We are renting a villa property in Italy for a week called Gli Ulivi on the Amalfi Coast. My dad seems unable to pronounce Gli Ulivi, so he has just been calling it the Olive Garden. This is disappointing to me because normally he takes his best shot at pronouncing something in a different language and then just adds a bunch of foreign-person-type swirling hand gesticulations to make it seem authentic. I hope he hasn't given up!
This is an email from Sandy I received today:
Hi, Everyone, I think we're firmed up on The Olive Garden for the week in August, so it's safe to make reservations. Send me your passport numbers sometime. They're going to ask me for them eventually. We are definitely taking out travel insurance. The world is so uncertain now. My travel guides suggest you get an international driver's license if you're planning to rent a car. And the rental cars all seem to have manual transmissions! I'm glad Bill can drive those. I'm not learning at this point in my life, and previous lessons have not gone well. I remember my father screaming - "Stop! No! Never do that!" Well, I think he was yelling about my driving. Maybe it was something else.
Keep in touch. Love, Me
I'm not sure what risky thing my mom thinks might happen in Italy. Too much cheese? That's not uncertain though, that's just a given. Or perhaps, more politically speaking, Prime Minister Berlusconi declares war on STDs thanks to all his run-ins with underage hookers?
|This was drawn from my home computer.|