a terrorist and slowly, the media is uncovering the person he is.  On the outside, Tom looked like a man, but on the inside Laura was desperately trying to make herself known.  As it turns out, most people were pretty accepting of Laura once Tom decided to embrace the woman he always wanted to be.  She had to identify herself as Laura for other people to do so; it’s not something they would have known to do on their own.

I guess my point is this: the labels that others give us are not as important as the labels we give ourselves.  No magazine or news channel or friend can ever truly know who we are or how many roles we play in our lives.  I myself identify as so many different things, each unique in its own right, yet none better than any other.

But the really important question is: who are you?

With twenty-four hours in a day and twelve months in a year, time is a fixed idea.  Sixty seconds tick by and before you know it, a minute is gone then another and then another.  The sun rises and sets each day at variable times, but the pattern persists for most individuals.  Wake up, exhaust the daylight hours, go to sleep, repeat.  Sure, the activities of each day will inevitably vary, but we intrinsically are living just as the ancient cavemen did.  Granted, we have technological advances that can keep us up well into the night.  I’m looking at you, Internet!

The older I get the faster it all goes.  Seems like just yesterday I was eagerly waiting in the hospital to become an auntie for the first time.  My niece turned four last month and her younger brother and two cousins have added to the “Auntie’s kiddos” tally.  I blink and suddenly a new month requires me to turn the calendar page and another year flashes by at warp speed.  Spring has barely arrived and before you know it, Christmas will be here and 2013 will be over.

And it seems that just as quickly as time passes, we are always wishing it could go a little faster.  We count down the hours and days until the exchange of vows, the healthy diagnosis, the exciting journey, the reunion with loved ones.  Hell, sometimes we’re just willing the weekend to get here.

As Tom Petty once sang, “The waiting is the hardest part,” and he was correct.  No matter how old we get, anticipation of something—whether good or bad—is the only way to get the clocks to cool their proverbial heels and slow down.  Our views of time vary depending on each circumstance.  An hour at the office can feel like a decade while a two-week getaway at an exotic location can seem to be over as soon as it started.  Why is it that the things we don’t want to do appear to suck up all of our time while the things we like to do pass by so quickly?

It’s all just a matter of perception.

I am constantly aware of each minute during my hour-long spin class, staring at the hands on the clock as I push myself through sprints and hill climbs, ignoring my burning muscles and drenched skin.  It’s grueling and always feels like I’ve been sweating at the gym for much longer than 1/24 of the day.  Yet, an hour spent with my nephew and tubs of Play-Doh flies by without so much of a look at the clock as we squish the colorful, salty compound between our fingers and get lost in make-believe.  The amount of time is the same, but one’s enjoyment of the activity will determine how quickly or slowly the time passes.

It’s not just about whether we like how our time is spent or not.  Each person goes about his or her days and nights in a different way.  Some people, more content to live in the moment rather than by a schedule, can easily float through their days without ever knowing the hour of the day.  While others, bound by the constraints of every minute, find that planning their days, months, and years to be more conducive to their own contentment.  And there are some people who find a happy medium in the two extremes, comfortably existing with deadlines and unplanned hours.

Whether you feel like you’re racing through your life or waiting for it to begin, I hope you all fill your days with pleasant moments that you can recall long after they’ve passed.  There is no right or wrong way to spend your time.

And don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise.

As it turns out, the past few months have been great for the both of us.  We happily chatted about our jobs, our hobbies, and then got down to the exceptionally good stuff: our relationships.  Toasting to our good fortune and thrilled that karma seems to have finally found us, we began to gush about our significant others in ways that seemed very adult for two people who quite recently had been wondering why we seemed to be the only two singles left on the planet.  We talked about how we journeyed into coupledom and where we saw things going.  Then he said something that completely took me by surprise.

“I think she could be The One.  I really do.”

The One.

I smiled politely and tried to disguise my less-than-romantic feelings toward one of the most clichéd terms of all time.  You see, I’ve never been a fan of labels like “The One” or “soul mate” or “other half” or “love of my life.”  I am always hesitant to put much stock into these types of categorizations because to me they seem pulled out of a chick flick and rather corny.  I can’t help but feel that a relationship is doomed much in the same way as when a couple gets matching tattoos.  You might as well start the countdown now.

For one, these terms of endearment just put so much pressure on the other person.  I am not a commitment-phobe—in fact, I’m a serial monogamist—but getting laden with the burden of “other half” or “The One” would be enough to make me run for the hills.  To be defined this way almost removes your individual identity.  Who are you if not a part of your significant other?  Do you exist in your own right?  How did he or she ever get along without you?  Interestingly enough, I have no problem with the term “better half.”  I’m sure a shrink would have a field day analyzing that one and my feelings of superiority.

Secondly, these labels are so common yet don’t really mean anything.  What exactly does The One entail?  Is The One the person who holds all of your love and affection?  What about the person(s) who came before?  What about the one(s) who may come after?  Is The One the person that you will be in love with for the rest of your days or are they just the person who came around at the right time and gave you exactly what you needed when you needed it?  Urban Dictionary defines The One as “the person you know you’re going to love forever, the person who knows the words to your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten, and the person you spend your whole life looking for.”  However, I don’t think it’s that simple.  The One probably means different things for different people, much like the word “love” does.  No two people look at it in exactly the same way and I guess until I fully understand a person’s definition of this term, I cannot fathom its meaning and can only understand based on my own cynical personal interpretation.

But here’s the catch, I do believe that you can find someone who is the yin to your yang, the peanut butter to your jelly, the cheese to your macaroni, the one you spend a lifetime with.  Despite my dislike for overused idealistic labels, I do believe that happily ever after exists.  I’ve seen for myself that true love is real and that sometimes, two are better than one.  But please don’t call me The One.  I am completely comfortable with being called girlfriend, lover, or life partner.

Because they’re just romantic enough without making me sick.

I’m here to tell you all to go ahead and celebrate.  There is nothing wrong with cracking open a bottle of wine you’ve been saving for a special occasion or treating yourself to a hot stone massage when the boss tells you what a great job you’ve been doing or you reach a particular milestone in your blogging journey (Happy blogiversary shout outs to Laura, Rian, Tobi, and Jules!).  Here are some of my favorite ways to celebrate.

For the Taste Buds:

Nothing says celebration quite like a glass of bubbly.  Unfortunately, I am just not a fan of champagne.  That is, I’m not a fan of regular champagne.  Five years ago, my sister toasted her nuptials with the best champagne I have ever tasted.  It’s called Almond Creek and is available at Trader Joe’s for, get this, the low, low cost of about $6.00.  I recently rediscovered almond champagne when I was looking for a celebratory drink for New Year’s Eve.  I forgot how much I like this particular brand of bubbly.  Other almond champagnes I’ve tried just don’t compare.  Almond Creek is not too bitter or too sweet and has an aftertaste reminiscent of French macarons.  Don’t be fooled by the reasonable price, it is quite good and even if you’re not a fan of champagne, give it a try the next time something great happens.  Or you just need some tasty adult beverages.  Champagne Thursdays, anyone?

For the Chance:

Do you ever remember picking up a dandelion and blowing all the little fibers off as you made a wish?  Maybe it was for a new bike or a passing grade on an exam, but you always wanted your wish to come true as the petals floated into the air.  When dandelions are hard to come by, pull out some “birthday” candles and make a wish.  There is no need to wait for your actual birthday to enjoy it.  Go ahead, add some candles to your cake, flan, crème brûlée, or even your steak if your sweet tooth is not as sweet as mine.  Why should making a wish only be reserved for birthdays?  I say we close our eyes, take a deep breath, and extinguish that flame whenever the mood strikes.  Especially if there’s something good to celebrate like scoring a killer discount, mastering a delicious meal, or deciding to take that trip you’ve always wanted.  Go ahead, Wonderlings, make that wish.

For the Sparkle:

One of the surest ways to start any celebration—and certainly to last for months and months in your carpet if you’re not careful—is with the smallest and shiniest bits of paper and foil, die-cut into various shapes and sizes.  That’s right, I’m talking about confetti.  A small bag of themed confetti is enough to spruce up any place setting or card with just the right amount of pizzazz.  I’ve always fantasized about throwing handfuls of confetti up into the air and watching as the small pieces rain down upon me leaving me covered with tiny stars, balloons, or hearts and the biggest smile on my face.  Someday, I’ll get around to making cascarones, otherwise known as confetti eggs, that can be smashed on someone’s head for a fun party “fight.”

Just don’t ask me to help with the clean up.

To give you all a little insight, my 2013 has been going exceptionally well for being only a quarter of the way through the year.  I was chosen for a promotion at work in the midst of a hiring freeze, I started dating a man I’m actually really excited about, and I’m still the favorite auntie to my four munchkins.  Without getting too sappy or boastful, I am incredibly happy with the place I am in life and am not freaking out about anything—quite unusual for me.  And I’ve got to say, it feels really good to just be.

I overheard my boyfriend say to someone the other day, “I’m dating this wonderful girl and I’m just waiting for her to pull the rug out from under me.”  He was kidding and just saying it to bust my chops, but it got me thinking: with everything going so wonderfully, what’s the catch?

Sure, I got a promotion in a time when employee furloughs are being discussed as a means to fix the country’s financial problems.  Yes, I’m in a great relationship with someone who has known me for ten years (talk about a strong foundation!) and who lives 500 miles away.  I could spend hours of my life finding out how each piece of the puzzle fits together, but for once, I’m not concerning myself with trying to figure it all out.  Maybe things are just supposed to be “really good” for no other reason than “really good” feels really awesome.

The thing is, dwelling on what could go wrong and worrying about what the future holds really robs a person of the present.  A man can get wrapped up in everything he has yet to accomplish in his life or a woman can stress about ever meeting a suitable mate to have a family with.  These people can be so consumed with “what if?” that they don’t stop to pay attention to “what is.”  If you’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, you could be missing the cha-cha that everyone else is dancing to.

After all, the other shoe may never drop.

Maybe it’s all the inspiring quotes I’ve been finding on Pinterest, but there certainly is something to be said about being present and living in the moment.  Six months ago, I never would have believed that I could be so la-di-da about my life.  I’ve always been the one who likes to have a plan and know exactly where I’m headed at any given point.  I would have been horrified at the thought of “going with the flow” and taking things day-by-day, but I would have missed out on the freedom that comes with an unknown future.

There will always be mental planning and wondering, but I’m trying not to let it distract me from the here and now.  I’m allowing myself to savor the moments and just be excited about them without the anxiety that often surrounds the unknown.  Focusing on the now is where it’s at.

After all, tomorrow is not a guarantee.

Before long, we were on board the bus and arriving in Zürich, the largest city in Switzerland.  Everything was decorated for Christmas with lights strung between buildings and decorations throughout the streets.  If that weren’t enough, Zürich was also home to one of—if not the—largest Christmas markets in all of Europe.  The market was housed in a train station and there was stall after stall of hand crafts, delicious foods, and the most gorgeous Christmas tree I have ever seen.

As is true with most beautiful things, the pictures just do not do justice to the sparkle and brilliance of the tree.  On every branch of this towering pine were Swarovski crystal snowflake ornaments totaling an estimated $2 million dollars.  That’s right.  Two. Million. Dollars.  We stopped at the Swarovski stall to see about getting one of these gorgeous snowflakes, but when we found out the price for just one ornament ($245!) we decided to walk away empty-handed.  The picture of that tree will be forever burned into my brain and that is much more priceless than having just one of those twinkling ornaments on my own plastic little three-footer.  But in the event that I win the lottery, it’s on.

The next day, we toured a drizzly Zürich by foot and watched as preparations were made for a run through the city.  It seemed like everywhere we turned, signs for the race or barricades were in place for the athletic event.  Nevertheless, armed with our umbrellas and warm coats, we set out to explore the cathedrals, university, and streets of Zürich.

What can I say about Zürich?  It’s a fantastic town full of luxuries that I found myself wishing I could afford.  Like most of the places in Europe the world I’ve explored, I found myself making animal friends.  Along the waterside, I “talked” with some very friendly ducks who decided it was much more fun to join the group at the docks rather than swim around us in the frigid water.  I found myself particularly drawn to the Batman bird.  What can I say, I admired his impression of the Bat Signal.

Fowl aside, I was on a mission in Zürich to taste one of the country’s most famous dishes: fondue.  It took me several days in Switzerland to find a restaurant that could seat us without a reservation, but once I did, it was more delicious than I had ever imagined.  No Melting Pot experience compares to the real cheese fondue that can be found in Zürich.

If you’ve ever been to a fondue restaurant, you will immediately recognize the smell that hits your nostrils the second you walk through the door.  It’s a little overwhelming.  My mom and I were fortunate enough to find a restaurant that had outdoor seating, complete with comfy blankets you could wrap yourself  in to guard against the colder temperatures and fresh air to balance out the smell of melted cheese.  We found a cozy table next to another group of Americans that gave us a great spot to watch the children’s races of the event that seemed to cover the city.  But the true treat was the fondue.

There is truly nothing like real fondue made with the best cheeses and it was definitely worth the wait to find a restaurant that was open during lunch.  Armed with potatoes, bits of bread, and slices of pears, we dipped and smothered our way to culinary nirvana.  I am so glad we had the chance to experience a true fondue meal and I was definitely full after devouring more than my share of the pot.

As much as I enjoyed the fondue and walking around the city, the highlight of Zürich was being able to meet my first blogging friend.  If you all don’t already follow Cécile over at Trying to Be Conscious, hop to it.  You won’t be sorry.

We met outside of the train station and it was the most comfortable first meeting I’ve ever experienced.  Rather than that awkward small talk that is common among people meeting for the first time, we picked up like old friends and Cécile was kind enough to invite my mother and me to a bar high above the city where we could take in the sights from the sky.  She even brought me the most delicious bar of chocolate I have ever eaten.  The word lovely is truly the only way to describe Cécile.  Completely kind and utterly adorable, she made both my mother and I feel like we had made a true friend and I couldn’t be more grateful.

After a round of drinks, the three of us headed to Zürich’s very own Singing Christmas Tree.  The tree was a structure of several levels that school-aged children climbed up into to sing impressive Christmas songs in five languages: Swiss-German, German, French, English, and Spanish.  These kids were impressive and their enthusiasm was infectious!  With glühwein in hand, it was the perfect last night in Zürich.  A big thank you to Cécile for finding the time to show us around her town before she moved halfway around the world to New Zealand.  It was a night that I won’t soon forget.

And that’s it, my dears, the end of my Christmas in Europe adventure.  I’m so glad to have taken you all along for the journey and I hope you can experience all of these wonderful places in your own travels someday.

You can say I sent you.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day all you lads and lasses!